Movements

Peaceful for Who?

2012-01-23T05:41:00.000-08:00

Peaceful for Who?

It takes me awhile to get to this next blog as the senseless death of Oscar Bartholomew settles in my head along with the many perceptions, attitudes, opinions that gather in the streets like carnival out of sorts with its own costumes and masks.

Grenada made headline news internationally, nationally and regionally the last week of 2011 after a Grenadian, Toronto resident, Oscar Bartholomew was beaten to death while in custody at the St. David’s, Grenada police station. Five police officers were charged with manslaughter. This unfortunate and violent incident has led to a community and national outcry for justice. I watch my own opinions, reactions, and questions rest heavily in my head and then I open my heart to what is being said in the streets, on the block, on buses and in community. I take note and watch how this highly charged incident spins into many different directions.

The night after Oscar’s death one of Grenada’s Ministers told the people of Grenada not to get carried away as this, he said, “is an isolated incident”. The Prime Minister then appeared on the screen asking the people of St. David’s to stay calm and not to blow the unfortunate incident out of proportion!” I couldn’t help think “blow what out of proportion”! Finally I thought people are going to the streets and raising their fists in solidarity and saying ‘No’ to police brutality and ‘Yes’ to collective activism. As heard by many Grenadians on a community level, “Police brutality is not an isolated ting!” I begin to open my ears and hear what people have to say, “Police getting away with this sort of thing for years!” “Didn’t they beat A. the other day for having a splif in the house”; “Didn’t they beat F. in the middle of the day in front of everybody because they find a crack pipe on him and we say nothing because we too afraid of being charged and beat too!”; “Didn’t they shoot and kill a crazy man just the other day”; “Didn’t they….”; “Didn’t they…”

One of the young men in the village says to me “You know this man is like a sacrifice for peace and justice. If this man did not have Canadian citizenship, if this man was a man like me, who never leave the island, who making his living off the back of a garbage truck, you feel this would have happened? You feel they would have been charged? Its only because the outside world is watching that these men are being brought to justice!”

The next night another Minister is on the news to tell Grenadian people that Grenada is still one of the most peaceful places in the region, in the world and I can’t help think…. for who? I do agree with him that Grenada is a safe country for tourists and in particular those who have fair skin or those who speak the Queen’s English or those in high economic standing; safe for those of us from European descent who decide to make Grenada our home. Therefor it is a shame that this incident may affect the tourist industry due to media not presenting the whole story. However is Grenada safe for her own people? Is Grenada safe for those who make unhealthy choices due to hard economic times, or a life of strife with physical and emotional abuse; Is Grenada safe for young women who fall prey to older men? Is Grenada safe for kids in school who may have learning disabilities or emotional disabilities but are mistaken for bad behaviour? Is Grenada safe for young boys who have absentee fathers and cry out through violence for some sort of attention? Is Grenada safe for young girls being sexually assaulted by their daddies, their uncles, their cousins?

I could be speaking about any country when it comes to peace and safety and what this means in the context of some and not others. For example I have grown up my whole life being told Canada is one of the most peaceful countries in the world. However now i ask, peaceful for whom? Is Canada peaceful for First Nation people who have spent lifetimes fighting a system that discriminates and excludes, a system that denies and buries a brutal violent past that denied and denies First Nation people their human rights; is Canada peaceful for those who decide to speak out against globalization at G8 summits; is Canada peaceful for inner city or rural youths who are discriminated against because of the colour of their skin, their sexual orientation or the state of their economics? Is Canada peaceful for girls, women coming from different cultures, economics, countries who are abused daily behind closed doors?

When five policemen beat to death one of their own, what state of peace do these men hold within themselves? Where does peace begin? When will we begin to understand peace on an individual, family, community, and then national, global, level? How can we reclaim the word peace from its broad and generalized definitions? Just because Canada and Grenada are not war torn countries are we able to say with confidence that Canada and Grenada are peaceful countries and for who?

Thank you Oscar Bartholomew for enabling me to write this blog, enabling many of us to think more critically on what peace means and for whom it means. Thank you Oscar Bartholomew for sacrificing your life so that other Grenadians may not have to suffer what you suffered. Thank you Oscar Bartholomew for creating a more critical breeding ground for these questions to rise, simmer and hopefully be resolved. Thank you for giving birth to a new sense of power, ‘power with’, as people marched in the streets in unity and spoke against your death and finally thank you Oscar Bartholomew for being that spokesperson even without a voice!

64 Ways in 64 Days:In honour of Martin Luther King Jr. day

2012-01-16T06:33:00.000-08:00

In october 2011 the participants and facilitators of the Community Conflict Transformation and Peace Building ceritifcate course at the Coady International Institute were honoured and priveleged to welcome Dr. Lawrence Carter, mentee and friend of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. Carter honoured us with his gentle, humble, powerful presence and shared 64 ways in 64 days as a means of inspiring us to be bigger then we already are. In Dr. Lawrence's words "We need to find the Martin Luther King, Jr. inside ourselves and develop and share with the rest of the world."

In honour of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day I share with you 64 ways in 64 days.
There are 64 days between the time of Mahatma Gandhi’s death and Martin Luther King Jr’s death, January 30—April 4

64 Ways in 64 Days

I choose to reflect on what peace means to me.

I choose to work to understand and respect another culture.

I choose not to take myself so seriously.

I choose to take some time to admire and appreciate nature.

I choose to plant seeds - of plants or constructive ideas.

I choose to be aware of the hungry and how I may help them.

I choose to acknowledge every human being's fundamental right to justice, equity, and equality.

I choose to appreciate the earth's bounty and all of those who work to make my food available (i.e., grower, trucker, grocery clerk, cook, waitress).

I choose to walk rather than drive to nearby destinations.

I choose to oppose injustice, not people.

I choose to call one of my elected officials and voice my opinion.

I choose to be aware of what I say and refuse to gossip.

I choose to live in the present moment and release the past.

I choose to silently acknowledge all the peacemakers throughout the world.

I choose to speak with respect to every one I talk to.

I choose to tell someone I love them.

I choose to speak honestly from the heart.

I choose to cause a ripple effect of good by an act of kindness toward another.

I choose to use my talents to serve others.

I choose to treat people who work in the service industry with respect.

I choose to say "No" to violent movies, TV, and videos.

I choose to express appreciation and gratitude to at least two people a day.

I choose to greet others with a smile.

I choose to drive with tolerance and patience.

I choose to relieve my frustration by taking a walk or in some other healthy way.

I choose to take time to listen carefully to another's point of view.

I choose to talk less and listen more.

I choose to notice the peacefulness in the world around me.

I choose to recognize that my actions directly affect others.

I choose to take time to tell a family member or friend how much they mean to me.

I choose to acknowledge and thank some one for acting kindly.

I choose to send a supportive, anonymous message to someone.

I choose to identify something of value in everyone I meet.

I choose to treat animals with care and consideration.

I choose to practice praise rather than criticism.

I choose to strive to learn from my mistakes.

I choose to recycle grocery bags or use cloth bags.

I choose to hold children tenderly in thought and/or action.

I choose to listen without defending and speak without judgment.

I choose to help someone who needs support.

I choose to listen with an open heart to at least one person.

I choose to treat the elderly I encounter with respect and dignity.

I choose to treat the children I encounter with respect and care, knowing that I
serve as a model to them.

I choose to treat my co-workers with understanding and compassion.

I choose to recycle more of my trash.

I choose to appreciate the gift animals bring to our world.

I choose to work to help others resolve differences.

I choose to express my feelings honestly and nonviolently with respect for others and myself.

I choose to share a meal with another.

I choose to write a letter to one of my representatives in Congress saying I want the U.S. to be a world peace leader.

I choose not to use violent language.

I choose to pause for reflection on how I am living my values.

I choose to seriously consider letting go of a grudge.

I choose to carpool more often.

I choose to acknowledge to another or myself something I regret.

I choose to reflect on whom I would like to reconnect with.

I choose to love myself as I am.

I choose to embrace the spiritual belief of my heart in my own personal and
reflective way.

I choose to enlarge my capacity to embrace differences and appreciate the value of every human being.

I choose to smile at a stranger.

I choose to support peace by educating myself.

I choose to write a letter to the editor about something I'm thankful for in my community.

I choose to pause and think before I say something hurtful to another.

I choose to give a hug to someone I care about.

I choose to reflect on what peace means to me now.

Adapted from 64 Ways in 64 Days from A Season for Nonviolence created by The Association of Global New Thought, http://www.agnt.org/.

From One Home to the Next

2012-01-08T03:16:00.000-08:00

With strength and mindfulness Maya and I cross over and land firmly on Grenada soil; soil that supports, embraces and enriches our arrival. But not before saying goodbye and giving thanks and praise to the past six months on Canadian soil spreading its roots and anchoring us to friends and family. Our last couple weeks before crossing over were spent saying goodbye at small and large gatherings; from dinners at the Farm to sharing gifts of love and gratitude with our room-mates Alex and Riley, to farewell socials and banquets with Coady community, to journeying by train and embracing mom and dad before taking the leap into our next home.

While in transition we were met with usual stares of confusion and delight.
“I know why everyone is staring at us!” Maya says after stepping through security at Toronto International Airport,
“Why?”
“Because we have so many bags!”
I laugh and make note of the stares which in my view are about the uniqueness of cinnamon and peach mama and daughter with their dreadlocked hair. The usual looks of delight and confusion; fear and judgement. A young black youth man smiles brightly, fist in the air “Rasta” he cries whole pushing an elderly women to her gate. A young wide eyed five year old staring up at Maya and I’s hair is pulled impatiently by her mom and told not to stare.

We touch down in Grenada after curling up on Trinidad’s airport benches for the night, breathing in the Caribbean air knowing we are home even in the waiting. Grenada Immigration Officer, “Why you standing in the Visitor’s line man? You are Home!” We are Home moving into our unique, colourful larger then large lives!

Theo is on the other end of immigration with a grin spreading wide like the Caribbean sea. We are reunited with village community and an extended family that now includes two pregnant goats, a new fairy goat called Elfie, a puppy named Opi, and a cow with no name. We embrace the welcoming vibes, “So how come you didn’t get fat in Canada?” “How you take so long to come Home!” “Maya you growing girl!” “We miss you man!”

10th year

2012-01-02T04:22:00.000-08:00

Maya 10 on Christmas day! I stare at her incessantly until she breaks into her Grenada tongue “Why you watching me so?”

Because I can’t believe you are ten years old. Because I can’t believe ten years ago village friends were dropping by and you were in my arms, an hour old, suckling and squirming while friends expressed their surprise and shock at their white ras neighbour who they never thought would give birth to her baby at home, in the village! “ahh how Maureen brave so! She real brave oui?” And me proud warrior Mama smiling at this soon to be 10 year old daughter folded into the softness of my arms.

Ten years I repeat like a mantra gone mad. Like a mantra dedicated to disbelief and wonder. Like a prayer cradling this glorious Grenadian, Canadian, multi racial, spiritual, cultural, miracle child who blesses us with her quiet, gentle, strong wisdom day by day!
Happy Birthday Maya Mado!

Toronto Show Vibsing

2011-12-07T01:40:00.000-08:00

i want to give a big shout out to all who made the show a great success! a special thanks to Dorothy and Peter who hosted the exhibit and provided miles and miles of love, support and encouragement! i also want to thank Dorothy and Peter's crew Erik,Ros,Robert,Brenda and Paula who also blessed the weekend with their presence and hard work to make the show what it was; vibrant, alive and full of soul!

Much love and thanks to Chris and Natalie who arrived unexpectedly and blessed me with their familiar love!!!!

The exhibit will be hanging for the next two weeks in the offices of TurnerFleischer Architects Inc., 67 Lesmill Rd., Toronto. Contact Dorothy Boothroyd or Peter Turner for a showing at dboothroyd@sympatico.ca , peter@turnerfleischer.com . i will put up the paintings still available soon on my website.

One Love

maureen

Let Your Peace Be....

2011-11-23T02:36:00.000-08:00

Heading to Toronto to share my heart work! One Woman Show: Let your Peace be..... Thought i would blog my invite. As usual i am honoured to share the spirit of my paintings and spread the positive vibes!!!

One Love

maureen

Let Your Peace Be....

Original Art

by Canadian/Grenadian artist
Maureen St. Clair

Hosted at the offices ofTurner Fleischer Architects Inc.

67 Lesmill Rd, Toronto (Near 401 and Leslie Street)

Opening Friday, December 2, 2011, 7 to 9 pm

Saturday December 3, 11 am to 4 pm and Sunday, December 4, 11 am to 4 pm

Building Relationships: Becoming an Ally

2011-11-15T01:29:00.000-08:00

“and if we do act, in however small way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvellous victory.” Howard zinn

Flipping through my journal from the past few months I am called to write and share the synchronized teachings that take root in the soil around me. A theme surfacing regularly these days is cross cultural relationship building. Over the past two years I have developed deep rooted friendships with First Nation Elders, children, and youths. I continue to learn transformative life lessons through sharing ceremonies, attending gatherings, grieving deaths and violent histories, celebrating births and weddings, listening to teachings of Mother Earth, attending and dialoguing in alternative, safe, diverse spaces, and becoming an ally.

The Peace and Friendship Gathering at the Tatamagouche Centre is one of those alternative, safe, relationship building spaces. This year we sat in council with the sacred fire for four days, guided by Wampanoag Elder and friend gkisedtanamoogk . We spoke of the devastating effects of national and global structures and policies that continue to steal, destroy, and plunder the very land needed to nourish, protect and sustain all living species and generations to come. Indigenous people globally know all too well the violent destruction of culture, of human dignity and life from a history of unjust and abusive colonial structures that continue to play havoc on so many lives in the name of thriving economies and development.

We spoke of the devastating effects of hydraulic fracking here in Canada ( read “stop fracking in Nova Scotia” or check out websites www.ecologyaction.ca or www.sierraclub.ca/en/we-are-fracking-out) and the Canadian mining companies like Goldcorp who are responsible for atrocious human right violations in countries like Guatemala; and who we Canadians support through pension plans like Canadian Pension that heavily invest in Goldcorp. (for more information about Goldcorp and the Marlin mine, visit the blog of the Coalition Against Unjust Mining in Guatemala at www.goldcorpoutofguatemala.com ).

The dialogue moved around the fire as we traveled by the guidance of a talking stick and spoke of our potential to build relationships and alliances between First Nations and non-native people. We discussed the challenges of finding the courage to not cooperate with the abusive political, economic, environmental and societal structures in our countries and world today. We looked at success stories guided by Sherri Pictou, a Mi’Kmaq Elder from Bear River who spoke passionately about finding meaning from the present and past stories that defy the powers that be. She talked of building alliances and developing non-violent ways of resisting oppressive structures. Sherri spoke of the Marshall Jr. case in Bear River and native and non-native people coming together to defend their rights as fisherfolk, who both have been affected drastically by the privatization and commodification of their very livelihoods ( see www.inthesameboat.net).

The circle moved into discussions about love and peace and how these words have become superficial and shallow in our world today. We discussed how to take back the power and meaning of these words and make them an essential part of our lives, our schools, our communities, our workplaces? How do we make peace a way of life? How do we make love the basis for justice? How do we translate love and peace into justice structures? How do we find our way back to love and its redemptive qualities? Can we begin to see love as a political path? Can we listen and truly understand what it means to live and speak from the heart as Martin Luther King taught us? How can being conscious of the relationships we build all around us lead us back to truly understanding what it means to take care of one another and the earth that sustains us? Can building cross cultural, cross racial, cross gender, cross class, cross sexual, cross able and disabled, bring us closer to this understanding of peace, justice, love?

I can only write and speak from my own heart and what I witness daily from my own experiences. This being the power and transformative potential of relationship building through creating, meeting, and dialoguing with one another in alternative safe spaces where people’s voices are heard, respected and integrated into social, political, environmental, personal, and spiritual activism!

I believe the Occupied Space Movement today spreading like wild flowers throughout the world is a movement that is doing just that, allowing people of many diverse backgrounds to come together and share a space of wanting, planning and moving towards just and equitable changes in our world today.

To Understand Others We Need to Connect with Ourselves

2011-10-25T02:13:00.000-07:00

The past three months have been filled with opportunities of peace, transformation, and teachings that speak to the heart and move to the outer worlds that surround me. In my mind I make note of potential blog pieces, but then time swallows me whole leaving little time to organize reflections and create written images. However today is the day I commit to writing and sharing the vibe, finding those spaces in between getting ready for One Woman show in Toronto (stay tuned), being a temporary single mom and organizing for journey back to Grenada! I commit to writing and sharing the past powerful experiences that continue to evolve into a larger commitment of personal and social change.

Last month I took part in an Open Space forum at the Coady International Institute. One of the small discussion groups was led by a catholic priest and community activist from India and a community educator and activist from Papua New Guinea. Their topic was on gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender rights. I was moved deeply by Father’s open hearted and brave introduction to this discussion; “As community workers and agents of change, we need to look deep within ourselves to see where our own oppressive attitudes, and assumptions come from and explore how we can work to transform these attitudes in order to open our hearts and minds to the whole of human race regardless of sexuality, race, class, disability, religion. If we call ourselves human rights activists then how can we disassociate ourselves from any part of the human race that does not fit in with our world view” He talked about the GLBT groups as a vulnerable group in our global society and that we needed to continue breaking down the walls of personal and societal discrimination. Father’s courageous words felt like an extended burst of rain pouring down on a parched wilted garden.

My mind moves to the Being Brave: Transforming our World retreat I took part in early August and how Father’s words were a clear example of finding the courage to examine one’s own mind and committing oneself to breaking down cultural, societal, religious conditioning and exploring one’s own interior landscape as a means to social transformation. How can we recognize our own fears, our own anger and sadness, our pre-conceived notions of ourselves and others? How can we slow down long enough to really see what is going on in our minds and thus what is going on outside our minds? How can we feel other people’s sadness, anger, jealousy, greed, hate, if we can’t feel our own? And why can’t we feel our own?

Pema Chodron says the foundation of empathy is to be able to see our own confusion, addictions, longings, aggressions, pre-judgments, self-doubts. She says getting to know our own humanity allows us to work with one another in a less judgmental way, allows us to see the full human complexity within ourselves and others, “a kinder heart towards human fraility.” Pema also made clear that none of this works If you don’t like yourself. She says we need to make friends with ourselves. If one is unable to recognize the inherent strength and goodness in oneself then difficult to see this in others.

The teachings of the young catholic priest and the Being Brave Retreat relate to transforming society, sharing teachings that could bring about an era of courage in which people could experience their goodness and extend themselves to others. May these teachings take root in you and others leading to the possibility of a future full of hope, equality, equity, strength and goodness. .

i give thanks and praise

2011-10-12T16:36:00.001-07:00

i give thanks and praise to Grandfather sun for sharing his warmth and generosity over the holiday weekend;

i give thanks and praise to fire soft colours begging us to pay attention, to gather, to walk, to dance, to sing underneath a canopy of sun drenched delicacies of orange green yellow red mauve and purples;

i give thanks and praise to global family from Tanzania, Uganda, Ethiopia, Ghana, Nepal, Zambia, Sierra Leone, Grenada, Russia, Germany and Canada celebrating life, community, holidays of thanks ;

i give thanks and praise to Cameron Lake where Maya and i draped ourselves across the warmth of the water’s dock talking, laughing, documenting our thankfulness to Mother Earth;

i give thanks and praise to this path of generosity, this path of peace that runs deep in all of us begging us to pay attention, to pay attention…..

May Peace be a way of Life.

2011-09-21T02:22:00.001-07:00

Blessings on international peace day!

May peace be a way of life.

Being Brave: Transforming Our World

2011-08-22T06:57:00.001-07:00

Being Brave, Transforming our World

August came and went in a flurry, and in her wake spirited moments like snow on the first day of spring. They now sit cross legged in my mind waiting to be held in offering.

In early August I took part in a five day Sangha Retreat guided by Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, Acharya Pema Chodron and Acharya Adam Lobel. As the theme of the retreat, “Being Brave, Transforming our World” unfolded so did the notion of self-courage and confidence and in its wake the notion of changing our world by how we live our lives today, now.

How do i begin to write about this transformative week? How do i convey the teachings, the insights, the self-revelations and self-doubts? How do I take my seat in the middle of this incredibly messy destructive world and still witness and give praise to the miracles of life? How do I stay present to both? How do I acknowledge and breathe in the violence and suffering and still maintain a belief in the inherent goodness and strength of humanity? How do I use the gifts bestowed on me by the luck of a privileged birth to fight the injustices of this unjust world, to seek my role as a warrior of transformation both in my own small self and the larger world? These questions become the path to opening my mind and heart, exploring my humanness and humanity.

I offer reflections plucked from my journal from the Sangha Retreat and shaped into blog pieces beginning with the Shambhala teachings on the courageous notion that all human beings are inherently good, strong, worthy; this notion of believing in ourselves and believing in the good ness and strength of humanity.

The first day of Sakyong’s teachings pinned me to the cushion as I imagined a world, a society, a culture where we the inhabitants are made to believe from birth that we are good, strong, worthy people; where contemplating our basic goodness is natural and normal. I imagined an education system that offered our children a confidence based foundation; teaching our kids about their inner strength, goodness, power and ability to honour their own needs and also to honour and experience the needs of others and the needs of Mother Earth. I imagined a world, society, culture abundant with safe positive nurturing spaces where kids are not bombarded by self-defeating messages telling them over and over that they are not beautiful, smart, good or happy enough.

Ani Pema Chodron gave a beautiful example of a child’s first teachings of basic goodness through sharing the story of a friend who at the age of 7 arrived home from school frustrated and bewildered at the kids who bullied in the school yard. After acknowledging her daughters feelings, the mother said to her, “we are all good people but some of us are just very confused.” This struck me deeply as I take more time to understand people’s stories and the many difficult and complicated historical, social, economic, political, emotional, psychological layers we all come from, some of us dealing with many more layers than others and many more obstacles to overcoming those layers.

On the third day of the retreat a brave Australian woman stood up to share her deep grief and suffering after witnessing some of her coworkers, friends and local afghan children blown up by a suicide bomber in Afghanistan. She started by saying she was sure the man who blew himself up didn’t mean to kill these people. I remember the whole room sinking into a long and deep silence, many of us weeping not only for this woman’s pain at not being able to let go of the horrid images but also for her ability to feel compassion for the man responsible for the destruction. The Sakyong led us in a compassion meditation and as a community of 900 people we breathed long and full all those who are deeply affected by war, by fear, confusion and chaos.

However breathing in and being present to the pain of this world and ourselves is not enough. As Adam Lobel says, “There is a danger in finding inner peace but then letting everything else around us go to pieces; being completely calm while the ship is going down”. The Sakyong said the basis of social transformation is how we feel about ourselves, how we feel about humanity, that this notion of self-worth is pivotal to the way our day and world unfolds. If we as individuals and as part of a global community do not feel worthy then we cease to be of use. How do we transmit the notion of human worthiness within ourselves and others? The Shambhala perspective believes we already have enough compassion, goodness, wisdom to make a difference, to transform society and that there are countless examples of empathy, love and compassion to learn from.

How do we create in our own minds this notion of bravery, this notion of possibility? How can we create environments of possibility in these hard times? How can we be fully present to the sadness and suffering of this world and not shut down but become active agents of change? What is the next step?

I look forward to writing part two of these reflections, teachings, and numerous questions in my next blog entry. Ani Pema Chodron has been a gentle warrior force and source in my life over the years and I look forward to sharing more of her teachings along with Adam Lobel and the Sakyong; teachings that bring me closer to this notion of bravery and transforming the world.

how do you define family?

2011-07-20T03:26:00.000-07:00

“The greatest gift we bear is our ability to grow in relationship with others”
Margaret Wheatly

How do you define family?
Does it include the Ryan-Valella bloodlines reaching far and wide into my very being inspiring dreams of travel to southern Italy in search of my maternal grandparents’ small mountainous village in the province of Calabria or journeying north to the island of Ireland to visit my father’s ancestral grounds in the Wexford County; journeying to reacquaint myself with the ancestors of our blood clans?

Does it also include the wide variety of friends i proudly call ‘Farm Family’ who embrace our yearly visits with open arms, beds to nest in, land to eat from, animals to tend to, memories to cultivate, tears of joy and sorrow to share and learn from?

Does it also include the gathering of new friends who welcome us into their lives through sacred fires, through ceremonies of peace and healing, of blessings and renewl; through the sharing of painful histories that include my ancestors and their intimate part of unforgivable pain; through developing new paths, new understandings to peace and friendship?

Does it also include friends who insist you come for dinner while passing through their small fishing village to find long extended hugs and people you know immediately even if you are meeting them for the first time, the priest from Kerala, India, the friends of friend’s daughters who we picked up hitchhiking on the side of the road; to the of sharing food, gathering stories, exchanging addresses?

Does it also include the Village kids that come and go from our home looking for simple connections of love and praise, for mangoes and grapefruits, for a piece of food from our daily pot, for paper and crayons, for cold glasses of water, for the basic ingredients of love, presence?

Does it also include village brethren sitting at the edge of get-togethers talking their talk, sharing their laughter; or sistren arms draped around one another waiting for the next piece of advice, suggestion, soft offerings of well thought out opinions?

Does it also include best friends from the beginning of childhood who throughout the years simply know your story, deeply entwined even with the passing of time and long stretches of distance, the sharing of daughters; a simple intuitive act of mothering one another’s tribe.

Does it also include definitions of family growing, expanding, blending, weaving into a kaleidoscope of meaning; embracing the word family in all its unique forms, in all its funny magnificent shapes spilling over into many worlds knowing we are all one world, one family.

How do you define family?

workings of privilege and power

2011-07-10T04:46:00.000-07:00

Kayla and her brother Amry

News finally arrived from the Canadian High Commission, Kayla’s temporary visitor’s visa was denied. Kayla will not be travelling to Canada at the end of the month as planned. Kayla will not be taking part in the cultural immersion program that we have been planning for the past couple months. I have learned once again not to assume anything. I assumed Kayla would get her temporary visa. This assumption was based on my own naïve beliefs that a youth from another country seeking educational and leadership opportunities would be welcomed into Canada just as last year’s applicant, Alison Haris’ was welcomed.

Kayla’s visa application did not meet the requirements to satisfy the Canadian High Commission’s reviewing process. The application did not meet the requirements needed to ensure the minds of whoever reviewed Kayla’s application that she would not overstay her welcome in Canada. This conclusion was based on the following reasons: 1) lack of travel history; 2) purpose of visit; 3)current employment situation of Kayla’s parents; and 4) Kayla’s parents’ current personal assets and financial status.

The irony of the first reason, kayla’s lack of travel experience, had me sucking my teeth in one long stoops (for non-Caribbean readers a stoops is triggered when one is annoyed, impatient, and in disbelief over the sheer stupidity of a comment, situation, and or experience). I believe the irony here speaks for itself. The second reason had me puzzled and then angry. I could not understand how a cultural immersion program was not a sufficient enough purpose for a Grenadian youth to embark on a trip to Canada. A program that involves youth empowering activities such as taking part in a social justice youth camp, working on an organic farm and engaging in other educational activities that seek to assist youths in working for personal and social change. The third and fourth reasons, Kayla’s parent’s current employment situation, personal assets and financial status also caused me great confusion (am I just not getting it!) followed by another long stoops. As a friend put it simply and bluntly, “I guess we do not want ‘poor’ people’s children visiting our country.” In conclusion the Reviewer states if applicant decides to reapply she should do so only if your situation has changed significantly. More confusion and anger arose and I was left wondering how Kayla’s situation was going to change significantly in order to prove to the “Powers that Be” she is worthy enough to visit Canada.

I assumed Kayla’s visa application would be approved. I based these assumptions on last year’s acceptance of Alison Harris’ application, another Grenadian youth who comes from a similar background as Kayla. I based these assumptions on the same reasons that were used to deny Kayla’s right to travel. My assumptions were faulty. Perhaps if I did not assume anything I would have built a stronger application package for Kayla that may have included further references that proved Kayla’s ‘significant’ worthiness to travel. Through this experience i learn not only the danger of making assumptions but also the workings of privilege and power that deny many of our global brothers and sisters the right to travel and experience other parts of the world.

Teachings of the Drum

2011-06-29T02:33:00.000-07:00

Every Tuesday evening, I jump into the curry coloured jeep and head North up the island. I journey to the community of Tivoli, St. Andrew’s, home of Grenada’s most popular cultural drum troupe, the Tivoli Drummers. I head up the island to take part in drum lessons with a group of young boys from the community. Graciously I was invited by friend, founder and leader of Tivoli Drummers, Livingston Krumah Nelson after expressing my desire to learn to beat the djembe I had recently acquired.

Every Tuesday evening I drive North through the winding mango shaded roads where kids make their way home from school; white cotton shirts and school coloured skirts and pants bop in between the lush dripping greens and blues of an afternoon tropical heat.

Every Tuesday evening, my presence on the road weekly provokes peaceful callings, “White Rasta”, “Tuesday Sistren!” “Sistah on the move again."

Every Tuesday evening the boys and I gather to form a large circle underneath one of the Tivoli Drummer’s homes, each of us cradling our djembe between our legs anxious to begin the teachings. We wait for our teacher to give us our first beat. We move from the basic beats to more complicated rhythms that are encouraged and shared by whoever is sitting to the right or left.

Every Tuesday evening the teachings are ripe with learning and I begin to understand how they are so much more than the beats of African and Caribbean Soca, but extend into teachings of community and unity; of relationships and the art of listening; teachings about respecting oneself and others.

Every Tuesday evening our teacher emphasises the importance of listening, not just with our ears but with our hearts and bodies. He makes us place our hands on the head of our drums, eyes closed, and listen to the beats he creates with his heart and spirit.

Every Tuesday evening he talks of respect, being in relationship with our drums. He compares this to the way the boys will treat their future girlfriends. This creates great explosions of laughter. Our Teacher explains, “you must not treat your drum roughly but take your time. Be gentle and soft, showing love and respect."

Every Tuesday evening, I inhale the teachings of the drum, the teachings that inspire and empower these young boys to be more then what they see on the block, on tv, in the school yard; to be more just like their teacher, a man and friend from their very own community, a man that radiates respect, a man they can be proud of as they witness his success as a community man, a well- known drummer and teacher.

Every Tuesday evening I recognize the needs of our young Grenadian boys and our young boys across the globe; the need for strong male mentors; role modals who take the time to share the teachings of love, respect, and being in relationship with one another.

i am a super moon

2011-06-25T13:36:00.001-07:00

On many occasions I am asked where the titles of my paintings come from. Some say they love the titles just as much as the visual and on many occasions the title sells the painting!
Where do the titles come from? My love of words, of writing, of music, of poetic conscious lyrics spilling forth from songwriters, poets, writers, my own play of words and spirit.
“What comes first,” I am asked often, “the title or the painting?” And the answer varies with each painting.

“i am a super moon” came first. I was introduced recently to a beautiful singer, song writer Marie Daulne, who is the founder of the musical group Zap Mama. I immediately fell in love with voice, rhythms, lyrics… I found myself immersed in the music for the day while diving into my own super moon vision on canvas. Feminine moon images continue to fill up my mind as I sketch Grandmother Moon Women in honour of our Elders, our Ancestors, our Guiding Spirits!

In the Tower of Love

Leonard Cohen also became a recent inspiration for the painting above. Last month I found the long lost cd, The Best of Leonard Cohen. I was thrilled to hear Cohen's honey drenched voice flowing into the room. I travelled to my past and bathed in memories of those turbulent exciting emotional years when desire and love weaved its magical powers. Cohen’s Tower of Song became “In the Tower of Love” as I painted my own vision of towering trees and love woven.

Both paintings will be hanging at a One Woman show early December in Toronto, Ontario!
Stay tuned for more details.

How Do We Stop the Seduction of our Young Women and Girls?

2011-06-15T08:11:00.000-07:00

My mind moves incessantly these days to the young Grenadian women in my life. I can’t help wonder about the obstacles they must battle, obstacles that compete with the changing tides of their bodies, minds, emotions and spirits. Kayla, my 16 year old god(dess) daughter has been living with us for the past month and so perhaps witnessing daily the battles she faces while manoeuvring through the seductive advances of older men and a highly sexualized environment that rewards her for buying into the seduction with a false sense of power and confidence, has me writing and searching for answers.

I recall four years ago when Kayla and I were walking down the road on our way to Grenville. I remember the sexual glares and stares of older men moving up and down Kayla, throwing out comments like, “How you so sweet girl?” “Whats up sexy girl?” “You move nice girl want some company?”
“She’s 12 years old!” I hear myself saying calmly at first and then loudly, boldly, angrily, “She’s 12 years old! How would you like it if your 12 year old daughter, sister, cousin were being stared at and called the way you are staring and calling this 12 year old girl?” Kayla is laughing loving the attention, loving being noticed, talked about; her existence affirmed in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous way but nevertheless affirmed, acknowledged, seen.

I become a female wolf scanning the horizon, head tucked between paws, eyes surfacing, glaring out into the distance ready to pounce, to protect my young from the threats, from a scandalous scene of seduction that seems wrong, unnatural, abusive, violent. So why is it happening? Why is it happening all over the world? Why are our young women and girls being seduced by older men?

I hear the old conditioned, habitual patterns of violence and oppression falling from Kayla’s Mother’s mouth ‘She rude too much. You feel she easy Maureen. She only have men on her mind. I give up. She mind no good!” I hear this often as a way of defining our teenage girls here in Grenada, those girls who reach out and respond and then eventually react to these same men and find themselves either sexually involved or sexually abused.

Why are some of our girls accepting, falling for the seduction? Is it about economics, keeping up with style, survival? A promise of a new shoe, a bag of corn curls, a piece of kentucy fried chicken, a cell phone, free bus ride? Or is it to satisfy more hidden needs like the human need to be loved, seen, heard, affirmed, acknowledged? Is it a need to regain a sense of power even if it is a false sense power? Or is it the absence of positive male role models, or absent fathers, or fathers who don’t know how to love their girl children when they begin to mature into their sexual adolescent selves? Is it the mixed messages they receive daily from television, radio, music, videos, at home and in the streets? Or Is it the lack of social programs for communities, families, youths, single mothers, boys and men at risk?

And why are some older men seducing our young women and girls? Is it because they are afraid of strong independent women their own age? Is it because it makes them feel powerful? Is it the lack of positive male role models, or fathers who are absent or don’t claim them from birth? Is it because they have very little self-esteem, self-worth and therefore seduce someone less powerful, naïve, innocent? Is it because as a global society we teach our boys to be strong, powerful, emotionally passive and therefor deny them their soft, weak, vulnerable sides?

I ask these questions as a means of broadening my mind around issues that continue to create confusion, negativity and dislike for the men I catch watching, dissing, tempting Kayla and other young women. I ask these questions to understand Kayla’s slight smile towards the attention, the way she moves her body, the clothes she wears that beg the world to look at her, notice her. I ask these questions because I am tired of hearing our young women being called rude, bad minded, disrespectful while the problem runs much deeper than blaming and labelling. I ask these questions so that we can begin dialoguing with one another in a quest for understanding, transforming, protecting and healing ourselves, our youth, our families, our communities, our schools our country, our world.

The Privilege to Tour

2011-05-31T16:37:00.000-07:00

For every native of every place is a potential tourist, and every tourist is a native of somewhere. Every native everywhere lives a life of overwhelming and crushing banality and boredom and desperation and depression, and every deed, good and bad, is an attempt to forget this. Every native would like to find a way out, every native would like a rest, every native would like a tour. But some natives-most natives in the world-cannot go anywhere. They are too poor. They are too poor to go anywhere. They are too poor to escape the reality of their lives; and they are too poor to live properly in the place where they live, which is the very place you, the tourist, want to go—so when the natives see you, the tourist, they envy you, they envy your ability to leave your own banality and boredom, they envy your ability to turn their own banality and boredom into a source of pleasure for yourself.

Jamaica Kincaid

Kincaid’s words remind me of my own privilege to tour, to be a tourist, to leave the routine of my every day and dive into the many opportunities that traveling offers. I am also reminded of friends and family who also travel easily to various parts of the world and either relax and escape their homelands, their jobs, their everyday or those who travel to learn and transform through seeing and experiencing other cultures, religions, ways of life that are not familiar. Travelling is an opportunity to experience the world as a classroom, as a means of expanding consciousness and transforming perspective. For the past 10 years I have coordinated and facilitated one of these world classrooms through the service learning program at St. Francis Xavier University. Students come to Grenada for their reading week and embark on a personal journey of leaning and unlearning new and old ways of seeing the world. One of the topics that surfaces each year is privilege; how privilege works and what are the factors that contribute to the various privileges that we hold. The opportunity to travel, to be a tourist, to tour, to learn, to escape one’s own life is examined in the context of this privilege.

Last year with the help of many friends and family we raised funds needed to sponsor one of the village youths, Alison Harris to take part in a privilege many of us take for granted. We raised enough money so Alison could take a tour to Canada, to Nova Scotia, to Antigonish, Halifax, and Tatamagouche and take part in various educational and leadership programs. Another funding initiative is on its way, this time to raise funds for Kayla George, a Grenadian youth who is also interested in travelling to Canada and taking part in various youth empowerment and leadership programs such as the Tatamagouche Social Justice Youth Camp and Peaceful Schools International Camp. Kayla has been a big part of my life for the past 16years. I was not only honoured to welcome her into the world the day she was born 16 years ago but I was also honoured with the role of god mother. Kayla’s story is a complicated one, one that deserves a story all to itself and not just a paragraph in this blog. Her story reflects the difficulties many young Grenadian women who come from a cyclical environment of violence poverty and oppression go through. Her story now has a potential chapter in travel, a chapter in finding new paths, a chapter in dealing with old story lines with new tools, a chapter in simply taking a rest from a hard life for a few weeks, a chapter in self-perseverance.

We need to raise a total of $2000 cnd which will cover camp fees and flight expenses for Kayla. Kayla is also working on a fund raising plan and hopes to approach the Grenada Rotary Club and her church for donations. She is also going to make and sell damsel stew and tamarind balls at the Village Community Centre.

Any amount you would like to donate is a blessing! Feel free to ask your family and friends for small contribution as well! Colleen Cameron is Kayla’s’s official Nova Scotian Host and Donations Coordinator. If you are in Canada or outside of Canada you can send check or money order to Colleen Cameron 61 Brookland Street, Antigonish, Nova Scotia, B2G 1V8. Please make check payable to Maureen Ryan-St. Clair or Maureen St. Clair. And if you are in Grenada please send check or monetary donations to Maureen St.Clair Harford Village, St. Andrew’s, Grenada, West Indies or give me a call 473 442 8296.( i will be on the island until july 3rd,2011)

Any means of spreading this blog posting would be appreciated. I am not very up on social networking scene but I am told face book is a reliable way of spreading messages. Please post on your facebook!

I would like to give a big shout out to past St. FX service learning participants who rallied together and raised majority of funds for Alison’s trip! Also not forgetting friends and family who also contributed their time, money and overall love to support this endeavour!

Deep gratitude and appreciation to all of you! I am honored to once again witness the crossing of bridges, the meeting and sharing of one people, one family, one love!!!

Maureen

2011-05-27T03:43:00.000-07:00

Finding Paths to Community

As someone from the outside, someone from European descent, someone who wears similar skin color to a white stereotype that often says here in the Village, “We need white people like Maureen to start village programs” or “If Maureen not here my child not going in to no program organized by village people,” I find it challenging to be an active participant in the planning, coordinating and facilitating village community programs. Internalized attitudes from generations of colonialism, oppression and slavery continue to enslave many minds and attitudes; attitudes that reinforce internalized and externalized racism and create distrust and hate amongst people making it difficult to see the wealth of expertise and resources that come from one’s neighbors, family and community.

This year I take to the sidelines and become a supportive role so people in the village can see their colonial way of thinking is faulty and inconsistent. I search for ways I can use my passion for community peace education and writing in a more supportive role. I decide to write articles for local newspapers highlighting the strengths, assets, natural and human resources the Village possesses and that are now unfolding into various community activities, events and programs today. This I share with you:

Human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places - and there are so many- where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
Zinn, 2004

Inspired by the passage above I reflect and write about the community of Harford Village, St. Andrew’s; a community I have lived for the past 17 years. I am inspired to write about the positive attitudes and actions that have transformed into community events, programs, and activities over the past couple years; proving once again that we are a community with many strengths, assets and resources.

Harford Village has a history of community togetherness that is sometimes lost in the confusion of negativity and chaos. I believe that once a community is able to focus on positive examples of community spirit and action, the negative will take less precedence. Writing this article is an opportunity to share with the rest of the nation the positive activities that make our Village strong and unique.

For the past few years the community has hosted a series of “Peace Through Art” programs for the youth and children of the Village. These programs focus on providing safe and youth-friendly environments for kids to learn and practice various peace building skills. The kids focus on finding peace within themselves, families, schools and community. They use a variety of creative expressions such as poetry, dance, drama, and visual arts to explore, identify, and exercise peace. The most recent program was a one week Easter Program coordinated and facilitated by Alice Noel and Stephanie George. For the past two summers Harford Village has also hosted a July Peace Camp led by various youth leaders like Alison Harris, Alice Noel, Sheldon Mitchel and Appalonia Whiteman.

Recently the youth leaders, inspired by Loyd Bartholomew, started an African dance and drum group. The group meets every Monday and Thursday to practice various dances to the beat of African drum. The group is called the Harford Village Youth Achievers and they have already performed for a visiting group of Canadian students and for a community information session with the Grenada Fire and Police Department. Presently the Village Youth Group is exploring various ways to raise funds in order to purchase dance uniforms and visit other parts of the island to perform. Some of the fund raising initiatives include making and selling popcorn on Sunday evenings, organizing community movie nights and planning a community night of sharing talents.

For Mother’s Day this year a group of Village men led by Mr. Leslie Felix organized, with the help of many Village mothers, a Mother’s Day breakfast and evening fete. Mothers were treated to a breakfast of fried breadfruit, coconut bakes, salt fish, calalloo bakes, coffee and coco tea. In the evening a DJ played vintage reggae while a pot of fish broth stewed on the fire. The community was alive for the whole day and evening celebrating and honoring the Mothers of the Village and the Nation!

Mr. Joseph Pierre recently shared his passion for hiking by taking village youths to various natural sights on the island like the Boiling Spring in St. Andrew, Mt. St. Catherine and Mt. Qua Qua.

The Harford Village Community Centre was severely damaged by Hurricane Ivan and Emily and was re built by Community members. The Centre stands today as a vital asset to the community; this is evident by the many activities the Centre has housed over the past few years, activities such as church events, youth programs, blockos, bingos, and cultural celebrations.

Working within the field of community development over the past ten years, I continue to realize how essential it is for communities to highlight the strengths, assets, and resources they possess first and foremost. By doing so people are inspired, encouraged, and empowered to move forward; mobilizing and creating more opportunities for community development and success.

a year, a month, a day to live

2011-05-20T03:27:00.000-07:00

How Would you Live Your Life Differently?

When Theo was a young boy he arrived home from school one afternoon to find his mom in her usual afternoon spot, lying underneath the house catching a few moments of cool shade and rest. For some reason, maybe by the heaviness of her body or the expression on her face, Theo filled with a deep fear and for a fraction of a moment he thought his mother was dead.
He shouted, “Mommy mommy mommy!”
Ms. Mado jumped up and flung open her eyes, “So What happen to you!!”
“Mommy I thought you was dead!”
“Well if I dead I dead! Leave me dead. You trying to frighten me back to life?”
This is the story that floats most vividly in my head from the many childhood memories Theo has shared over the years. Ms. Mado’s words struck me like an unexpected slap on the back from behind and within her words I heard the inevitable, we are all going to die eventually, “so if I dead I dead!”

For the past few weeks I have moved in and out of these thoughts of dying, feeling waves of fear wash over me. Thinking daily about two dear friends in Antigonish and Toronto; trying to feel what they must be feeling as they presently experience sudden tragedy in their lives. One friend losing her mom and grandmother in a car accident last month and another friend sitting by her mother’s side in palliative care at the Toronto General Hospital.

I sink eyes wide open into memories of death of friends and family both here in Grenada and Canada; those who died suddenly way too young, others who died slowly of unidentified illnesses, those who took their own lives and others who died natural deaths in their ripe old age. My thoughts weave in and out of recent memories of almost losing Maya in a car crash four years ago when she was pitched from the back of the jeep and pinned down by the weight of a fallen door. I reflect on my own childhood memories when my dad was almost killed twice in two different car accidents and spending my 15th year in the back and neck ward at the Ottawa General Hospital.

It was after the death of my friend Oken, who was also killed instantly in a car crash one early morning while he was hitching a ride to school in St. George’s, that I came across the book “One year to Live” by Stephen Levine. Today the book is a prominent figure on my writing desk, leaning against the window sill, inviting me to its pages, inviting me to breathe in and reflect on my own life, reflect on whether I am living here and now to the fullest as though this year, this month, this day were my last. Most of us go through great lengths to ignore, deny, laugh away the fact that we are going to die, but as Levine shares, “preparing for death is one of the most rational and rewarding acts of a lifetime. It is an exercise that gives us the opportunity to deal with unfinished business and enter into a new and vibrant relationship with life.”

As I write this blog I wonder if I am denying my two friends, myself, and all of us who have lost someone or are losing someone to death; am I denying the inevitable emotions of grief, pain, suffering. Perhaps two separate blogs should be written; one embracing our lives here and now knowing death sits on all our shoulders and another embracing the inevitable feelings of fear, impenetrable sadness, loss of will to live, soul crushing pain that also sits heavy on all our shoulders over the loss of loved ones. Or is the embrace the same embrace; learning to wrap our arms around hope and despair and breathing deep. My friend Natalie who is living presently by her mother’s side began a blog recently called a very un-fun waiting game ( www. nattythinks.blogspot.com ). Nat shares her raw, vulnerable open heart and her writing is a testimony to embracing fear fearlessly.

I recall the wise words of a close friend who told me once that her fear wasn’t so much about dying but about whether she was living her life to the fullest.

If you had one more year, month, or day to live how would You live your life differently?

Sharing the Vibe

2011-05-10T13:18:00.000-07:00

Sharing the Vibe

Recently the Village Dance Group began experiencing small waves of conflict. The waves soon turned into larger waves, waves that threatened to wash up the group into fragments and possibly break up the beautiful rhythms the girls worked so hard to manifest. At first it looked quite simple two girls fighting because one said something mean about the other but soon this seemingly simple conflict began to unfold its complicated pedals.

Being in the middle of community and being an outsider has its ups and downs. One of the ups is the ability to listen without being entangled in the history of families intimately connected through generations back. I can be in the middle of various conversations and practice active listening without getting entangled in the history of the community and the habitual stories that can hinder one’s ability to suspend judgement and listen without putting up walls of self-preservation and protection.

When I first heard of the conflict between the two girls I must admit, my first thought was, “aha an opportunity to practice my Dialogue for Peace Skills (DPC) skills!” I took the next few days in community listening actively and hearing the different conversations related to the conflict. I began to hear the intricate layers reaching deep into stories of obeah, (obeah is one of the terms used in Grenada and in the Village to refer to witchcraft), racial discrimination amongst cousins, leaders unconsciously favouring some kids while harshly judging others, and old grievances between families of the kids. Once again I realized that conflict is rarely simple and the layers can spread like a candle flame creeping up the side of weather worn curtains.

DPC is about creating safe spaces so that peaceful dialogue can take place. The session began with creative team building exercises. We drew a collage of our hands and names and then partnered up to share and discuss the different names the kids were known by. The kids then lined themselves up according to birthdates without speaking, and we played the game “all my neighbours” that helped the group focus on similarities we all share. Afterwards we created community guidelines. The kids were active agents in creating a positive, playful, and safe environment.

Once a safe space was created we began identifying various emotions that people experience daily. The activity was challenging for both the kids and leaders. I heard some of the kids proclaim, “nah man! Me, I don’t get angry.” “Ah sad, nah man, I never feel sad”. I realized that expressing emotions and feelings is a foreign language to many of us. The kids were also fearful of becoming vulnerable through sharing what made them sad or angry. Many of the Village kids can’t afford to be soft and vulnerable due to the hard lives that surround them and the survival mode that engulfs them. I learned more clearly that identifying and expressing emotions is a privilege that many of these kids do not have.

In the last part of the evening we looked at anger specifically. The kids broke up into small groups and discussed what made people angry and how people reacted to anger. The Community Centre was buzzing with dialogue. While settling back into the circle, one of the kids talked about hunger and how being hungry can make someone angry. We talked about kids going to school hungry and I asked whether this could cause fights to break out in the school yard. A connection was made immediately and one of the kids said “ya I can get real angry and want to fight when my belly grumbling!” One of the older kids talked about physical and emotional abuse at home and the violence witnessed often in the community and at schools as reasons why many kids are angry. The discussion then moved to how kids react to anger. A lively discussion on gossip and talking negatively about friends and family sparked. The kids were able to make the connection between negative reactions to anger and how this can create conflict between family, friends, and neighbours. Through role playing, kids witnessed and acted out the many different directions conflict can move, effecting not only friendships and family relations but also community groups and programs.

When I first expressed interest in facilitating a conflict resolution session the youth leaders were excited. However, they admitted, their expectations and hope was for a court scene where the two parties in conflict would get a chance to either win or lose their case. They did not expect the session to be on conflict in general and surprised to hear and understand how conflict is a natural part of everyone’s lives. They also expressed surprise at their own capacity to create conflict and deal with conflict both within and outside themselves.

At the beginning of the session, some of the girls walked into the Community Centre stone faced and angry, ready to do battle defending their positions. They did not expect that by the end of the session everyone would come out a winner and the hardened faces and attitudes worn at the beginning of the session would soften into peace signs and smiles, arms draped around one another, and laughter freely flowing. (check out the picture above for proof!)

Two Worlds Straddling

2011-05-02T17:40:00.000-07:00

Two Worlds Straddling
I am walking down to the beach to run lengths along the seashore. I am swimming in my head with music in my ears. I am listening to the beats of Jah Cure and Jimmy Cliff while thinking, planning Canadian journey. I am in Canada thinking about house sitting for a friend while he is in Spain, thinking how much a flight from Canada to Italy would cost, thinking about commissions to be sketched and then stretched, thinking and then sending the warmth of the sun to two friends; one whose mother was recently killed in a car accident and another whose mother is in palliative care. I am in my head thinking about new friends in PEI and Cape Breton and planning future visits, thinking about Eryka Badu and swaying to her sensual soul rhythms at the Ottawa Blues Festival in July.

From a hazy distance I hear in a loud cheery voice “What’s up Cuz?” and there stooped over in a tattered skirt gathering sea moss along the sea shore is Theo’s elderly cousin. A toothless smile smothers her face as she unbends her crooked body. I walk over and click off my ipod.
So where’s my girl?” She asks.
“Oh Maya is home”, I say, “still sleeping.”

I am no longer in Canada. I am no longer in my head, in my thoughts. I am now firmly planted on the beach sharing space with my elderly Grenadian Cuz.

“So I hear Theo’s brother lose his foot. I hear he lose his foot to sugar (diabetes)”

“Yes”, I say, “the foot was infected bad.”

“I battling with sugar too. But you don’t need sugar to lose your foot do you?. Infection easy to catch here. Did you hear about the other cousin whose daughter die the other day?”

“Yes I hear that too.”

Cuz continues, “And I also hear about Uncle. I hear he chop his friend in the shop. I hear the man want a big price to settle out of court. Is it true he almost split his head with the cutlass and two hands broken?”

“Yes all that is true”

“And did you hear of my other relative down on the dump. She the only one who won’t leave. I hear they go bring the bull dozer in and bull doze her house. All the others have been relocated. She say she not moving!”

“Now that I didn’t hear.” I say

We chat for a while longer and I am oceans away from Canada. My thoughts, my meandering thoughts of the future are swatted away like a noisy house fly determined to land. My two feet are firmly planted to White Sand Beach in Grenville, St. Andrew’s, Grenada. However white sand beach is not white sand this morning it is covered with an array of garbage from the May Day fete the night before and what the tide brought in early morning; old bottles and wrappers, rotting fishing nets and kentucy fried chicken boxes, plastic busta bottles and black bags. I am firmly planted back onto Grenada soil exactly where I am supposed to be on a heated early Sunday morning listening to my Cuz speak of relatives and hardships while searching with the glance of her eyes for sea moss hiding amongst the roughage. I am planted in the present listening to Cuz laugh while reporting the news she knows I know already. I am planted to the present for now until the next wave gathers and washes over me and I am back in Canada thinking, planning, wondering, reflecting; straddling two worlds vastly different from one another. I am in my head walking back up the hill trying to make sense but then letting go of making sense to this life I am straddling, to this life that I choose to straddle, to this life I am grateful and honoured to be balancing.

Daughter Comes Home

2011-04-26T17:10:00.000-07:00

Daughter Comes Home

Nickel comes home after five years. She arrives from the airport on a clear moonlit night and walks up our driveway singing out in her African American Grenadian tongue “So how you doing up there!” She is her mother, Jacqlyn calling up from the road “So what you cooking today girl? She is her father, Denis “How you so scarce these days!” And then she is Nickel again, walking, laughing, wrapping her arms wide and strong. Nickel is walking up our driveway a full bloom woman; despite the trials and hardships, despite the nightmare year she and her brothers found themselves in six years ago.

I remember the day Nickel’s Dad drowned. Maya, Theo and I were driving to visit a friend when Ms. Teresa flagged our car down and asked “Is it true Denis drown?” The familiar shock of disbelief settles in and we drive on in a thick silence. We drive slow waiting to see if the news repeats itself. It does when we see a van full of village people and Jacqlyn in the front, head down. We know the news is true by the slouched shoulders, the eerie silence in the back of the van spilling over. We know the news is true. Denis is dead. He drowned in a senseless death, in a shallow pool of sea water with his son on his back. He tripped and fell and accidently gulped water that traveled straight to his lungs. He could not redeem himself. He needed someone to at least turn him on his side, pound the middle of his back, make the water explode from his lungs and on to the boat he was lugged into. Nickel and her brothers are on the beach the day their dad drowned. As I begin writing this blog I realize it was seven years ago today.

Nickel’s Mom died a year later but not before hurricane Ivan licked up their house and all their belongings, and not before their Grandfather died soon after the hurricane. Jacqlyn took sick after Denis’ death and spent the last year of her life in and out of the general hospital. I was honored to be able to spend time with Jacqlyn the last months and days before she died. Denis, Jacqlyn and the kids were one of the first families I met here in the Village and I grew to be part of their family over the first several years here. The kids and I spent the last day with Jacqlyn in the hospital. We even witnessed Jacqlyn’s familiar sense of humor return for a short time on that last day. A man was visiting his elderly mother who was also dying. He broke down by the side of his mother’s bed and began to cry. Jacqlyn couldn’t believe that a grown man was crying and his mom hadn’t even died yet. “He crying? How a big man crying so? She dead? Eh eh big man crying so and she not even dead yet!” a burst of air spills from her mouth. Jacqlyn is laughing. We have not seen her laugh in months. All of us swallow back our giggles until they too spill out and we are laughing, laughing at the sheer unexpected joy of seeing Jacqlyn smile. Jacqlyn died the next day.

Not long after the deaths of their parents the kids were adopted by their Uncle and Aunt and moved to New York City. They left the only life they knew here in the village friends, community, church, schools. The very land their navel strings were buried was the very land they buried their parents. I know it has not been easy for all of them. Nickel and I kept in touch over the years through emails and phone calls. It was on the phone that I learnt Nickel was in love. “Does he treat you well?” I asked. Nickel answered with a burst of laughter and a “Yes and he is a she!” Nickel discovered her own natural loving self after leaving the only home she knew, after stumbling and tumbling through windy boulder ridden roads in NewYork and resettling in Maryland with the woman she loves and married soon after.

On the first night of Nickel’s arrival we share stories of the present and stories of the past. She shows me the tattoo she has embedded on the back of her shoulder, a tombstone with the words “ in loving memory of Denis and Jacqlyn”. She also parades a ring in front of my eyes and says, “Don’t you be worrying about me girl I am a married woman!”

I can’t help think how Nickel’s life would be different if her parents had not died and she remained on the island. Would she have discovered herself, discovered and exercised her right to love who she wanted to love? Would she have blossomed into the woman she is today? And even though we both would give our dreams away to have Jacqlyn and Denis here, we still took the time to wonder how life, as Nickel knows it today, would be. There is not a single slice of doubt that Nickel is who she is because of her two strong, courageous, resilient parents who resonate and shine their very presence in the love that swells from Nickel’s very being.

We look forward to her next Coming Home!

the more i learn the less i know

2011-04-18T04:47:00.000-07:00

and every hour of every day i’m learning more
the more i learn, the less i know about before
the less I know, the more I want to look around ….

UB40

At the end of March I journeyed North to visit my parents and to take part in the Dialogue for Peaceful Change program at the Tatamagouche Centre in Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia. I found myself immersed in a diverse and empowering learning circle where the teachings were ripe and plentiful; sinking deep into my psyche and rippling outwards as I practice daily the fine art of being present, actively listening, and suspending judgement to the conflicts that arise both in my own life and within the lives of friends and community.

Dialogue for Peaceful Change (DPC) is a global coalition that focuses on creating safe spaces where dialogue can take place as a way of transforming conflict into mutual empowering experiences. DPC looks at practical ways to manage all aspects of conflict before conflicts intensify, thus creating opportunities for personal and community growth. When one of the DPC coaches and facilitators for the week, Steve Law spoke of seeing the world through a TIDES (transformation, interdependence, diversity, equity and sustainability) perspective and emphasized the importance of mediating conflict towards a peaceful change rather than resigning to legal solutions, an AHA shouted inside my head. I realized that once a conflict goes legal or violent, in the case of the youths here in the village, than there is little opportunity for the conflict to be a transformative experience where both divided parties become empowered to change.

I now understand more clearly that conflict is an opportunity to transform how we perceive and understand one another; an opportunity to recognize how diverse our individual and collective perceptions of the world are depending on culture, race, religion, class, sexual orientation, privilege, power… I now understand more clearly how crucial it is for all of us to listen more intently to one another, suspend judgement and hear individual and collective stories that are not based on our conditioned perceptions and prejudices; but based on the her/histories of the people all around whether it be family, friends, coworkers, neighbours, community members or the unfamiliar faces in the media that seem distant but close.

I reflect on how to create spaces here in the village where youths can begin to understand conflict as a normal part of life and where conflict does not have to turn into violent words or action. I begin to organize various activities that will help village youths identify the issues behind the conflicts they experience daily, where they can talk, explore, and create their own small steps in dealing with their own issues. The other night I arrived at the community centre to see the village boys pelting rocks through the window and cursing an array of colourful words at the dancers inside the Centre. For some reason I had brought a notebook and pen and when I went into the Centre I sat next to the back door close to where the rocks were flying. I started to draw. The first boy's curiosity had him quietly peeping through the crack of the door. I asked Ken Ken if I could draw him. He sat down. I drew his portrait (keep in mind I am not a portrait artist!). The other boys started gathering around. As various boys sat down for their personal portraits I asked them why they were angry at the kids dancing inside the Centre. They felt it was unfair they were not allowed in the Centre during the dance practices. I asked what they wanted to do if they were allowed in the Centre? They all shouted “Table Tennis!!” One of the issues was the broken tennis table sitting in the corner of the Centre and the boys were itching to play. Solutions were easy after the issue was identified. This was a small example on finding a non-threatening space to listen to the boys; a space where they were not going to be lectured or judged harshly. Of course this is only a small example amongst the larger layered issues of many of the Village kid’s hard lives.

As I write this blog the components of seeking peaceful change float to the forefront of my mind. They are: understand conflict is normal, respect that others are different, be aware of prejudices you carry, know your own needs, suspend judgement, avoid scapegoating, listen actively, investigate what is important to the other, seek small steps, look up you are not alone, honour the spiritual as part of the path.

While saying goodbye at the end of the week a new friend and African Nova Scotia Elder held me tight and said “Girl I don’t have to worry about you at all because you have equity in your heart” and while I trust that I do have equity in my heart and honoured that I was blessed in such a powerful way I also know there is so much more to learn and unlearn and

"every hour of every day i’m learning more
the more i learn, the less i know about before
the less I know, the more I want to look around …. "

A Big Shout Out to the Dialogue for Peaceful Change crew!!!!!

With deep love and gratitude
maureen

Becoming Mothers and Fathers to the World's Children

2011-03-18T03:04:00.001-07:00

While walking on the beach a couple Saturdays ago I bounced up with a group of young boys, half of them in the water playfully slamming into one another and the other half pelting sand balls. As Maya and I approached we heard a strong voice, “We not the only ones on the beach, so stop pelting sand!” I recognized Deek's voice and ventured over. Soon we were reminiscing about old times when Deek and I played football (soccer) together; when he too was the age of the boys on the beach and Theo his coach. Theo was the image of hope back then, as he not only coached a group of young boys every Saturday and Sunday morning but he also initiated and coached the first Grenada Women's football team.

I found an oasis of hope in Deek on that Saturday and it soothed my soul in these troubled times when it feels like violence in all forms is threatening to swallow our children whole both here in Grenada and throughout the world. Deek is an example of kind acts rippling and forming into waves of kindness as he too volunteers his time to coach and mentor a group of Grenville boys just as he was coached and mentored by Theo. Who knows which one of these boys will also ride the waves of kindness and take on the role of mentor and leader to the next generation.

I carried home this image of hope for Theo. My goal to breath hope back into his disillusioned state related to the youths today. A couple of months ago Theo decided to take a large step back from the Village football team; the team he initiated, coached and captained for the past few years. The last conflict on the field made him throw compassion to the wind and step away. The last conflict involved an older youth arguing with Theo about why he should not come off the field. The argument led to the youth walking into the bush at the side of the road and retrieving his cutlass. I can hear Theo's voice now, “So whats this nah? So you going to chop me because I call you off the field. I give up I really give up!” I hear him laughing on the outside but know he is grieving on the inside.

Recently a friend of mine wrote a blog titled An Open Letter to the Young Men of Accra (www.fionaleonard.net). In this blog Fiona addresses a style that seems to be quite popular with young men throughout the world. This style is the 'pants below the waist' style which many of the young men in Grenada also mimic. Even though the blog made me laugh out loud it also made me reflect seriously about our male youths and the directions they are taking. One has to wonder why and how this style spread throughout the world and why it appeals to many of the youths globally? What inspires young men to want to copy a style that was born from American prisons as a result of prisoners having their belts taken away from them? What are the influences or lack of influences in their lives that have them copying a hard line style and why are some of our young women attracted to this style. Once we get past the comical there are many layers to be addressed; even our own reactions and superior judgements. A year ago there was talk of charging the young men of Grenada for wearing their pants below their waists. Not only charging but giving them an allotted number of strokes. I couldn't help think of the irony presented; treating the youth like criminals when I imagine the goal is to help them see themselves as non criminals.

Richie Spice, one of the leading reggae stars today sings a powerful song called “Don't Call me no Dog” which addresses once again the American gangster styles Jamaican youths are choosing to mimic; such as calling one another “Dawg”. In his song, Spice makes it clear he does not want anyone calling him a dog and asks the youths to start seeing themselves in a better way, seeing themselves as the greatest, the highest, the strongest they could be. Spice also addresses the 'pants below the waist' style and pleads to the Jamaican youths to get their act together and prepare themselves for the future.

Our youths throughout the world are in crisis and the challenge is ours to become allies in breaking the cycle. Where do we begin as the mothers, fathers in this global family? I think of Alice Walkers words in her 2000 address to a graduating class at the Agnes Scot College, “ Be aware that the other children of the world are your responsibility as well. You must learn to see them, feel them, as yours. Until you do, there is no way you can make your own child feel safe.” How do we as global parents become morally responsible for the children around us and throughout the world?

breaking through village stereotypes

2011-03-02T14:01:00.000-08:00

Breaking Through Village Stereotypes

The first Village stereotype of a white person was shattered when I moved into this little board house fourteen years ago here in Harford Village. The first time Theo and I inquired about renting this house; our present home, the man in charge said, “nah man, that is not a house for she!” He was referring to me, referring to someone from away, referring to someone like me who was born with delicate white soft skin. A few days later Theo's main Brethren says “nah man Theo, Maureen cant live in that house you crazy!” Yes this same board house that we have been living for the past fourteen years, the same house Maya was born in, the same house on the same piece of land maya can proudly say “I am Grenadian, me navel string bury here!” Maya's home birth was another shattering of misconceptions revolved around what white people can and cannot do. “What girl you real brave for a white lady!” referring to my birthing maya at home in the middle of the village, in the middle of this small board house.

Village stereotypes of white people continue to be shaken up, broken further into smaller manageable pieces as a result of our Antigonish farm family coming to visit! Over the past four years we have been honoured to host our Farm family here in the Village; beginning with Wesley, our friend, brother, and uncle to Maya! Wesley was the first to visit in 2008. He pitched his tent in the yard and settled in for six weeks. “So he is a Rasta??” one of our nieghbours ask after watching Wes outside his tent making various crafts out of bamboo, eating out of a calabash and scraping cinnamon trees. Many people here in the Village and in Grenada are accustommed to seeing us white folks lounging on beaches or sipping on fruity drinks by the poolside, or driving in big fancy toursit buses or climbing through the rain forests to get to the many waterfalls throughout the island. They do not expereince people of our delicate european colour heading into the bush with a machete in hand cutting vine for goats; picking, cracking, drying and grinding cocoa; playing dominoes and cards in local rum shops; catching scorpions underneath old building materials and putting them in rum bottles; unloading cement blocks and helping to build a studio and brick house. Village people were amazed at our first farm visitor but what amazed them the most was seeing Wesley arrive the next year to do it all over again!

The following year another farm brother, friend, uncle arrived. Sandy also pitched his tent and settled into the Village vibes! This one, according to Village friends and family was “a bald head rasta!” Soon Sandy was walking down the road with machete in hand too, helping Theo in the garden; visiting neighbour's lands; taking kids for bike rides through the village; cutting vine for the goats; attempting to walk up coconut trees; hacking open coconuts with a machete to taste the sweet sky juice; cracking and shredding coconut to make oil; climbing the highest mountain on the island solo; and helping to build an extra room that acts presently as a writing/bedroom.

This year the Farm sisters, aunties arrived! If village people were surprised at these young white men then all stereotypes were put to the test when the white sisters arrived! Many white women here in the Village (with the exception of me) are expereinced through tv and movies and the tourists seen on the other side of the island. White women are potrayed on the screen as rich glamourous nothing to do but shop, clean household appliances, style their hair, bodies and faces, seduce well dressed, well driven men and fight with one another over these same men. Tourists also sometimes give the wrong impression when their main goal is to tan their skin and therefore wear the least amount of clothing not only on the beach but in the shops, towns and buses.

Shattered are these images as Bara and Gem move into the Village for an extended period of time and live in the same studio Wes helped to build. A studio that consists of a bed and a table, an outhouse which Theo built days before they arrived, and a steep driveway that one has to walk carefully down managing the slippery algae that appears after a night or day of rain. Gem and Bara dived into what they love most; the richenss of the soil and its ability to produce food. Gemma and Bara were busy collecting sorrel, cracking cocoa, shaking down nutmeg, shelling pigeon peas and sorrel, cutting vine for the goats, cooking and baking stricly local, and painting our veranda national colours green yellow and red!

As i write this a wave of pride washes over me as i witness bridges being built while old stereotypes are stripped of their limitations. I expereince my Farm and Village family coming together to be a part of one another's lives and learn the richness of our shared humaness. I also feel a sense of pride radiate from Village family as they recognize the specialness of their Village; why else would their new friends and family continue to choose the Village over the norm of pretty manicured tourist attractions?? Why else would they keep returning year after year!

Democracy Now

2011-02-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

I tap democracynow.org into my computer and i am face to face with the streets in Cairo. Thousands upon thousands of people marching to the rhythms of change, to the rhythms of solidiarity and hope. My heart soars to see the People of Egypt moving together expressing, demanding, uniting openly fearlessly, selflessly. My heart soars to experience these powerful images live through democracynow.org. Over these past couple weeks i realize how needful i am for these images of People, ordinary people coming together from all social classes fighting for human rights, for freedom, for a say in the way lives are being handled, treated, and stifled. I recognize immediately through the images of Egypt how the world is in need of ordinary people doing extrordinary things as a means of restoring hope to this mad world and the biased media that supports, encourages and makes money from its madness. I and many of us are tired of listening to the G8 summits with their billion dollar budgets to secure the safety of the welathy few while keeping out the voices that really count. Billion dollar budgets used to create fear based tactics against the very voices that need to be heard and accounted for and weaved into the main fabric of world economic, social and political decisons. The ordinary extrordinary people of Tunisia and now Egypt are proving to the world what the masses can do and i/we are plugged in.

I watch mesmerized by the courage and power of a young Egyptian woman prophesizing through her plea on a utube video (again shared on democracynow.org) days before people took to the streets begging her People to join her in Tahrir Square on January 25th and walk with her in solidarity, to stand up against an oppressive system, to be brave and to walk with her. “To do nothing” she says, “is to be guilty of supporting the present corrupt government that oppresses millions and millions of people.”
Some report the utube video of this young courageous Arab woman was the spark that lit the fire for freedom in the streets of Cairo!

The revolutionary images of massive uprisings in the Arab world coincides with a clourful week here in Grenada as Grenada celebrates 37 years of independence. Red green and yellow splashed onto the streets, shops, liming stations, bus terminals, schools, homes, communities and People. Pride swelling in every colourful direction. I reflect on Grenada's own revolutionary period from 1979 to 1983, where solidarity of the people swelled in the streets, communities and homes. People from all social classes came together in hope and unity to fulfill the dreams of a People's Movement that focused on basic human rights such as education, health and women's equality. Unfortunately Grenada's revolutionary past turned into a past of disillusionment chaos and confusion. Violence, deception and abuse of power destroyed the fabric of these same dreams of justice for all. Hopes and ideals were extinguished when Maurice Bishop, the Father of Grenada's Revolution along with twelve of his party members were assasinated. They were ordered and put to death by another faction of the same revolutionary government. With the assasination and then the US invasion/intervention (depending who you are speaking to) social movements ceased and now the People's Revolution is remembered as an important piece of Grenada's history, a history that speaks of power in unity, power in the masses.

I dream of peaceful revolutions where people can move and demand together their rights for justice and peace without being slammed into by the few who benifit and feed off the oppressive structures that keep the masses poor and the powerful wealthy. I know it is difficult times side by side with images of hope. I know that Egypt, the Middle East and Afica are volatile places right now with violence rising and many people being murdered, jailed, tortured for expressing openly their beliefs. But i also know we cant give up in the global and local struggle for human rights and like the young brave Egytian women we must all be accountable to the injustices playing out not just in the countries who are spotlighted in the news but also the injustices happening in our own backyards. We must do what we can to educate ourselves on how we too can join the struggle and be activists for peace and justice by exploring, discovering and excercising our calling, our passions for peace. We must begin our own revolution even if it begins as simply as plugging into alternative media sources like DemocracyNow.org and listening to the diverse perspectives; perspective that matter most, perspectives of ordinary people doing exrordinary things, people like me and you who can make a difference!

Alice Unfolding into the Goodness of our Youths

2011-01-19T02:37:00.000-08:00

On a Monday afternoon I learn of A's death. “Did you know A. died yesterday morning? I make the messenger repeat three times. Even after the third time I don't believe him. Sudden death brings a shock of disbelief. A mantra of not wanting to believe; a repetitive rhythm of the deceased name rolling around inside my head, shes dead dead dead... It is now a week later and the mantra of death subsides as reality sinks in and goodbyes are placed upon the graveside.

A. was 9 when we first met. She was the third oldest of 10 siblings and the bravest, most confident. A. came daily to my small flat, up the hill from the bay where she lived. I became fast friends with the whole family and they became a big part of my first few years here in Grenada. A. visited daily to take a swing on the hammock, look for change for mommy, or simply hang out and chat her preciousness; fresh and innocent. Usually she arrived with a stream of brothers and sisters trailing behind. But then there were afternoons when i would have her all to myself. A. was brave. Independent. A leader in her own small yet large world.

I visited the family a few days before Christmas. When i asked about A I was told she wasn't feeling well, she was lying down. Little did i know she was in the back room dying; her mother too ashamed to let me see A. in her last stages of an illness that brings embarrassment, shame and misunderstanding worldwide. A week later my young friend would be dead and i would hear the news on the streets down below from her brother.

I wonder how A. coped with the pain, humiliation, disgrace from dying of an illness that wears a cloak of ignorance; disabling many people the right to die a death of dignity.
“She kill she self” her mom says into the phone wearing fear and despair stoically. At the funeral the Pastor says repeatedly “the wages of sin is death”. and I can't help wonder what sin A. committed. Was A's sin being born a woman with a natural longing for tenderness, affection, acknowledgement? A young person reaching out for some sort of softness in a not so tender male world ? Was A's sin the 'rudenss' she wore as a protective sheild to a hardened world she belonged to; Was A.'s sin 'bad mindedness', a label hurrled at young women who find themselves moving with different male partners or having sex at an early age? Was A's sin poverty, an education that did not tend to her learning needs, a birth order that placed her in the middle of a large family with very little resources?

i hear a murmur of acknowledgement for the Pastor's words regarding grandparents burying the youths and how this is a drastic change from the past when it was the youth burying the elders. I feel a sigh of sorrow amongst the gatherers. I also hear commom statement from behind “the youths today have no discipline, they haunted oui?” I hear often youths being blamed for their own deaths, their own incarcerations, their own 'rudeness', 'misbehaviour' and 'bad mindedness'. I want to hurl the word 'why' out into this world and hope the dialogue will move from blame to reflection?

Why are youth globally searching for more? What are the contexts of their lives? Why do some youths choose unhealthy and deadly paths while others move towards a stronger, more pliable path? Why do some youths choose not to be victims to their hard lives and others fall prey to the violence? Why do some youths become leaders of youth groups and conferences while others become leaders of street gangs and crime? Why do some youths choose unprotected sex over sex with confidence and control?

Every youth has a story that lies within a garden of other stories. When will we as a global family have the time, space, open mind and heart to hear, understand, and help to change these stories so our youths worldwide can begin to understand themselves within a larger context and perhaps gain courage and strength to choose a storyline that reflects the basic goodness we all possess??

I let A. move freely into the spirit world by releasing her from my sadness. I watch a dragonfly flutter by and I know Alice is hovering, giving a sign of hope, a sign of freedom, a sign of change in the air, a sign of goodness that our global youths possess.

Watching A. unfold into the larger goodness of our Youths.

You're Perfect Just the Way you Are

2011-01-08T18:07:00.000-08:00

You're Perfect Just the Way You Are

While listening to one of Micheal Franti's recent songs, Maya says, “Mom all women should listen to this song so we can appreciate our bodies!” I acknowledge with a deep breathe the wisdom my daughter is weaving into her evolving self and I reply, “yes gyal, we got to shake what our mama's gave us! Appreciate what our bodies can do for us!” And with a roll from Maya's eyes, we start singing along with Franti and Lady Saw “Your perfect just the way you are!” shake it shake it shake it like a tamborine”

i begin to think about raising our daughters; raising our daughters to love their bodies, their natural curves; soft bellies, short limbs, wide hips, flat noses; thin noses; straight hair; fizzy red hair; small one side breasts; large symmetrical breasts, coco brown skin; peachy white skin. Many of our daughters measure themselves up against a saturated media market of thinness, whiteness, shallowness; perpetual images that squeeze our daughters into inconceivable spaces that hold very little meaning outside a very small one dimensional box.

It wasn't until I moved to the Caribbean that i began to feel comfortable within my own body, within my own soft belly that is genetically and wonderfully a part of me; my buddha belly, soft like Maya's favourite pillow; like a warm corner of a colourful cushioned house. It is here in Grenada that I witnessed beautiful full bodied women who weren't afraid to be their natural selves, who didn't try to hide or camouflage their size through large clothing or a shyness that confines and hovers like a rain cloud without rain; it is here that i experienced women moving their bodies with such confidence and delight; with a flavour of gratitude and pride for what their female ancestors gave them.

At first it was difficult getting used to the compliments that were part of the returning ritual “What gyal you looking real fat, your mama feed you well!” or “How you looking so fat! Canada agree with you!” I soon realized these comments were meant to be compliments telling me i was healthy and stress free. Women who are too thin are assumed to either have money worries, not enough food to eat, husband stressing them out, or physically ill.

Beauty conditions exist in Grenada as well, just as they exist all over the world; conditions that limit, confine, bury woman's natural ability to be themselves. For example in Grenada, and in many parts of the world, the lighter your skin the more beautiful you are considered. In many families, schools, communities the lighter skin children have more privileges. Colonial mentality is alive and thriving. The more European you look the better for you. I remember our 85 year old neighbour giving me nose straightening exercises to perform on Maya's nose so she wouldn't get her fathers African nose. Television exists in majority of Grenadian households and therefor American ideals of beauty is seeping into the culture. Thinness is becoming more and more fashionable for the younger girls and so I now watch Maya being teased and chastised by some of the Village kids for putting on size as she grows into her per-adolescent natural self. I give praise that she has many strong women in her life and a mom who works hard at spreading messages of self love through music, dance, paintings, poetry and youth peace programs.

I recall a memory from this summer while swimming at Cribbon's Point, Nova Scotia: Maya and i watching a full bodied, curvy Canadian woman in a bikini moving her body to the twirl of her hoola
hoop; making the hoop dance around and around her belly in the middle of a sunny afternoon; feet sunk into sand and sea, moving to the rhythms of her hips. We watched mesmerized, hypnotized by her beauty, her confidence,her freedom to be her natural earth loving self. I thanked her over and over in my head for providing my daughter an image of real beauty; a beauty that holds no labels, conditions, rules or laws, a beauty that radiates Freedom!

Today women continue to be underneath the microscope of a male dominated view that continues to dictate and define how women should look. These definitions and dictations reach deep into our psyches and thus we find ourselves becoming the biggest critic of one another; robbing us our ability to be who we are meant to be, unique diverse earth giving souls. Our boys too are victims to this madness and develop 'lookist' attitudes from a very young age contributing to the vicious cycle we all find ourselves in. As long as we have men like Micheal Franti and women who are shaking their beautiful natural selves like Lady Saw and hoola hoop Sistren then perhaps the world's limited view of human beings will change one song, one dance, one lyric at a time.

You are perfect just the way you are!”

Christmas Time

2010-12-30T01:54:00.001-08:00

Maya and i arrive just in time for Christmas in the Village. We waltzed into the holiday vibe moving to the beat of our “just return” rhythms and the festive spirit of a holiday season loved and celebrated. This year we were blessed with the arrival of our farm family from Ohio Valley, Antigonish. This is the first time family from the Otherside have arrived for Christmas and most importantly Maya's birthday. An element of specialness was added to the season. Gemma and Bara arrived two days before Christmas and spent their first day on the island baking local chocolate delights while wiping the sweat from their faces and taking short breezy veranda breaks. Yearly we have a Village gathering to celebrate Maya's birth! Maya was born nine years ago in this little board house, arrived just in time before neighbours showed up for gifts of sorrel, ginger beer and cake. No one from the Village knew i was having a home birth; a natural practice that has been swallowed whole here in Grenada by the medical profession just as it has in Canada. Christmas day neighbours arrived to their Village Sistren, magically high, rocking on the veranda with one hour Maya snuggled into the warmth of new beginnings.
“What girl you give birth home? Eh eh you real brave!”
“What i didn't know white women could be so strong minded”;
“Girl you real have belly oui!”
Various comments decorated the air full of love and surprise.

This year the air was full of kids. Kids in the yard, the house, the veranda, the skin up tree, the driveway, the bench across the road. “Kids for real!”. Music shook up the house while we laughed; shared holiday traditions; took photos; passed around xiona (the baby of the gathering); played dominoes; sheltered the rain; gave jokes; laughed and laughed some more; ate cake, cookies, popcorn, sweets; drank sorrel, ginger beer, malt, carib and black wine. By the end of the night, 12 year old Etson was beating the drum and the kids were dancing up a small tropical sun shower, squished into our tiny birthing home.

Another celebration remembered and cherished.

One Love
and Glorious blessings for the New Year!

Transitions: Crossing over

2010-12-19T10:50:00.001-08:00

I pulled this quote from a bundle of old love letters i found just before heading to the airport, just before crossing over the bridge....

"nobody can live on a bridge but its fine for comings and goings, meetings and partings, or long views to some place where you may, in the crazy weathers of struggle, now and again want to be".

An appropriate quote as i stumbled around for the past month reflecting on both worlds. A whirlwind of thoughts spiraling; confusion and clarity dancing cheek to cheek. I sit now on the other side of the bridge early morning dawn slowly turning, fishing boats moving out to sea, birds awakening, roosters chorusing, night turning into day and I look back and feel the nostalgia of a world left behind. I move into my writer self and commit once again to recording and sharing the rhythms of my heart.

Crossing Over

Crossing over we move through the airport loaded down with books, clothes, art supplies, gifts of various sizes and a new sacred drum. We get on the plane regardless of the weight, regardless of the drum that won't fit underneath the seat or the overhead; regardless that we forgot in our hand luggage a small jar of bear fat, a gift of healing and strength from our First Nation Elders. We get on and we are crossing, we are crossing over;

Crossing over we meet Guyanese rapper taxi man who recognizes our Caribbeaness through the way we bounce up to his language and music. He shares with us his cd, a mixture of rap, calypso and parang. We buzz through downtown Toronto bouncing to the rythms of the island;

Crossing over we stay at a Toronto airport hotel. We are on the bridge crossing over but still deeply immersed to the side we are leaving. Maya begging for cable tv and i longing for deeper connectedness through emails from the side we are leaving;

Crossing over we are on the plane to Trinidad. Elder Trinidadian (Trini) woman comments on a young mother who in frustration and tiredness tells her young daughter to “hush her freakn self!” Elder lady comments “freakn is a dog's name not a child's name”. Young mother begins to curse the elder lady telling her to mind her own freakn business! Crossing over we are moving into a land where people still hold on to their beliefs of villages raising children;

Crossing over we are surrounded by Trinis going home for the holidays. Young Rasta man looks our way and hails us with a closed fist to the heart. I nod in respect and love.

Crossing over we are in Trinidad airport waiting for our last flight. Music begins to settle throughout the waiting area; a blend of Richie Spice and other Jamaican rhythms. Hips start to sway, bodies moving natural and free. Two flight attendants break into dance while walking to their gate.

Crossing over Maya shouts, “mommy look!” Grenada swings into sight with a splatter of lights covering the hills and valleys. We are landing on the other side of the bridge. We are crossing, but I am also the one glancing back to the other side of the bridge already feeling the tugs of longing, a longing for the familiarity of the land i was born to. Crossing over i am also fully aware of these precious gifts of crossing and living two diverse and distinct worlds; transitioning, transforming, one foot on each side confused yet clear at the same time.

Crossing over we are Home again.

Part Four: Expanding the World

2010-11-10T01:50:00.000-08:00

Part Four: Alison’s Journey/My Memories

For a short time Alison immersed herself in various religions, cultures, races, and rural and urban worlds;

The Peace and Friendship Gathering was an opportunity for Alison to witness the different ways people choose to honor the spiritual; whether it was through praising Grandmother moon, greeting the sun, gift giving ceremonies or through recognizing simple acts of kindness as a form of religion. Alison sat in circle during the four days and heard native and non native people speak from the heart as they spoke of sacredness, love and forgiveness, honoring and praising Mother Earth, and a deep respect for one self and others who share the same planet. She expereinced her Uncle Theo honored and respected for what he believed in and given the space and time to speak of his beliefs. She witnessed others respecting Rastafarianism and honoring this religion as one that speaks from the heart, the earth and the psalms. She witnessed her Uncle as a man to be respected for his beliefs; beliefs that are too often scoffed and belittled by European religions in Grenada. On the last evening Alison was wearing a bright unguarded smile while singing and dancing around the fire. I breathed deeply her open heart.

Another powerful experience and opportunity I believed enlarged Alison’s world view was her participation at the Tatamagouche Social Justice Youth Camp held yearly at the Centre. The camp began the day the Gathering ended and so we left Alison behind and imagined her being swept into another kind of gathering; a gathering of youths from various cultures, religions and race who shared five days together learning how to make a difference in the world. It was here that Alison made and wore with pride “YOUTH REVOLUTION BEGINS HERE” on the back of a tshirt.

For five days youth (ages 14 to 19) came together to practice strategies against racism, use arts against injustice, discuss gender relations and cultural contexts, build alliances, and have a whole lot of fun! The camp was facilitated by a diverse team of young adults from the region who actively live their lives working for social change. Alison met other youths like herself from different parts of the world Guatemala, India, Africa, Canada. She was the only youth from the Caribbean and the only youth who did not live full time in Canada and so she was able to bring a unique perspective to the group and share this uniqueness through leading and facilitating an activity about Grenada.

I can still see Alison on the last day of camp hugging her new friends, calling one another pet names, giving each other soft sliding quick moving special hand shakes, “you better write me girl” exchanged as others moved in and out of going home. Alison giggling in the back of the car sharing stories and gifts from the youth camp. “I going to miss those people for real. I can’t even begin to tell you all that I learned. It was intense! You feel those girls easy, they real sweet and genuine”.

Alison flew home to Grenada, home to Harford Village a day later.

PartThree: Kids are Kids Everywhere

2010-10-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

I move back into memories of Alison’s trip imagining and hoping the teachings of travel outside her own culture transforms into meaningful ways of seeing the world and that this spreads infectiously to others who do not have the same opportunities.

Alison, Maya, and I took part in a summer peace camp for a week in Halifax held by Peaceful Schools International (PSI), a non profit, charitable organization that provides support to schools around the world that commit to creating and maintaining cultures of peace within and outside school settings. The organization was birthed by Hetty Van Grup, a warrior mother who turned tragedy into hope after her 14 year old son was killed in a bullying incident at his school over ten years ago. I shared this story with Harford Village Peace Leaders as I was inspired by Hetty’s commitment to peace and her strength and courage to turn tragedy into hope. I too share her belief that teaching peace building skills to kids is a crucial element missing from schools and communities. Alison met Hetty the first day of camp and was able to put a face to a story. I remember Alison saying after the first day of camp “That lady a real hero oui!” and further reflecting on the violence in her own school and community and recognizing the value to the activities we facilitated weekly with the Village kids.

During the week Alison and I volunteered our time to assist in helping the facilitators while Maya was one of the peace kids. Throughout the week the kids were engaged in learning gardening skills, making traditional aboriginal talking sticks, role playing various conflicts and peace building solutions, making peace banners and playing peace games and other activities. The kids sang with legendary Nova Scotian folk singer Terry Kelly, met a famous book illustrator, and danced to the soulful beats of various visitors. They talked through skype with kids from Pakistan and Sierra Leone who are also involved in PIS.

Alison met a variety of kids throughout the week: biracial kids like Maya; physically challenged kids who were treated like everyone else and who contributed equally to the scene; outspoken kids and shy kids; kids who came with very little to eat for lunch and those who had enough to share for everyone. There was unlimited art supplies and unlimited time to talk, be heard, and listened to. Alison recorded various activities, games and ideas throughout the week so we could use them with the kids in our community. On most evenings Alison arrived home exhausted from kid’s unbridled energy. She said one night “Those kids not easy man, I didn’t know Canadian kids can be so unruly and crazified just like Grenada kids. Eh eh I thought it was village kids alone who could get on so!” She learned kids globally have energy "for real" and if this energy is not channeled creatively and with purpose then it has the potential to burst into confusion, chaos and sometimes violent directions.

Part Four is in the making!!

Part 2: Youth Revolution Starts Here

2010-10-08T01:45:00.000-07:00

I can still feel the ear to ear grins, the yelps of excitement as our extended family lept over the coastal waves on our way to placing ourselves on the path of the pilot whales off the coast of Pleasant Bay, Cape Breton; magical moments floating in the midst of prehistoric creatures rolling in and out of the sea, blessing us with their existence.

The meeting of the whales was part of our trip to Cape Breton on the first weekend of Alison’s arrival. Theo, Maya, Alison and our friend Nancy drove to Pleasant Bay where we dived into a weekend of meeting new friends, visiting spiritual places and inhaling the natural beauty of Cape Breton. Our trip was organized with the help of Joel Burton, a past participant of the Grenada Service Learning trip. Joel traveled to Grenada with a group of students from St. Francis Xavier University to take part in a cross cultural immersion program a few years ago. Upon hearing about Alison’s trip to Canada, Joel jumped head first into raising funds for Alison’s trip. Joel’s mom, spear headed a community fund raising initiative within their community of St. Margaret’s Village, Cape Breton and raised over $300 for Alison’s journey. Joel and his family also organized our weekend agenda and we found ourselves meeting grass roots “salt of the earth” people in the form of Joel’s extended family. This included mom and dad, aunts and uncles, and his past high school teacher who introduced us to his ninety year old father who was in Grenada during the Revolution in the early 80’s. There were many stories remembered and shared of revolutionary times both in the Caribbean and Latin America. We departed our new friends with a renewed sense of global community.

That weekend we also inhaled the gentle mindful air of the Gappo Abbey; the Shambhala Buddhist Monastary that sits on the northern cliffs of Cape Breton. We visited the Abbey and walked amongst the wild cliffs of Atlantic coast, inhaled the silent stillness and walked to the Stupa of enlightenment laying down our gifts of stones and flowers.

Youth Revolution Starts Here

2010-09-22T01:34:00.001-07:00

Youth Revolution Starts Here

Alison is now back home, back into Village life, back into her own reference point of family, community, culture, religion. I frequently wonder what sort of reflection she is moving through in relation to her Canadian journey. I dream about being a mosquito resting buzzlessly on her shoulder while she tells her friends and family about her time in Nova Scotia, Canada. I imagine Alison saying “Whaaaat if you see Shopping Malls. Whole place full of things to buy oui!, and cheap as what! They joking when it comes to cheap things in Canada!”

I reflect on my own memories of Alison’s journey, the ones highlighted in my mind that speak of change through stepping out of comfort zones and expanding our minds to include a colorful spectrum of perspectives; ways of seeing the world that may or may not be our own; stretching into possibilities of new light by questioning old world views, old points of reference, widening, changing perspective becoming more inclusive, multi dimensional, forgiving, accepting, loving ….

Our week in Halifax surfaces to the forefront as I write about stepping out and into new perspectives. On our first evening in the big city Maya, Alison and I walked to the wharf. I felt Ali’s heart pumping fast as we moved into her first big city scene. We watched the madness of people everywhere on the docks taking in the last day of the Buskers Festival on a warm breezy Sunday eve. We bumped up with a group of black Nova Scotian youth doing what Grenadian youth do; hang out, make noise, move into their own collective rhythms. We watched while this same group found themselves in trouble with a white security guard for taking up space in the ferry terminal. We watched the security guard stumble in his conditioned fears of youths; most likely of black youths. He comes on too strong and stumbles in his power role to get them out of the terminal. I couldn’t help wonder how he would react if the group were a group of white kids, would they too be asked to leave? Words were exchanged, defiancy displayed before the youths sauntered out. Alison blurts out “I bet you would never see white kids getting on like that, that only happens with my colour skin!” I took a deep breathe. I responded by saying perhaps it wasn’t about race at all but about youths in general, perhaps it was about respect and how we as a society respect our youths, or perhaps it was about race and learning about our own selves and our own reactions to people who are different from us. Perhaps the security guard was afraid of his own fear of black youths and wanted them out of the terminal before they turned into the gangster images pop culture feeds him night after night as he sits to escape life through hours of tv watching. Alison and I then reflected on how race and class are intimately related and I couldn’t help think of the comment recently heard on a phone-in program on CBC radio where Nova Scotia was described as a Northern Mississipi.

Alison, Maya and I talked a bit more about youths in general and the differences not only of skin colour but of opportunity. How some youths may not grow up with the opportunities that others grow up with and therefore life is much harder for them. They may act out through being rebellious to authority or by stealing something they see so easily accessible to everyone else or they may lash out and get into fights out of years of frustration at home. I then wondered out loud why we were only seeing white youths smoking cigarettes, dressed in worn out clothes, hands outstretched for change. Why weren’t the black kids begging for money? Why weren’t the black kids walking solitary around in a haze looking for change? Perhaps it was simply that day. I guess I wanted Alison to see that it wasn’t only youths that look like her who get in trouble, that the layers are complicated and that through traveling I hoped she would be able to open her heart and mind to those layers.

Memories start to tumble out one after the other and I am left with an assortment of moments to share and sort out. I go slow so I can capture and do justice to my own memories soon to compare them with Alison’s once we return. I will continue to unfold memories of potential change in the preceding blogs for now here is the first.
One Love
One Youths!!

First Relations Right Relations: Know Your History

2010-09-08T01:46:00.000-07:00

We must challenge our Selves because it is each of us who must struggle with our consciousness. We are ultimately responsible for our actions and inactions; and, we are, each, accountable to the Earth, our Ancestors, Creator, our Children and the Unborn.

_gkisedtanamoogk

The world will be balanced when we are balanced.

thrthang tulku

May compassion arise within your heart and may you see all beings as your relatives in this dream of life.

Dhyani ywahoo

Last week our family (Alison Maya Theo and I) found ourselves at the Tatamagouche Centre taking part in the 7th Annual Peace and Friendship Gathering; a gathering of Aboriginal and Non-Aboriginal people committed to truth and reconciliation; a building of right relations with First Relations, Mother Earth and her First People.

An invite was extended to us after sharing with Canadian friends the violence and suffering experienced over the years within our own community in Grenada and the deep wounds violence, poverty, and oppression continue to cause in our family, friends and community.

We came to the gathering recognizing not only our need to understand and recognize more fully the historical context to the violence and oppressive structures that prevail today in the Caribbean and in particular our community; but also our need to witness and experience how other historically and present day oppressed people move through violent pasts into the present and still continue to embrace, respect, and honor the sacredness of life and ceremony. How these same people continue to pledge alliance to Mother Earth; commit to social, environmental, personal and political activism; and recognize the crucial need to build relationships with one another. We heard and felt painful stories from First Nations who gathered to generously teach us and other non native people the way back to sacred ceremony, the way back to relationships with one another and the earth, and the way back to speaking and listening from our hearts. The past four days taught me how little I know of Canada’s Aboriginal people, my own Canadian history, and how much there is to learn from my Grenadian husband, family, friends and community.

I can’t help reflect upon the invisibility of Aboriginal people and culture in my own life while growing up; the racist stereotypes learned and woven into my own limited worldview. How, so many of us were swallowed whole by the dominant imperialist Eurocentric worldview; how I and many like myself were born seeped in ignorance drowning others in our own false sense of entitlement. How, many of us when we do begin to shed the ignorance from our eyes and begin to see the unjust system; and how we have benefited from this system, feel the need to leave our materially rich and privileged lives to seek understanding and repentance by traveling across the seas. Many of us jump into other countries and cultures without first understanding our own history; a Canadian history of colonialism, oppression, and violence that continues to affect our Aboriginal brothers and sisters today as well as other marginalized people of Canada.

Bob Marley wrote, “If you know your history, then you would know where you are coming from, then you wouldn’t have to ask me, who the hell do you think I am.”
These lines speak loudly to me of the responsibility we all hold in understanding our histories, our stories, which I believe inevitably lead us to understanding more fully who we are in this world, why we believe what we believe and how do these believes affect our actions or non actions in the world. As one of the wise and compassionate Elders, gkisedtanamoogk shares, “We must challenge our Selves because it is each of us who must struggle with our consciousness. We are ultimately responsible for our actions and inactions; and, we are, each, accountable to the Earth, our Ancestors, Creator, our Children and the Unborn.” I believe once we tackle the decolonization of our own minds then the decolonization of the systems that perpetuate the killing of our Mother Earth and the division of her people will soon follow.

For four days we sat together wrapped around the sacred fire; watched over by a cathedral of elder oak trees. We moved into life giving forces through sacred ceremonies and spirited council; all of us moving bravely to the beat of our own fears while embraced by love and compassion in reconciling our pasts and recommitting our commitment to healthier relations with the Earth and with One Another. The four days renewed my commitment to the sacred, to ceremony, to new friendships, to understanding my own history and how this history is intimately connected to other’s history, to becoming more balanced in an unbalanced world, and to strengthening my place in the world not through a sense of entitlement but through a sense of responsibility and love.

Paintings for Peace

2010-08-05T04:13:00.001-07:00

Free flowing figures continue to move across the canvas illuminating and celebrating life and in return, birthing and strengthening youth peace programs in Harford Village, Grenada, West Indies.

Original paintings, giclee prints, and note cards continue to sell throughout Grenada, Caribbean and World wide and in return I continue to work on community and youth building projects.

For the past six months The Harford Village Peace Leaders have been busy organizing and facilitating various community youth programs such as an after school peace program; a sharing of cultures with Canadian youth visitors; a village hike with hiking expert Telfore Bedeau; a community drum session with national drum troupe, Tivoli Drummers; a community Fun Day in Victoria Park; a poster making session to celebrate Earth Day; a children’s exercise session; an after school chess club and various other creative activities that reach out to Village kids ages 4 to 16 years.

A young women’s Program called INSPIRE began in March 2010. This girl-friendly youth empowerment program was literally inspired by a young women’s empowerment program from the Antigonish Women’s Resource Centre, Nova Scotia! Seven young village women from high risk – low income families gathered every Wednesday evening. The girls explored, discovered, and exercised their talents, potential and voiced needs in a safe, positive and non judgmental environment. The program was held in my small studio; a space I had dreamed about turning into a Peace Studio/Workshop and hosting various small group youth programs. The dream is alive!!!

In July youth leaders once again coordinated and facilitated a children’s peace camp. The camp provided kids with a safe, creative and fun space to learn and engage in a variety of educational and creative activities, games and field trips. This year the Peace Camp was sponsored by local NGO, Grenada Save the Children (GRENSAVE).

Allison Harris is the first Village youth to travel to Canada and take part in Grenada Youth Exchange and is presently here in Antigonish, Nova Scotia with Theo, Maya and I. Alison has been busy opening her heart and mind to the many cross cultural learning opportunities presenting themselves within the first week of her stay. Allison will also volunteer at a children’s peace camp, take part in the Tatamagouche Social Justice Youth Camp, work on an organic farm and be a part of our extended Antigonish family. This will give Allison the opportunity to strengthen her leadership, facilitation and social justice skills; meet new friends; and share her experiences, skills and knowledge with Grenadian family friends and community upon her return.

I continue to fund raise for various components of village peace projects and youth initiatives through sales of my artwork. If you would like to continue supporting peace programs in Harford Village through purchasing original art by Maureen St. Clair visit my website and glance through 2010 paintings and prints for peace. I also paint commissioned pieces specific to your needs. 10 % of all sales goes towards village youth programs and initiatives.

Visit my website: www.maureenstclair.com to view!

Email me at mayamado@hotmailcom.com!

One Love
One Family
One Earth
Maureen St. Clair

Wise Warrior Gentle Women

2010-07-27T03:53:00.000-07:00

Maya and I find ourselves in the company of three wise women; three lovely gentle blooming blossomed story wise women!

We finally take the invite that has been blown our way for the past few years and find ourselves in Bath, Ontario for 28 hours basked in early morning loons rising with the purple hazed horizon; extended families of ducks visiting from the shoreline; a colorful array of flowers, vegetables, finches and chickadees; a bold swift and pudgy cheeked chipmunk scampering to our sides for offerings of dried corn; twin rainbows back bending across lake Ontario; and Women, wise,warrior, wide open arm Women! Three of them!

We dived into lives past and present, books enjoyed and books put down, creative projects and passions; other people’s courageous stories, our own courageous stories; oppression of women worldwide; travels to Laos, Vietnam, Israel and Turkey; grandkids and kids; who we are at 42, who we are at 71, and who we are here and now; stories from Grenada and Jamaica; Jimmy Cliff and other reggae artists we love to groove to; connections that naturally take root and flourish into stories painful yet fruitful; and an array of sharing that women friends do when they find themselves together without a whole lot of interruption….

I give thanks to these three wise gentle women friends that move into our lives and grace us with gifts of love and friendship providing paths to take that lead to the centre of life taken!

do we want to hear? do we have the time?

2010-07-14T04:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I bounced up with Jamaica roots rasta friend at farmers market. He sells his organically and humbly grown greens and spicy Johnny bakes every Sunday at inner city market here in Ottawa. This week Rasta and I’s talk moved immediately into the world of Grenada. Ras asked me how Grenada was holding up? And I responded with “times are hard for the holding.” He replied, “What do you mean hard?” but before I could respond with a simplified answer to a complicated question Ras says “Times aren’t hard man, people make it hard.” I usually take a long pause when confronted with this sort of opinion, and in that pause I am usually asked the question again., “ok so why are times hard?”

Where does one begin to answer such a multi layered, complicated question and from what angle does one begin the discussion? historically, socially, economically, politically, spiritually? And do people with the “times aren’t hard, people make it hard” attitude want to hear the stories behind the stories; the social, economic, historical, political, religious contexts that many kids worldwide are born into, contexts that leave very little room to walk through open doors to a softer more pliable flexible life; do people want to hear the brutal histories that continue to deny so many of our children, women and men the opportunities to move forward and therefore make it in this so called “not so hard life”; do people want to hear about the politics of one small island that has such a deep hold of people’s psyches, that works to divide neighbors causing confusion, chaos, a constant flow of lateral violence such as gossip and party colored politics making people’s lives just that much harder to love thy neighbor and thyself; do people want to hear about the violence that fills up peoples lives, not because they ask for it but because that is how it has always been; do people want to hear about a global economic system that caters to a small section of the world’s population making it difficult for many hard working people to move forward in a work force that is either non existent, limited or provides work at slave wages; do people want to hear why people don’t want to go back to the land, the deeply rooted disgust of what many people consider slave work, a marching back into a history of sweat and toil, of long torturous days swinging the machete in the hot sun while the Boss Man swings his whip over heads and bodies; do people want to hear or even try to understand the deeply rutted grooves in a child’s psyche that is exposed from birth to a constant diet of violence, poverty and oppression that leads to a perpetual cycle within oneself, affecting ones choices and access to opportunities; do people want to hear about their own country’s past and present oppressive structures that gave birth to residential schools, public government apologies that mean nothing to the first nations youths committing suicide daily in our northern Canadian communities.

And where do these discussions take place? Do they take place amongst the rolling hills of greens and fruits cultivated and harvested weekly, sold to an affluent world of Sunday morning market buyers and browsers, of people like myself who stroll freely from stall to stall paying fair prices to eat in ways that enhance and encourage a life of fullness and choice. Is there room here to talk openly and freely? Is there time for people to read this blog, to immerse themselves for a few minutes in realities that are far from their own or close to their own however distant because they are the few who have pushed through the hard soil and have made it through and can now share their testimonies and say without hesitation, “times not hard, people make them hard” ? Is there time now also to talk about the courage, resilience, power and hope that people who endure such contexts and histories portray daily in their everyday lives of overcoming, of conquering each moment, each breathe inhaled and exhaled and do we people want to hear? Do we people have the time?

Confusion, Curiosity and Delight

2010-07-09T11:36:00.001-07:00

Moving temporarily into a world of red maple leafs, urban gardens, long summer days, cardinals and blue jays, oversized cats with insatiable appetites, skunks and raccoons, weather chatting neighbors, music festivals and inner city park yoga. A world where people go about their business without noticing the faces of one another, without the familiar nods of island connectedness; until a smile meets their passing gaze and I become not just a body in a city full of other bodies but a person with strange hair wrapped in colorful cloth.

In Grenada I am Rasta, Ras, Sistren, Dread, Empress, however here I am watched with confusion, curiosity, and delight. Within the first day of planting ourselves onto Canadian soil a new friend commented excitedly, “birds could build nests in your hair!” I laughed and thought of diamond headed satin green Grenada hummingbirds landing and nesting. Two days ago an elder woman crossed the road as I was getting into the van and with surety and regret said, “if I had my life to live over I would have hair just like yours”. Last night while walking to the Blues Festival, to dance the night away to Gypsy Kings and Steele Pulse,a lady bravely asked if she could feel my hair. She waited patiently for me to offer up my head. Some comments are not so positive such as the time I walked into my doctors office and was greeted with, “I pray my daughter never comes home with hair like that” and last summer when a jacket and tie man laughed boldly in my direction “does it come with operating instructions” glaring at my head and chuckling with other white collar suits. However, these comments are few and in between the light, breezy curiosity of the many Ottawa dwellers who glance over and see mother and daughter wearing their cross cultural hair proudly and freely.

Good News: Taking Care of One Another

2010-06-25T08:12:00.001-07:00

JJ and his mother, Hermione have arrived home after three months in Richmond, Virginia. JJ underwent heart surgery to replace two severely damaged heart valves related to rheumatic fever that was misdiagnosed last year. JJ was sponsord by the Grenada Heart Foundation and after many months of waiting to see if a hospital overseas would sponsor the operation; he and his mother have returned from a succesful operation and many soulful stories of hope, loss and unity to share. And in the same breathe of a blog i want to shout out more good news with the arrival of Alison's canadian visa a few days ago!!!

Alison is JJ's younger sister and one of the youth leaders in the Village Peace Programs. We have been fund raising for a Alison's journey to Canada so she can take part in cultural immersion program in Nova Scotia. Alison will be involved in a Social Justice Youth Camp in Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia; a Youth Leadership Camp in Halifax, Nova Scotia; and spending time on a community oriented, organic farm in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. Donations continue to flow in support of this youth empowerment initiative! We are hoping this will be an on-going program that will provide other Grenadian youths like Alison the opportunity to travel, meet new people, build leadership skills, and empower themselves to work for personal and social change upon their return!
Thanks and Praise to everyone for their many blessings, generous donations and global belief in taking care of one another world-wide.

2010-06-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

Possibilities Exist

I watch the paths in my life swim, spiral and swan dive into gigantic free flowing circles and I connect the dots reaching deep into memories of my own childhood and the patterns that have led me here today working with youths. I reflect on my own struggle with self; how that self was squashed from a young age even with a belly a full of food, a roof over my head, little fear of being killed, bombed, abandoned, sexually or physically abused. Even with all this I still struggled with my self and getting it right for the outside world; the prescribed world of impossible beauty; the clearly defined gender roles that silenced many of us into walking straight and forever pleasing paths; the confusing messages of consumer needs and religious guilt.

If it wasn’t for the many privileges I was born into opening doors to limitless possibilities enabling me to work with my own barriers to self expression, perhaps I would not have had the courage to explore, discover and exercise the passions that have led me here, engaged in programs that provide safe positive environments where potential can bloom. Unfortunately the programs I am engaged with exist in a not so privileged world (the world of the village) where possibilities are not limitless but limited; where children and adults struggle against all odds to nurture their talents and potential and protect this potential from unjust systems that fight against them day in and day out. Systems such as market place globalization, poverty, racial discrimination, violence, internalized and externalized oppressive attitudes. However, despite all odds, resilience, courage and resourcefulness do exist and there are children and adults who do bloom and break free from the cracks and crevices of concrete attitudes and systems. Reminds me of a line I read the other day on the back of a school bus “possibilities exist”.

In March 2010, six young women and I began a program called Shine: Young Women Discovering Exploring Exercising their Talents. We began meeting weekly and sharing positive, safe and girl-friendly spaces that enabled us to explore, discover and exercise our natural talents and potential. Our first few sessions focused on reclaiming ourselves by exploring positive self images. We discussed the meaning of self confidence, took self esteem quizzes, reflected on our own ability to love ourselves and examined the barriers to self love.

The barriers the young women voiced included judgmental teachers, parents, friends and relatives; negative attitudes they hear over and over from people in authority; feelings of unworthiness and guilt that they believe come from a lack of love in their own lives; and violence in their homes, schools and communities. We confronted these barriers by writing group poems of self love, decorating personal journals with collaged images of beauty and peace. We used art sessions to support our vibrant discussions and reflections and made self aware bracelets, mosaic candle holders out of recycled bottles and tissue paper, and painted candles (most of the paint ended up on our toes, fingers elbows and cheeks).
In last week’s session we watched the movie, Mad Hot Ballroom. An inspiring movie about kids coming from high risk immigrant families who first came to United States to find a better life for their kids but found the ghettos of New York instead. The film portrayed opportunities for children to find their potential through learning the discipline of Latin Dancing and in return important life skills. The kids learned how to work cooperatively with their peers, how to be in healthy relationships on and off the dance floor, how to respect their team mates and dancing partners, how to stand tall and proud while looking their partners in the eyes, and how to make positive choices that can lead to other possibilities. One of the dance teachers defined success as “finding what you love to do the most and doing it the best you can”. After the movie the girls and I talked about finding what we love to do the best and finding opportunities to succeed even amongst all the barriers.

Exploring discovering exercising the possibilities for success is much easier for some of us especially where privilege exists in every corner. Not so easy when privilege is a distant cousin waving from the shoreline and self confidence your only chance to swim across. I find hope in the young women of Harford village, who against all odds, find themselves searching and finding small spaces of possibility and simply (and not so simply) showing up.

Finding Peace

2010-05-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

Human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places - and there are so many- where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
Zinn, 2004

Yesterday I received an email from a friend and artist extraordinaire; he was getting ready to sculpt a commission on the theme of peace. He went to my blog in search of peace and commented on the lack of. Therefore this blog is dedicated to peace within my extended village family of Harford Village.

Peace is walking down the village road calling out people’s names as you pass; stopping to share old and new talk with neighbors on their verandahs, or neighbors working in their gardens, or neighbors bringing in their goats, or neighbors pelting mangos from a tree, or neighbors liming on recycled benches; collectively built throughout the community, or neighbors strolling down the road; themselves talking, chatting, calling out their mornings, evenings and nights. I carry a bag on these strolls down the road, knowing gifts are shared along the way; an arm load of ripening mangoes, a handful of plums, a stick of sugar cane, a taste of someone’s food, a bunch of callalloo freshly cut.

Friendliness is knowing everyone knows your name or some version of a name meant to be you; “Good morning Sistren” or “bless up girlfriend”, or “you all right Rasta?” or “Maya’s Mommy going for a walk?” or “Stay bless sistah” or “Mrs. Theo where you walking so fast?” or “Guidance Sister Friend” or “Hold tight Daughter”.

Cooperation is watching Theo share the upkeep of a cow with his two Rasta brethren; daily figuring out when to cut, gather and transport feeding for their collective copper mama cow.

Authentic concern is when neighbors do not see you for a couple days and express this through questions of care: “you sick?” “What happened to you; I ain’t seeing you at all girl”, “How you scarce so?”; “You under house arrest or what?”

Freedom is the freedom to sing at the top of one’s voice anytime and anywhere; while filling buckets at the stand pipe, or strolling down the road, or sitting at the junction waiting for some friends, or picking peas by the side of the road, or hanging clothes, or getting on a bus.

Passion is the nations’ collective love of music, dance, drum anything that propels the body into movement; most of the time conscious some of the time not so conscious, but still a shared vibe of rhythm and movement.

Lending a hand is the planning and building of our peach painted community centre that sits proud in the middle of our village, testifying what our village people can do. An array of farmers, teachers, masons, carpenters, artists, government workers, vendors, nurses, police officers, hand crafters, service workers, mechanics fill up our small community; the sharing of assets and skills whether it be a boil that is lanced and dressed, or an old car battery replaced, or a grafted plant cut and shared; or a document to be faxed and carried to town; or tables to be made for the community centre, or signs to be painted for the next week’s bingo, or a drive to the medical station, or a weekend maroon scheduled to break down and rebuild someone’s house.

Hospitality is being welcomed or welcoming friends who drop by anytime of the day with no particular reason but to simply acknowledge an innate sense of community. Our yard and home a testimony to this innate community feeling; with daily gatherings of kids of all ages strewn across our veranda sharing the latest news, or taking turns on the “skin up” tree swing; or lying on the floor drawing, reading, building houses with hard covered books. Adults also drop by daily like Theo’s various brothers checking in while quenching their thirst with a glass of water or a shot of rum, sistren friends checking in before heading home to cook, brethren friends wondering if Theo can drop them down the road. And always a pot of food on the stove with more then enough to share for whoever’s belly may be grumbling or not grumbling.

I give thanks and praise to community; my extended village family filling me up with teachings of extendedness, of shared humanness, of fearlessness, of pure and simple loveliness.

rage

2010-05-12T07:55:00.000-07:00

A week ago two men were beheaded in the neighboring community of Baltizar. The gruesome murders and the bewildering actions of the man who killed two of his companions has left the parish of St. Andrews and Grenada on a whole shaking our heads in disbelief. I find myself drawn to this terrible story with incessant thoughts of how and why this could happen. I believe the close proximity of the murders ( just around the corner from the village); the accused and two dead men familiar faces in the larger community of Grenville; and knowing the three men’s neighbors, cousins, friends and acquaintances has me turning over the layers of a horrific story that cannot be understood in any logical form.

If I had received this news from another part of the world, or another Caribbean island, or even another part of Grenada I would have shook my head in disbelief and made a quick judgment; the man must be crazy, insane, mad. For a few days my mind believed these judgmental thoughts; how else does one explain the beheading of two companions, putting the heads in a bucket, carrying them to the Grenville police station and dumping the heads onto the counter of the station. Insanity. Crazy. Madness.

After witnessing the chaos in Grenville during the first preliminary hearings; watching the man who beheaded his two companions run up the court house before an angry mob; seeing his lowered face, his neatly pressed white bleached shirt and a face which I recognized immediately from the many familiar faces in Grenville; I no longer held on to the view that this man is mentally deranged. Perhaps for those hours or minutes it took him to do what he did his anger transformed him into a rage of unimaginable consequences which led to psychotic actions. But a history of mental illness, so far, has not been part of this story. This leads to my incessant thoughts of why people do what they do and what causes some to enter unimaginable acts of rage.

Witnessing some of the kids here in the village being raised by a constant diet of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse I can understand a little more clearly why many of the boys here in the village grow up unable to control their anger and lash out with violent words, or sharp edges of broken bottles, or cutlasses that turn from a gardening tool to a deadly weapon. It is common to hear boys and men throw out violent words such as, “I chopping you!” I can’t help wonder how hearing and saying these words over and over may create a worn out groove in the crevices of one’s mind and then maybe one day the cutlass is there and the anger has escalated to a place it has never gone before and suddenly the cutlass is swung, a hand is dangling or a head severed. Of course last week’s case is different as it all seemed so planned and contrived and thus the questions go around and around.

What made this man chop two of his companions heads off after an afternoon of sharing drink and food and helping with the evening garden chores? What made this man move into the evil acts his mind must have been immersed in for awhile? What made him kill and remove the heads of his companions, put them in a bucket, get into the van of the man he just beheaded, travel to the police station with two heads, and eventually dump the two heads onto the counter of the Grenville police station? Was this man haunted by his need to be seen, heard, taken seriously? Was he silently screaming “No more will I be silenced. No more will I be shamed, laughed at, treated like a ‘stupidy’. No more will I be invisible, without a voice, kicked aside!’ And why are many of us able to control such rage and others not? Rumors fly about like evening fruit bats unable to recognize their surroundings until the last light of day is smothered. And even in the smothering of light no rumor seems to answer any of the above questions.

I believe we are all born with basic goodness and what happens after we are born molds us into the beings we evolve into. What is this fine balance between those who find themselves in prison for atrocious acts against humanity and those who find themselves working for the betterment of humanity? Such complicated questions, such hard places to go and reflect on. However, there we must go in order to wake up to what we all have within ourselves, great bounds of kindness but also great bounds of potential violence.

there are a hundred ways to pray

2010-05-03T11:35:00.001-07:00

Papa God walks into our house again when Maya blurts out just before crashing into sleep, “Mom, the kids at school make fun of me because I don’t kneel and pray before going to bed. They say I going to hell if I don’t kneel down and pray.” It takes great strength and courage not to react emotionally. Instead I take a deep breath and on the exhale, Rumi’s words find their way to the surface of my thoughts “there are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” From here I say to Maya “Well I guess they believe there is only one way to pray. I, myself, believe there are many ways to pray, many ways to reach god or goddess or mother earth or the spirit world that sails through our piece of the sky every morning in the form of emerald green parrots coupled and calling “watch me watch me watch me”. I say to Maya every time we give thanks to the earth for our daily meals and safe journeys that is prayer; every time we walk on the beach and notice the gifts from the sea like swirly butterscotch shells, purply mauve jelly fish, snails hiding in the crevices of white worn coral that is prayer; every time we sit in silence on the cushion with candle lit and we breathe in and out noticing our breath that is prayer; every time we hug our friends with great love and gratitude that is prayer. Maya rolls her eyes and giggles “So how come you didn’t mention the Dalai Lama this time?”

Papa God is what I refer to as a colonial God. A God that I have a difficult time believing in. A God that Maya hears about regularly. A God that causes hurricanes and earth quakes to kill people who are dealing in wicked ways, a God that sends people to hell for not kneeling down and praying before bed, a God that favours one skin colour over a next, a God that strikes down dead a husband and wife for lying, a God that means beat your kids into submission when he is quoted, “spare the rod, spoil the child”, a God that enters our house regularly. A God I find great difficulty in facing with calmness and compassion. A God, however, that provides great opportunity to practice patience and courage. I deal with him the best way I can by trying hard not to condemn other people’s beliefs in his authoritative, patriarchal and fearful ways but to teach alternative perspectives, alternative ways to pray, to love, to forgive, to listen, to praise….

The first time Papa God entered our house was when Maya came home one afternoon from up the road with her Father. When I ask, “Why the scrunched up face?” She tells me she has been watching an “old time bible” at the shop with the rest of the kids. She says the Bible was full of pictures. In one picture she describes the devil stabbing a black man with a funny looking cutlass. Maya says, “Azuka tell me not to be afraid, she say ‘Maya why you frightened, girl? You don’t have to frighten. God don’t strike down white people.’” Maya bursts into tears. I let her cry, wondering what she must be thinking. Is she thinking that her father will be punished mercilessly if he does something wrong in the eyes of Papa God? Is she thinking of all her friends and family here in Grenada and abroad who do not share a skin colour that enables them to live when mistakes are made? I ask Maya again why is she crying and she says “Mom, I am not white; I am honey!” I hold her and tell her firmly I do not believe in this God and that my God, our God is an all-loving God, a God who embraces all people, a God that believes in coexistence with many people’s versions of God, a God that loves everyone equitably and equally, a God that is male and female, a God that believes in kindness as the basis of all religions. “Like the Dalai Lama, Mom?” “Yes like the Dalai Lama”, I say, “And like Jesus and like Buddha and like Mother Teresa and like….

Papa God enters our house occasionally these days; however not with as many emotions attached. We watch him come in calmly, offer him a seat, sometimes tea and then watch him transform as we replace him with a more loving, compassionate, nurturing soul version of God available to all of us worldwide if we would only look in the unexpected places in the many ways we find to kneel and kiss the ground.

journal junkie

2010-04-30T07:23:00.000-07:00

I am a 4:30am journal junkie thus the reason these blog writings are not as constant as I had hoped. Not sure how to make time to write when early morning seems to be the space allotted. But the journal pages scream out “fill me up fill me up” and I bow down to this positive addiction knowing how transformative reflection can be. Pages fill up with critical thoughts on books read, or unexpected conversations shared, or a day gone nowhere but then somewhere, or an argument that turned ugly, or a conflict down the road turned violent, or a brilliant thought from one of the many children hanging in the yard, or a piece of gossip that cannot be ignored because it involves the potential abuse of a child, or the way the sunlight slants through the door illuminating a dancing figure to be sketched for the canvas, or the questions that pop out of maya’s mouth about the colour of her skin or the enslavement of jesus. All this and more hand written religiously every morning reflecting, sorting, creating, questioning, rationalizing, blowing everything out of proportion, and then not blowing anything out of order but creating order from this mind that is chaotic and clear. Then the next morning arrives and this time wanting to type blog pieces but instead my hand moves towards the pen and the white "fill me up" page and i am swept away again into reflection. But of course there are days like these when i begin to transform journal writings into blog pieces and know this can become routine when time opens up and inspiration erupts.

Today i will shine: thanks marilyn

2010-04-17T09:10:00.000-07:00

I give thanks and praise for the strength-giving emails i received from the last blog i wrote on Marilyn and reflections of life and death. There were a few of you who wanted to know more about Marilyn and so I went searching for a poem I wrote for her on her birthday two years ago. I found it in an old journal.

As a preface to the poem:

I met Marilyn seven years ago on the Carenage here in Grenada. She came up to me and asked if I was the artist Maureen St. Clair. That was the first time I really heard and accepted the title of artist. Perhaps it was Marilyn’s certainty of Self or her mother like stature that would make any daughter say “yes I am thank you”. The week before our first meeting Marilyn had bought all of my paintings at an Annual Art Exhibit, five relatively large pieces. The irony of this purchase is that Marilyn and her best friend-husband divided their time between Grenada and North America. Their homes are a sail boat docked at a marina outside of St. George’s and an RV Parked somewhere in the state of Indiana. She bought those paintings regardless of lack of space. She bought them because Marilyn is all of and every one of the empowered women that I paint. Marilyn saw her glorious Life Defined self in my work. If you know my work then you will know Marilyn. And so this is what Marilyn taught me:

That a light is a light
shining bright
even under the pressure of time
seeking refuge in a cell that screams “help!”

That a year takes her time to heal the news of cancer
and that healing starts today
within our own minds

That love is free
a phone call
an email
a huge shining presence
walking up the driveway

That passion is within
all fo us
waiting to be released
into this world
a small project, a big event
a small suggestion to a vendor on the street
a hug of resignation
of letting go
and moving on to the next
seed in the ground
a bud with potential to bloom

That one must shine and share
the gifts, the journey of fearlessness
hoping at the most
not to intrude on others
making no one feel small
and everyone feel big
sharing that bigness
humbly with no apologies

That it is healthier for everyone to take out
the maybes
the perhaps
the ifs
the sorrys
the we are hoping tos
and replace them with more
confident stronger pliable positive powerful words

That women friends
are essential to
life’s work
to getting through a hard day a difficult month
an excruciating year

That cancer is cancer
and a breast is a breast
and that these do not define
who we are
because who we are
are these gigantic beings
of light and potential

That life goes on even after the diagnosis
that life goes on even after you look down and there is something missing
but then not missing
because we have love within
and without
circles of strength
circling us

that I am simply
a friend out of many
waiting for you to phone,
to email
to visit
knowing that you are out there
doing your thing
being yourself
feeling the moments
choosing which one fits best
now
today

remembering marilyn: life and death defined

2010-04-16T07:50:00.001-07:00

My dear friend Marilyn died two weeks ago. Cancer filled up her bones, liver and lungs. I believe many of us were in denial of her cancer including Marilyn. Marilyn was life defined. Memories move frantically within. Each memory competing for attention “remember me remember me” they say. And I remember so as not to forget the glorious courageous life defined Marilyn. Maya moves away from my tears and then back again with unexpected hugs throughout the day “are you still thinking of Marilyn”, she whispers in my ear.

I contemplate how much we should or should not shelter our children from difficult emotions, or from the inevitableness of death. I wonder what Marilyn would say about this knowing that she too was sheltered from death when her father died unexpectedly when she was Maya’s age.

I remember hearing a friend of mine from Canada say she refused to read her kids Bambi because Bambi’s mom dies at the beginning of the story. I couldn’t help think, “yes but mothers do die.” Living here in the Village death is intimately connected with everyone. You either know the dead personally or you know someone who did and therefore you become part of the story and share your own stories of death or near death experiences.

Maya touched the possibility of death when her life was almost lifted away in a car accident two years ago. I remember village friends coming up to the house the same evening and saying to Maya “what gyal you almost dead!” Maya was six when the jeep her father was driving flipped over and landed in the drain. Maya pitched out of the jeep and the door landed on top of her head and half her face. Theo peeled back the steel and wedged her head from the wreck. She survived with very little damage with the exception of a warrior scar stretching across the left side of her face. I remember friends coming over during the course of the week to share with us their own stories of death and almost death experiences. One of my friends came and we remembered her son who was killed ten years ago in a car accident. Her son was beheaded in the accident. On a Monday morning my friend was called out of her house to walk to the scene of the accident to identify her 21 year old boy. His back pack was strewn across the road with parts of his brain scattered on top. The whole village went down to the accident that day. I stayed home. Despite my hesitancy to go that same evening to my friends home I went with the rest of the village. I grew up believing the first night of death was reserved for the immediate family however soon learned that death is everybody’s business here and you are expected to be a part and give whatever support you are able. I remember my friend holding me tight before she was swept away by another long hard embrace. I remember the children running in and around death free and yet present to the sorrow.

After Maya’s accident I was grateful for the stream of neighbors landing on our doorstep sharing their stories and expressing death matter of factly and yet with a gentle presence of life left behind. Today the accident isen’t a story to be hushed but is a tale of courage, forgiveness and strength. If you ask Maya about the scar on the left side of her face be prepared for a gripping story!

I think Marilyn would have liked the direction this blog took. The contemplation of death and pain and sheltering or not sheltering those we love. Marilyn’s choice to live life to the fullest was evident in everything she did and said. I cant help wonder if sheltering us from the inevitableness of her own death was a conscious choice or part of her legacy to be life and death defined.

To beat or not to beat?

2010-03-30T04:42:00.001-07:00

Ideas for blog pieces surface in the spaces of my mind and they are there working themselves out for future entries but for now i share an aricle i wrote for a grenada newpaper and will follow up with writings on personal and other global perspectives on child honouring, a revolutionary path to changing this world around!!!

To Beat or Not to Beat?

I applaud the woman who recently phoned George Grant's Sunday morning show and courageously made her view that we should start looking at other ways to discipline our children and youths besides beating them. She expressed her view despite it running counter clockwise to the popular view that beating kids as a form of discipline is necessary. She said our Grenadian culture is becoming more and more violent and disciplining our kids through flogging is creating more violence. She felt there was more we could do for our kids other then beating them as a form of discipline. She felt that parents should spend more time with their children encouraging and teaching them more peaceful ways of dealing with conflict. She talked briefly about the cycle of violence beginning with master beating slave, man beating woman, and parents beating children and thus creating further a culture of violence. George Grant interrupted her throughout the call, disabling her from making her point clearly. George Grant seemed weary and frustrated with the state of the youths in Grenada today. He felt teachers should be given more authority to discipline their students through corporal punishment.

I can’t help wonder what is missing in this on-going debate. Is the debate only about whether our kids need more physical discipline in school? Is the debate only about whether to beat or not to beat in school? Is the conclusion being made that kids who are disrespectful, rude and violent are kids who need more hard lash?

I believe the debate needs to move to a deeper level. I believe other questions and issues need to be addressed such as: Does discipline mean corporal punishment? What is the difference between discipline and abuse? Is whacking a student in the back of the head with a text book discipline or abuse? Is calling a student stupid and/or too "hard headed" to learn discipline or abuse? Is beating a student until she falls down discipline or abuse?

Is the question really about “to beat or not to beat our children?” What about questioning the other factors contributing to children becoming more disrespectful and violent? What do our children and youth need in order to grow up better adjusted to the changing world? I hear over and over from successful adults that they are better people today because of the hard lash they received as children. I can’t help wonder what other factors made these same people successful? And why aren’t we discussing these factors? I want to know what other factors made George Grant the successful man he is today other then the hard rap to the knuckles he received in school.

I hear regularly on the block, call in programs, and local television that American youth are out of control because parents and teachers are not allowed to beat their kids, “You don’t see how those kids turning out. They walking to school with guns. They out of control over there and then they want to come here and tell us how to discipline our kids.” Again I believe the debate needs to move to a broader analyses of why North American kids are spinning out of control and thus why there are more examples of violence in American society today. Seems too simplistic a view to say it is because parents and teachers are not able to beat their children and students. What more should we be questioning in relation to why kids in America are becoming more violent? Why isen’t there more debate on other factors affecting the youth such as violent media images that are shoved into both our Caribbean and North American youth’s minds through tv, video games, computers ect.. How is violent media affecting our youths? Why is providing our kids material wealth more important then spending quality time with them?

Other questions I believe need to be addressed within a Grenadian context are: Are our teachers trained professionally in classroom management? Have they had the opportunity to look at alternative means to disciplining? Are our teachers trained to recognize and deal with children who have learning and emotional disabilities? (You cannot beat out a learning or emotional disability)? Are we parents spending enough time with our kids teaching, affirming, respecting, and acknowledging their talents and potential? Where and how do kids learn love, respect, responsibility, compassion? Is it enough to provide our kids with food, shelter, pretty clothes to walk down the road in? Why are our young women making babies at such an early age? Why are older and young men impregnating these young women? How does this contribute to the cycle of violence? Are we providing our adolescent mothers and fathers parenting training? How are we as a nation and individuals contributing to the cycle of violence that is prevalent in our society today?

I believe this on-going passionate debate on disciplining our kids has to go much broader then simply debating whether kids need more lash?

feeling no pain! community shines

2010-03-12T05:38:00.000-08:00

Economic, social, political and physically hard times take back seat for the evening as the Tivoli Drummers take centre stage in Harford Village. The drums beat out their invitation for community to come:

Come out from behind your tv screens, your dvd movies, your grievances towards neighbours;
Come out from your worries of a next day, your pots to be scrubbed and clothes to be washed;
Come out from the who said what and where and when;
Come out and join the rhythm of the drums,the chanting of old time songs,
the playing of circle games, the healing testimonies of music and laughter;
Come out and feel what it really feels like when the “music hits you and you feel no pain!”

The whole of Harford village gathered at the junction last Tuesday evening to listen, feel and witness the power of drum, the power of conscious music to soothe the soul and give birth once again to community spirit. By the end of the evening the whole of the village had arrived from the elders to the infants bouncing on their mother’s swaying hips.

Timvoli Drummers, one of Grenada’s most popular drum groups accepted a recent invite to come and play in our community! The drummers are a source of cultural pride not only nationally but also for the big parish of St. Andrews, the community of Tivoli where the group was conceived and now Harford Village! As one Village man said on the night the African drums arrived: “I can’t believe Tivoli drummers are playing for the Village, We special or what!” Clapping, chanting and dancing to African drums is a recipe for community spirit at it's most! Their was no time for: “fussing and fighting”; idle chat about “who say what”; loud talk of which political party “killing de country”, or “who ‘thiefing’ what from who”. There was only time to play old time games, sing rhythmical chants, laugh and encourage our children in the dances they danced, the games they skipped and the bent back limbo they performed.

One of the youth leaders leaned into me in the middle of a beat and says “I cant remember the last time village people come out and really enjoy one another!” Another friend commented : “so much negativity, gossip and divison between we people however on a night like tonight, when music take your soul we all one, we all feel our togetherness!”

I reflect on the power of music, in particular drum and dance in healing our bodies and minds; in providing a sense of hope and courage; in transforming hardened minds and bodies into soft flowing forgiving beings. I reflect while extending a wide open thank you to Krumah Livingston Nelsonand the rest of the Tivolli Drummers for creating, provoking and illuminating community spirit!!!

So when you all coming back!!!!!

gender reflections

2010-02-24T07:11:00.000-08:00

Stay Home and Mind Baby

All talk shifts from village man who stole over $30,000 of cocoa worker’ wages to a next village neighbor, a young mother accused of abandoning her children to “jump up” in carnival. My neighbor friend was picked up by police while getting on a boat to head to sister island Carriacou to take part in carnival. The story spreads that she left her three kids sleeping in the house and told her brother to watch them while “she gone.” The story continues that her Father called the police because he thought she was “getting on too much” by leaving her children with different members of the family while she went out to socialize. Our neighbor, mother of three, spent a Carriacou carnival in jail.

As most stories go throughout the world there are many colorful versions of the truth. However does anyone ever really know the truth. The first reaction to the story that hit me first was from another father, “She sick. She real sick. Imagine leaving your three children so you can “ jump up” in carnival. I always suspect something wrong with she head. There are many evening I see her at the shop when she should be home with she children. Imagine sitting up at the shop smoking cigarettes and taking a drink while your children are home sleeping. She leaving those kids in the house and coming down the road to do what???”

I ponder these words and can’t help think of the men who sit, smoke and drink night after night at the same shop. Majority of them fathers of young children. I think back of my own childhood and reflect on who stayed with my brother and I most nights while my dad was out socializing. I try to imagine the reversal. I try to imagine my mom leaving us night after night to hang with her girlfriends. I try to imagine me now leaving Maya night after night to socialize and feed a part of me that craves adult connections. I mention this to Theo “ I wonder what the village would say about me if they saw me down the road regularly and you home with Maya?” Theo responds, “They would judge me too you know and call me a ‘mamaguy’, someone ruled by their woman.” I leave Theo to ponder his own fear of judgement and reflect more about our socially conditioned minds wrapped around gender issues.

The same day the story spread I spoke with another village friend and neighbour who told me she was “feeling it” for our friend who was presently in jail. She pronounces, “I aint running my mouth on she at all! I know the pressure! I know what its like to be home with children all the time and no release. So where the Father? He should be locked up too. Why everyone quick to condemn the woman and nobody checking on the father. We need a break too you know.” These words spoken by single mom who raised 13 children. In my head I hear the rebuttal, “So why she make baby if she don’t want to stay home and mind baby?” I reflect further on gender stereotypes and wonder how and when these same stereotypes will be stripped of their conditioned meaning and understood in terms of health and well being for all worldwide.

An old time folk song escapes Maya’s lips as she practices for school concert. “brown skin girl stay home and mind baby, brown skin girl stay home and mind baby. I’m going away on a sailing boat and if I don’t come back stay home and mind baby.” I hear her say to her girlfriend, “so why can’t he stay home and mind baby and we go take a trip on sail boat!”

journey of the heart

2010-02-22T02:48:00.000-08:00

To all friends and family who continue to lend their love, support and prayers towards our nephew JJ who was misdiagnosed in July 2009. The misdiagnosis led to a severly infected heart caused by rheumatic fever. JJ spent two months in the hospital fighting for his life. He survived the infection however damaged two heart valves. JJ has been waiting for the past 7 months to hear whether a hospital overseas will sponsor him for heart surgery. We found out yesterday JJ was accepted to a hospital in Richmond, Virginia! We are ecstatic over here. The Grenada Heart Foundation is funding JJ’s journey and operation! JJ and his mom, Hermione, are preparing for a journey of the heart in more ways then one!

Thanks you for your offerings of hope and gentle reassurance knowing that strength, courage and resilience surface from life’s interruptions.

let we sing sweet grenada

2010-02-13T04:05:00.000-08:00

Let We Sing Sweet Grenada

Independence day comes and goes with a stream of red green and gold left behind in the national flags waving and the freshly painted red green and gold telephone poles, street curbs, base of palm trees and shop doors saluting the end of a week of birthday celebrations.

The week leading up to Grenada’s 36th birthday was full of celebration. 36 years to ponder whether Grenada “really free or not”; 36 years to proudly wear and boast the brilliant colors of an independent nation; 36 years to radiate hope, courage and resilience in spite of many hardships; 36 years of culture, history, politics vibrating through the streets, villages, towns, radio and tv stations, mouths of shop keepers, neighbors and family.

Maya Samara and I met up with our community crew and joined the parade of colors. We danced down Cook Hill and into the lively streets of Grenville. Alluring beat of African and steel pan drums calling; conch shells trumpeting; calypso songs sharing “let we sing let we sing let we sing sweet Grenada”; hips winding to the beats of independence celebration; and soft smells of fried, steamed, soused, baked fish flexing through the air as fish Friday plants her lovely self down in Grenville on Saturday, the eve before independence day. We arrive just as the parade is beginning to march through the streets, school marching bands, carnival costumes, torches lit, a tropical sea of red green and gold as the whole of Grenada is drenched clean in national colours.

I continue to listen openly to a blend of hard worn colourful versions of independence day stories. Stories that begin with Sir Eric Matthew Gairy, the Father of Independence and move to the People’s Revolution government that “mashed up” for many reasons that are available through the people who lived through it. There are many shaded hues of personal perspectives. Here is one version told by an elder man in a shop one hot blazing afternoon while waiting for a pound of rice:

“You feel Gairy an easy man. Yes is true he sign the papers, he leave the island and return saying Grenada Free. Yes, is true he is the Father of Independence. He began as the champion of the oppressed and started with a good heart, good intentions but his ego take over in the end and nobody could say nothing critical about Gairy and his ways. If anyone say anything to oppose or if people seen meeting in groups Gairy send his mongoose gang to take care of that. Gairy have his own gang of thugs and call them the mongoose gang. The mongoose were brought to Grenada to get rid of the rats taking over the farmers crops. Gairy cleverly created his own gang, the mongoose gang to get rid of his own set of rats who he felt was eating up his ability to lead. You feel Mr. Gairy easy. He do a lot of wrong things in the name of freedom and independence. But I believe he started with a good heart and good intention. Well don’t they all because I too believe Maurice Bishop started off authentic and true to his intentions to lead a peoples revolutionary government. But ego catch up with Mr. Bishop too and many of the other leaders of the New Jewel Movement. Mr. Bernard Coard get eaten up so much by ego in the end he call treason and line up Maurice bishop and 12 of his cabinet followers and shoot them dead. People’s Revolution come along in reaction to the abuse that Gairy reign down. If that isent irony I don’t know what is. Gairy began by fighting for the oppressed and in the end he overthrown by People s Revolutionary government! Many foreigners say to me 'oh you come from Grenada isent that where the Americans swooped in and saved your country in four days'. I say to them, say what you like, four days is nothing in comparison to the four years of good intentions that got overthrown by men drunk on ego. yours and mine.”

I continue to move through the stories on the streets, in the shops, and throughout the island. I create my own colorful versions of how and when and why. I try not to get too stuck on my own versions knowing every nation's story is complicated however robust with teachings. I give thanks and praise to the past 16 years living here on the island and growing in a more social, political, economic, class, race and gender consciousness by listening and reflecting on people’s stories.

2010-02-02T08:46:00.000-08:00

Woundedness

Rumour goes like this a couple days ago a young man from our community stole a large sum of money from one of the cocoa station managers. The manager was walking out of the bank with the cocoa workers monthly wages when young man tore the bag out of his hands and ran. He has not been found yet. The story leading up to the theft is a rumor. A large sum of money was stolen by a young man from our community is the reality. The incident reconfirms many village people’s beliefs: “the Village have some sort of curse”.

Theo’s brother dropped by the day after the incident and said: “The boy put a real scar on the village.” I couldn’t help think , the village has been scarred from before it's birth beginning with the open festering historical wound called slavery”.

Last year the wound was re opened on many different occasions starting with the mysterious death of village brethren whose body was found on the other side of the island strewn across the seaside rocks underneath a bridge while his motorbike was parked on the bridge and keys were found in his pocket. Police said it was a motorbike accident. As the Village was getting ready to go to the funeral, police phoned to tell decease’s family to call off the funeral as there was going to be further investigation. The investigation led to nothing and our village brethren was buried along with no justice and very little community protest.

A few months later the wound was reopened when another young man’s hand and foot were chopped off with machete in a drug related incident. The suspect in the chopping was from the Village. That same night a gang of boys came up to the Village and burnt his house to the ground. The village suspect was let out of jail a few days later and has not been implicated again.

Wound reopened again when another chopping incident occurred related to the same incident this time another village man was chopped but this time died on the way to the hospital. Three men were involved in the chopping one of them was a 16 year old boy from down the road.

Wound reopened again when two village youths were said to have broken into a crippled elderly man’s house, tied him up and stole his money and watch. One of the youth’s Uncles came up from town and “beat him bad”. The other youth’s mom did not believe her son could do such a thing and cursed village people for being “so wicked and spreading lies.”

Wound reopened again when our nephew was misdiagnosed ( if our nephew was someone of importance in the eyes of the doctor who misdiagnosed would he have been misdiagnosed?) which led to the severe infection of his heart. Today he waits patiently, his life dependent on a yes from a hospital overseas.

The wound began generations back with the dehumanizing effects of slavery and continues today with a legacy of violence, oppression and poverty. The cycle continues to repeat itself. Unfortunately many people are blaming one another rather then looking deeper into the layers of past oppressive conditioning and the present global oppressive conditions.

2009 was a year of woundedness however with pain comes healing and new paths taken in order to dress and take care of the scars. The birth of the Harford Village Peace Workers was in response to the wounded ness of 2009.

The Harford Village Peace Workers are a small group of concerned village members who believe the cycle of violence can be broken and reversed by focusing on various projects and programs that emphasize the strengths, assets, talents and potential of our community. We started with the children and youths and began a “Peace through Art” program which led to outreach peace programs in neighbouring schools. We are now in full bloom with our second Youth Peace Program and outreach peace programs for 2010. We are also reaching out to include the adults through community get togethers, meetings and a future community newsletter designed and written by community youths. The goal of the village newsletter is to highlight the success stories of the Village reinforcing the strengths, talents, potential of our community helping to heal the wounds inch by inch with stories of love, hope, courage and resilience!

stay tuned for ways you can contribute to building cultures of peace in Harfrod Village!

haiti i am sorry

2010-01-25T06:54:00.000-08:00

Overwhelming sadness slams into the world, the Caribbean, Grenada, the Village and me. I have not been able to write or paint for the past week. Sunk into Haiti’s devastating tragedy, I wonder how a country moves from despair into hope. Every day new stories reveal themselves on local radio stations. The latest story is of Haiti’s national football (soccer) team. Over 30 players, coaches and referees dead. Putting faces onto the inaccessible sorrow. Theo is a football coach and once played for the Grenada national football team so our northern sister island is not so far anymore.

No longer is Haiti seen as a poor distant cousin in the eyes of the Caribbean region. She is now close and personal. Over two decades ago Trinidad & Tobago’s David Rudder produced a calypso that haunts us today as we listen to his words over and over on local radio stations in between nation wide fund raising broadcasts.
Haiti I’m sorry
We misunderstood you,
But one day we’ll turn around
And look inside you.
Haiti I’m sorry
Haiti I’m so sorry...
But one day we’ll turn our heads,
Restore your glory

Who knew a 7.0 earthquake killing and injuring thousands and leaving millions homeless would be the day the world turns around and looks inside Haiti. Rudder’s chorus reaches deep into the psyche of those who know Haiti’s history and her long struggle for freedom; freedom from slavery in the 1800s, freedom from historical and world debt, freedom from corrupt politicians, freedom from oppression and violence, freedom from persistent poverty, freedom from the world’s negative stereotypes and prejudisms, freedom from natural disasters, freedom, freedom , freedom…

The irony shouts loud and clear. Haiti, brave powerful resilient strong Haiti paved the way for Latin American and the Caribbean by leading the first revolt against slavery in the western hemisphere. Haiti won a ten year revolution against the French and became the first independent country in the Americas in 1804. However from birth Haiti was isolated, ostracized and denied access to world trade, finance and institutional development. According to the history books it was the most vicious example of national strangulation recorded in modern history. The Haitians were alone from inception. In 1825 the country had to find a way to insert themselves back into the world economy and thus approached their past colonizers for assistance. They were told they would be recognized as a sovereign nation however not without compensation and reparation in exchange. The sums amounted to 150 million gold francs. Haitians with their backs against the wall agreed and thus began the systematic destruction of the republic of Haiti.

There are layers and layers of historical context to this tragedy. I hope one day, we as a global nation, will begin to know not only our own histories but our neighbor’s histories as well. Then can we begin to look inside one another and recognize our common humanity and our common contribution to devastation and havoc. My hope too, is that we make Haiti a teachable moment for our privileged children. May they know the historical context behind Haiti and not just see Haiti as another poor black country that the privileged kids of the West must save their pennies for.

The fine line of hope and despair continues to reveal itself. Today I woke up committed to breaking this spell of sadness and moving more fully into the world. Yesterday I was sad and angry. Today I am responsible for me and how I choose to connect to this world. I remember reading about a Buddhist teacher who encouraged people filled with despair over the state of the world with wise and simple advice, “Its our turn to help the world.” Haiti’s tragedy is a wake up call for us to step forward to create positive changes in the world, through our generous offerings to an earth quake destroyed country and to our own corners of the world.

Hope lies in the global, regional and national response to Haiti’s dire needs. For the past week there is a calmness here in the village. A common recognition of our vulnerable states and our common inherent goodness as we all move together to give forth our offerings. A local radio station organized an island wide motorcade the Saturday after the Quake. A convoy of transport trucks, buses, cars and motorbikes traveled around the island collecting whatever people could give. The radio station followed the trucks live while listeners called in to see where and when the convoy would reach them. Most of us were instructed to head to the main roads. Maya, Theo and I traveled down with our hockey bag full of clothes and food stuff. We were greeted by others lining the side of the road with their contributions. There were many people there, who with very little themselves threw their bags of contributions on to the trucks. The Tivoli drummers, Grenada’s finest cultural drum troupe, beat their support and solidarity from the back of one of the transports. A DJ set on a next truck blaring David Rudder’s haunting voice “Haiti I am sorry. Haiti I am so sorry”

a life interrupted

2010-01-18T02:15:00.000-08:00

Dearest friends,

I am blogging this morning in a request for collective community prayers for our nephew. JJ is going today for a second heart test to determine whether a hospital overseas will consider him for heart surgery.

JJ came down with rheumatic heart disease a couple months ago. His heart was badly infected. Many say it is a miracle he lived through the infection. JJ is testimony to a life interrupted by illness and yet still ploughing forward into a different sort of life. A fragile vulnerable life.

JJ is presently being sponsored by the Grenada Heart Foundation, a foundation that sponsors children and youth with heart disease and who need financial and medical assistance.

Please use the power of collective spirit consciousness to support JJ in his fight for life. Thanks. One love. Maureen

Synchronicity Strikes

2010-01-14T07:16:00.000-08:00

The other day I was hanging with two of my soul gal friends when we started talking about poetry. We revealed our hidden thoughts about the genre. One of us said she didn’t write poetry but then minutes later said, “hold on now, maybe I do write poetry because I just remembered a poem I wrote …. Oh yes and another one…” Next soul friend revealed that she wrote poetry which had us squealing with delight! And I shared my own reflections of poems lost and found, read outloud and hidden in the folds of my journal. That same evening i found a large letter waiting for me on the table. It was a newsletter from an organization i am a part of. In the newsletter there stood a poem of mine. First poem ever published. Synchronicity strikes.
I thought I would share it with you.

Dedicated to children worldwide and to my two soul galfriends!

We Wrap Our Arms Around Children Worldwide

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
to guide and to teach them
a new way to be in this world
where they are the leaders
of spirit and renewal
where they are the wings
to themselves and the roots
to their own decisions, destinies, desires

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
allowing them to teach us
about unconditional love
love without boundaries
moment to moment living
the spirit of presence
the nowness of now

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
creating an environment
that supports and nourishes their natural ability
to love and be loved
to find a sense of power within
that involves sharing, guiding, respecting and receiving

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
who live deep within all of us
waiting to be
seen, heard, loved, respected,
empowered with goodness

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
So they may be protected from the
cycles of violence and oppression
lying deep within our societies, our communities,
our leaders, our families, ourselves

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
and commit ourselves to creating
a new world perspective
based on honoring our children
so they are the seed by which we grow our food
clean up our waters, our earth, our selves
so they can move freely through there own lives
getting it right for their own future children
And their own children’s children

We wrap our arms around children worldwide
And become their teachers of
Peace and spirit
Love and tenderness
Renewal and trust
Compassion and empathy
Recognizing that all children are our children

Maureen St. Clair

As I prepare this blog I think of wrapping my arms around the whole of Haiti may they continue to find strength, courage, and resilience in yet another atrocious test of these very virtues they are testimony too.
In love and solidarity. M.

A Fine Line

2010-01-10T02:46:00.000-08:00

Just before returning to Grenada, I went to Chapters Book store in Ottawa in search of books Maya and I could read together, I stumbled across Watership Down by Richard Adams. At the counter the salesperson approved of the books I selected but hesitated with Watership Down. He said he wasent sure this novel was appropriate for an 8 year old as there were many rabbits that met their death. Words spilled out of my mouth without thought: “I think she can handle it her dog was poisoned a few months ago and another one shot last year".He watched me bug eyed. There was a big line up behind me and no time to explain. Therefor this blog is dedicated to the salesperson at Chapters who I left wide eyed and hungering for a story:

Puppy, Palo, Brother, Shake, Coco, and Tricksy are the names of the dogs we have lost to poisioning over the years. Palo was the exception, he was shot last year when a farmer caught him and another dog chasing his sheep. I have not doubt the sheep would have been killed if the gun didn’t go off. Palo was chasing after and about to kill a neighbour's livestock and his livelihood. I was grateful Palo died a fast death and not the usual torturous death by poisoning.

there are many reasons why dogs are poisoned regulary here in the Village, such as: people getting fet up with being accosted by dogs on the road while walking, biking, and or runnning; dogs chasing and biting up people's livestock like chickens, goats, sheep; some people poison for revenge, a dog for a dog.

Last week a set of village dogs were killed because someone lost his/her patience and set poison on consecutive nights. Both our nieghbours' dogs were killed causing much grief as both Rambo and Spider were survivors of other hard ailements that dogs face here like the skin disease, mange or abuse of other forms, ie. spider survived being chopped by cutlass on his back, and a lash of stone to his head by unidentified people.

Theo and I are also guilty of planning a poison attack after our goat Gabby was attacked by a small pack of dogs in the middle of the night a few years ago. By the time Theo and I jumped out of bed Gabby had already been punctured with teeth marks in her belly and legs. She then spent three days and nights underneath our house bawling in pain until she died on the third day. We thought the vet had cleaned her wounds and she was on the mend. But she was dying not mending. We hated those dogs and talked about purchasing poison and rolling the bright pink poisonous pellets into bread and throwing it to one of the dogs who we were sure led the pack. In the end we did not succumb to our anger and used the poison to get rid of the rats instead. But we did get so far as to buy the poison. I guess my point being there is a fine line between the poisoner and the owner of the poisoned.

We also have watched our past dogs die a slow excruciating death by rat poison. We were able to save one of our dogs, Cocoa the first time by pouring a jug of sugar water down her throat and watching while the pink pellets poured back into the world. However she was killed three months later by poisioning again. I was tempted to put big notice on telephone pole in front of the suspected dog poisoner's house which read “beware dog poisoner in the area” I didn’t because I wasent sure it was him.

I am not sure why there is not more community discussion about this problem. For example finding alternative solutions then killing each other's dogs. Perhaps fear of confrontation, false accusations, built up anger over the years. Perhaps there is so much more to fret about then dogs being poisoned like how to keep moving forward in these economically hard times. For now we keep our dogs tied in the night and pray they do not bite anyone or kill anyone's livestock when they are not tied. I also find myslef reflecting on the layers that run deep in all of us and why we do what we do when faced with anger and injustice.

Changing the World One Positive Comment at a Time

2010-01-05T05:48:00.000-08:00

The Harford Village Peace Workers, a community based group from Harford Village, formed last year in reaction to the rising violence in our community. The group believes the cycle of violence in our community and society can be reversed by providing and teaching kids the opposite of violence - peace, love, compassion, empathy and respect for oneself and others. The Community Group believes teaching living values and peace building skills should be part of children and youth’s everyday learning within schools, families and communities. We have been coordinating and facilitating child and youth positive programs both here in the village and with a few schools in St. Andrew’s over the past year.

The Harford Village Peace Workers began the New Year with a “Village Fun Day” in Victoria Park, Grenville. Over 40 kids (ages 3 to 18) floated through the village and down Cook Hill heading for the park to take part in an afternoon of three-leg races, tug of peace, human knot, lime and spoon, thread the needle and various running races such as relay, 100 meter, 400 meter ect. For the whole of the afternoon the kids shined. They were praised, cheered, embraced, high-fived, bounced and glorified! All of us left the park high on positive vibes. The peace leaders agreed that we must make Fun Day a regular activity. One of the leaders commented “We need to tire these kids out. Run out their anger!” you don’t see how they too tired to fight or make confusion.”

At one point three boys began play fighting while provoked by another set of kids sitting close by. One of the older kids in charge of provoking saw me walk towards them. I hear her say, “Watch Maureen coming to break up the fun.” She was surprised when I responded, “So you feel I’m going to let peace kids turn confusion kids?” Everyone laughed and the boys untangled themselves while the next race was called.

Some of the village elders sat under neath the pavilion drinking left over holiday carib and malt and commenting on the village kids’s talent, “Eh eh village kids have real talent!”

Theo and I sat on the veranda in the evening watching the moon rise and sharing the day’s memories. Felt great to be focusing on the strengths, and talents of the village youth which is too often buried by stories of violence and hate.

Theo and I agreed on the power of praise, appreciating one another’s talents and enabling kids the space to shine! Changing small corners of the world one positive comment at a time!

self confidence the basis of a brigher future

2009-12-30T11:40:00.000-08:00

Once again I am struck by the words “We black people can’t organize ourselves” announced by one of the village youth leaders yesterday after she heard about some confusion regarding a community meeting.
I respond, “So what do you mean ‘we black people’?” and the conversation follows:
“Yes we”, my friend says firmly, “You don’t see how we in the village like confusion too much”
“So you think black people the only people who like confusion?” I ask.
“Well this is what I know and see and I don’t know about other places” she responds.
“Confusion is a world wide phenomenon” I reply
My friend laughs and says “Yes but black people especially”.

I hear negative and destructive words regularly on the radio, in the bus, in the mouths of children, community leaders and even Theo (village angel) succumbs to this attitude when he is frustrated and struggling with village people’s hardened attitudes. In the Village the adjective black is interwoven with the adjective village: “we village people are confusion people” or “village people ignorant too much”, or “village people cursed.”
I recall a few months ago when my brother in law announced in frustration, “We black people no good. You see your type of people you is different. White people are different then black people. You all can organize yourselves. We black people are selfish and ignorant too much”
I spill out one black persons name after another within the Village, Grenada, Caribbean and worldwide to prove his thinking faulty. My brother in law laughs and says “you not easy. You real not easy!”

Yesterday I read Dali Lama”s introduction to An Open
Heart he writes: “developing self confidence is the basis of a brighter future”. He writes this in response to a story he shares of a teacher from Soweto, South Africa who he met while visiting. The Dali Lama and the Teacher discussed the negative impacts of racial discrimination. They agreed things were different today in South Africa and that black people now had new opportunities and that “true equality had to be worked on daily by education and hard work”. The Teacher responded with great sadness and said he believed black African brain to be inferior. He did not believe “black people could match white people”

The Dali Lama was shocked and saddened. He said, “If that kind of mental attitude exists then there is no way of transforming society. Impossible.” The Dali Lama argued with the man and spoke of his own experience and the successful human communities the Tibetan people were building in India. He told the teacher, “We are equal! We have the same potential! We are all human beings! The difference in the colour of our skin is minor. Because of past discrimination, you didn’t have opportunities; otherwise, you have the same potential.” The teacher began to cry and assured the Dali Lama that he now believed we were all the same in being human and sharing the same potential.

I guess anyone in the presence of the Dali Lama and hearing these words would transform his or her way of thinking on the spot. Relating this message from someone like me, a white humble dreaded lady who paints pictures of love and hope and teaches peace-building skills to children is a different sort of messenger. One without much pull but one, who spills out her thoughts anyways.

Have a safe mindful celebration saying goodbye to 2009 and making room for new beginnings. Joyous and justice filled new year.

One love.

2009-12-30T06:12:00.000-08:00

breeze is blowing; neighbours calling "morning" from open windows; maya and samara playing moral, a ball and hopscotch game combined; theo is cutting grass for the cow and i am here spilling words onto my blog so that i continue to make this a regualr writing practice. i jot down quickly two surreal images from yesterday reflecting maya's two worlds: maya sitting crossed legged on the floor reading outloud the back of Snow Buddies, a dvd she received from Grandma for christmas. She is asking me if we can go online to purchase free movie offer, freaky friday. Meanwhile theo is calling her, "hurry up and put on your boots and lets go cut vine for the goats!" maya jumps up and runs for the machete at the back door and hands it to her dad. Second image last night maya creating mosaics of walt disney fairies and complaining to dad of the baby cockroaches zoomimg by. theo hands her my running shoe and instructs her to squash them as they pass. i glance around the corner and see maya poised with her weapon in the air and at the same time bent over her sparkly fairy mosaic.
The two of them together radiate two worlds belonging to One!!!!!

ps: picture is at Pomquet Beach Nova Scotia this summer. m.

happy Birth Day Maya

2009-12-23T14:45:00.000-08:00

Celebrating Maya’s Birth Day

Maya was born on Christmas day here in the village in our tiny board house eight years ago. Yesterday we celebrated her birth with friends from school and the village crew! Eight years ago on Christmas Eve I walked up and down the laneway breathing and counting the spaces between contractions. They were too far apart to hustle our midwife to the house. Theo went up the road to hang with his brethren to ease his nerves while I continued slowly walking and watching the kilometers in between contractions. The rest of the non birthing people on the island were either baking, hanging curtains, cleaning house, feting in towns or shops or simply settling into the eve of Christmas.

I was having a home birth and therefor hiding from most of the village. I did not tell many people I was making my baby at home. I did tell one village friend who watched me sternly then walloped me with words:

“So what if something go wrong gyal? You come from big country with big hospitals and you decide to stay in little Grenada with hospitals people afraid to go in. And to add fire to fire you decide to have the baby in the village. You mad gyal! Jacqlyn laughs, “what gyal you real have your belly (another way to tell someone they are brave and bold at the same time)”

I knew I was tossing privilege to the wind but at the same time I also knew that women have been giving birth at home for centuries and that complications happen more frequently in hospitals because of the unnaturalness of birthing in a sterile white walled institution (yes I realize this too is a privileged opinion).

I hoped

Maya would not arrive on Christmas day as this was the time that people drop by for their sorrel or ginger beer or black cake or malt or guiness or any thing baked and ready to eat. My water broke early Christmas morning and Maya arrived Christmas day at 5 pm. By the time Theo finished cooking pumpkin soup maya was peeping out into the world with the crowning of her head. Marguerite our midwife called Theo to come and Theo gracefully, skillfully guided maya into the world.

Two hours later neighbours began to arrive looking for eats and drinks and were greeted with two hour old Maya and Mama rocking on the veranda smiling blissfully. “eh eh”, I hear in between offerings of cake “Maureen have she belly oui?”

Eight years later and we are celebrating Maya’s birthday with a yard full of kids, coolers full of busta, carib, malt and guiness, and a table full of cake, popcorn, treat bags, chocolate Canadian chip cookies and Caribbean Christmas songs sailing through the air from neighbouring dj sets. Songs like: “santa looking for a wife. Santa looking for a wife. Santa looking for a wife from the Caribbean…” and “All I want for Christmas is a lover, a lover, a lover…” and “We wish you a reggae Christmas. We wish you a reggae Christmas. We wish you a reggae Christmas and a dance hall New Year!”

Pin the tail on the donkey stole the show away. There was a line up of kids (about 25) down the stairs and onto the laneway waiting their turn to pin the tail on the donkey that looked like a sheep. “nah man that looking more like a sheep!” says samara. The donkey sheep was pinned to the outside of the house on the veranda and each child was blindfolded and handed a donkey tail that looked like a candle. The kids squealed with fear and delight to be blindfolded and in charge of finding the but of the donkey. We also had a Christmas caroling competition with each group performing their favorite Christmas carol and plenty of circle games.

The party ended with: over 25 kids squished onto the veranda and into the house bellowing happy birthday and watching maya blow out unblowable candles; the cutting of double layered vanilla and chocolate cake that maya, samara and I made that morning; spooning out of ice cream from the back door by Theo; and Kayla distributing popcorn and treat bags. The kids went home with sugar filled bellies and loud rolling voices that started a moment of confusion with other older kids who were sitting on the road down below.

We enjoyed the rest of the evening in the yard with family that stayed behind. Both Theo and I relieved knowing “nobody can say they didn’t get enough to eat or drink”. One of the stresses about having a party here in the village is making sure you have enough food and drink for whoever shows up and that can mean any amount of people. If you unfortunately run out of food and/or drink you then become the topic of gossip and scrutiny. “Eh eh they have big birthday party and they run out of food so early! Them not easy oui?”

Happy birthday to Maya

And Happy Birthing Day to mom and dad

heart work: why i do what i do

2009-12-21T02:51:00.000-08:00

Recently a friend of mine described my Art Work as Heart Work and it made me think more seriously of why I do what I do: paint human beings celebrating their lives, their selves. I often reflect on the words of feminist activist Emma Goldman: “A revolution without dancing is not a revolution worth having” and I know this is the undercurrent moving through my work. Images of Bishop Desmond Tutu also permeate my thoughts as I see him dancing freely up on stage at a ceremony I saw a few years ago on television. I remember thinking here is an image of hope and resilience in the face of unimaginable pain and grief.

My Grenada family friends and community are the foundation of my Heart work. They have taught me hope, strength, resilience, courage and resourcefulness in the face of life’s difficult moments. I have learned and continue to learn the fine balance between hope and despair and the power of music, dance, storytelling, poetry, and laughter in healing and revolutionizing.

I left Canada in 1993 to work overseas for two years with a small non government organization from Toronto. However before making this two year commitment I set out on my own after completing my Bachelor of Arts degree and traveled. I traveled for 10 months to Thailand, Nepal, India and Indonesia. It was while traveling through some of the more poverty stricken areas of these countries that I began to understand what privilege meant. I was one of the privileged. I struggled with this more in the realm of guilt rather than understanding further why I was privileged and how that privilege worked for me. It wasn’t until I moved to Grenada that I began to transform my guilt of being privileged to a more useful emotion that of anger and then compassion. I began to look at this world with a more critical eye. I started to ask the question “why?” which continues to be my method of critically analyzing the unjust systems that create such a wide gap between the privileged and the non privileged. I began to ask: “Why was I born with so many choices and opportunities and my brethren and sistren in the village were not? Why have I been dealt the winning hand of cards that lets me pass go over and over while many friends in Grenada and throughout the world struggle daily just to survive each hard day. I soon realized the more we are given in this world the larger our responsibility is and therefore I began to use my life in a more responsible and conscious way. I began to work more consciously on my self so that I could be of better use to the world and began to explore my own potential as an agent and ally of change both within myself and within the outside worlds that I found myself.

I began doing this while working with a community women’s group in Grenada that came together to teach one another various local crafts. I worked with adult literacy branch of the national college in Grenada and helped incorporate within a women’s craft group a literacy component that led to facilitating a process of personal and group empowerment. The program involved women exploring, discovering and exercising our inherent power to create changes in our lives and within our communities. We wrote letters of protest to the local newspapers concerning police violence against women, we performed community dramas addressing various forms of violence within our society, we wrote our life stories and shared with others in a booklet style; and we created a story quilt which we exhibited at local art and craft shows. After the program ended there were many examples of how we found our inherent strengths and potential to effect change. For example one of the participants went back to school to finish her School Leaving degree and pursued her dreams of becoming a nurse; another participant became a leader in her own community and formed a community group of women crafters; another participant filled out various forms for visa applications and traveled to Canada to visit her mother; and another participant began selling her craft to local markets.

I too found a renewed sense of self and started exploring the power of self and community on canvas through painting women celebrating their lives. I began to paint the strength, courage and resilience of women I experienced on a day to day basis in Grenada and these same women kept showing up on canvas over and over which led me to a particular style of colour and figures. This style of movements represent for me, the power within we all possess, even in the face of life’s hardships, tragedies and difficult moments. With encouragement from friends in both Grenada and Canada I began to show my ladies in various venues and they began to take on a life of their own and somewhere within all of this became a source of income for myself and family but also a source of income for community youth peace projects in Grenada.

This past year the Harford Village Peace Workers were formed. The group formed in response to the rising violence amongst youths on the island and within our community specifically. We are a small group of four youth leaders and two elders from Harford Village. The main objective of peace programs is to provide a safe, positive and child friendly environment where kids feel safe, respected and valued while engaged in various activities that promote living values such as peace, conflict resolution, self love, empathy, respect, gratitude and other living values that promote a culture of peace. Kids are encouraged to learn and practice youth-centred conflict resolution and peace building strategies using various expressions of art, including dance, spoken word, story telling, drama, visual arts and in the near future photography.

Plans for the future involve strengthening the connections between my art/heart work and community empowerment programs. I plan to write more about my experiences in Grenada in order to create a broader awareness for the need of teaching peace side by side with various artistic expressions. I want to explore further the empowering effects of art and its ability to create cultures of peace within our selves, our families, our communities and our world.

I give thanks and praise to these vibrant, moving, healing, empowered, strong, courageous women that continue to stroll, dance, drum, cartwheel, raise fists in solidarity, and simply move through me and onto the canvas! They continue to be a great source of strength courage and healing as I dive deep into many different world’s and experience the fine balance between hope and despair.

2009-12-19T03:44:00.000-08:00

Maya and I started our routine of traveling to La Saggesse Nature Centre. We travel weekly to this special guest house snuggled into a corner of the island on the north east side. I have been showing my paintings here for the past 3 years and every Sunday I set up two tables to exhibit my prints and notecards that compliment the original pieces that hang throughout the tourist season. Every Sunday we are met with the contrast of our two worlds. We enter a world of vacationers finding peace on the cream colored beaches and the rolling predictable waves and leave a world of people that rarely or never find this sort of escape from the realities of their own lives. I think of Jamaica Kincaid’s powerful words in her book “A Small Place” which states:

For every native of every place is a potential tourist, and every tourist is a native of somewhere. Every native would like to find a way out, every native would like a rest, and every native would like a tour. But some natives- most natives in the world-cannot go anywhere, they are too poor. They are too poor to go anywhere. They are too poor to escape the reality of their lives; and they are too poor to live properly in the place where they live, which is the very place you, the tourist, want to go- so when the natives see you, the tourist, they envy you, they envy your ability to leave your banality and bordom, they envy your ability to turn their own banality and boredom into a source of pleasure for yourself.
(19)

I do enjoy our Sundays. I do enjoy meeting new people and sharing my work and escaping briefly my own chosen life here in the village and plunging into lives that are not so hard hit economically, historically, socially. I enjoy temporarily escaping the reminders daily of how hard people’s lives are here in the village and witnessing daily the effects of a tragic history of violence and oppression, that shows itself through the hard slap a small child gets while walking up the road because she is crying too much or the lashing out of words from a young boy frustrated “I go chop you” or hearing that another neighbour fainted in school because the teacher beat her; or remembering the time our friend got so frustrated with one of the village youths he took a large piece of wood and gave the boy a few lash and then pinned him down by the neck until we started yelling to let the boy go. Of course this is just one side of the village and even though the hardness is a constant here there is also a billowing softness that presents itself in watching a young man with a day old baby cradled in the nest of his arms walking in the early morning sunshine; or the kids gathered around an elder while she tells them of days gone by when tamarind was sweeter and breadfruit a daily gift from the nieghbours; or the greetings everyone distributes while pass one another in the road like “guidance sister” or “ blessings from the Most High” or “take your time friend”. There is a great sense of strength, resilience and connectedness here which is radiant at this time of year when christmas is a community affair.

2009-12-18T03:19:00.000-08:00

Today is the day I begin my blog. Today is the day I face this fear of writing publicly. Today is the day I shed my shell and become soft and vulnerable sharing the inside out. Today is the day I create an intention to these blog pieces.
My intention: to share bridges between many worlds through the writing process. Bridges between: art and peace education; community and self; Grenada and Canada; the Village and the Farm; confidence within and confidence with others; and the many other bridges waiting to be built through these pieces.

Yesterday I miraculously pressed a few buttons on the computer that led me to Skype. I signed up again and went online to see if dad was on his computer. He was. I remembered a friend of his hooked him up to skype even though he hasn’t a clue at the moment how to use it. I dialed him and he miraculously pressed another button which led him to a video of me maya and samara staring stupidly at the screen wondering if he was actually on the other end. We couldn’t hear him because he was not signed in but he could see us as I soon found out when I unhooked the computer and called. He said he heard a strange beeping, pressed a button and there we were in our little board house dancing around. We hung up and I rang him again this time knowing he and mom could see us. I moved the laptop around as best I could with all the different wires hooking me from one connection to another. We brought our various animals to the screen, Blossom our cat, Sara and Lola our dogs and Lilly and Fawn our adolescent goats. Maya danced in front of the screen and samara stared shyly while laughing her gorgeous laugh. Theo stood at attention with his hands behind his back grinning. I never thought I would feel such gratitude for the madness of our internet worlds.

Recent Youth Empowerment Programs

2009-07-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

Test

2009-07-20T14:49:00.000-07:00

testing blog