Author Archives: Zoe Blunt

Civil Disobedience Stops the Chainsaws

Sat, 16 Feb 2008

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGKY-zdSdkU&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999]

A small but spirited group put their freedom and safety on the line today to stop the work crews that are destroying rare ecosystems and First Nations sites on Vancouver Island.

About 40 people turned out at noon in Langford, BC and marched up the highway to view the destruction. Two dozen or so were inspired to scramble over the fresh-cut trees and stand in front of the yarders and excavators that were working. All four machines had to be shut down. The handful of police on the scene made no arrests and issued no warnings.

After stopping the machines, many of us made our way through the stumps and slash to Langford Lake Cave, which has a huge mass of rebar crisscrossed over the entrance like a drunken spider web. The second entrance has a triangular steel cap welded over it. The forest was cut down to within a few meters of the cave entrances.


Langford Lake Cave with rebar welded across it and drilled into the rock around the entrance. On Saturday, ferns and oregon grape leaves were placed in the grate at the four directions. (Photo: R. Bowen.)

We found the spot where the camp kitchen had stood, and we were able to salvage much of the food, camping gear, and personal belongings that were piled up and left on the site.

Without a medium-sized army of RCMP and special forces to back them up, the contractors had no choice but to give up and go home. The police forces withdrew on Friday evening, and one officer said the operation had required 300 personnel in rotating shifts on patrol, command and communications. We estimate the operation cost $5000 an hour for the 60 hours or so the officers were on the ground. The question of who is picking up the tab has not been answered.

We have raised the cost of aggressive development on the Island. If the greedy thugs want to force through this kind of horrific, destructive project, they will have to call in the army. Otherwise, we will stop them.

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Interchange Overkill: Tree Sit Busted Hard

Thu, 14 Feb 2008


Westshore RCMP and a municipal enforcement officer lead away activist Ingmar Lee and attempt to move another protester, who identified himself to media as Carl Stevens. Both were blocking a truck from entering the site of a controversial interchange development. Photo: Ray Smith, Victoria Times Colonist

Here is the bad news: Everyone in the tree sit camp was arrested today. Three people, including two tree sitters, are being held with charges pending. They may be released tomorrow. Everyone else was released without charge.

The massive attack by police had as many as 70 RCMP officers, dozens of them with assault rifles drawn and pointed at the campers, surrounding the camp before dawn.

The area is sealed off by police tape and RCMP patrols. Heavy equipment was moved in and the destruction has begun. From Leigh Road, we could see trees falling to a feller buncher – a giant tree cutting machine.

We also saw welding equipment being moved in behind police lines. It’s possible that one of the first acts of destruction today was welding shut the entrance of the Langford Lake Cave.

Here is the good news: It is not over yet. This act has outraged the community and people will not give up resisting this hideous development. We have arranged for top-notch legal representation for our defendants. They are heroes.

RCMP move in on anti-highway protest site

Bill Cleverley, Times Colonist

LANGFORD – In the false light of a pre-dawn Wednesday more than three dozen RCMP officers – some dressed in riot gear and carrying assault rifles – surrounded and rousted about a half dozen protesters from their camp in the woods between the Trans-Canada Highway and Leigh Road in Langford.

Some, told they’d be charged with mischief in they didn’t vacate, agreed to move. They were cuffed and moved out to Goldstream Avenue where they were released.

At least one and perhaps as many as three protesters, however, remained in their tree-top platforms while police blocked media and other access to the woods – stringing yellow tape along the highway and erecting saw-horse barricade at Leigh Road and Goldstream.

Protesters said people dressed in climbing gear were among those who stormed the protest camp, erected last April in opposition to the $32-million Bear Mountain interchange proposed by Langford.

They say the interchange not only feeds urban sprawl but threatens Spencer’s Pond, a cave and other karst features and an urban forest complete with culturally modified trees.

Protest organizer Ingmar Lee was arrested after he attempted to block a piece of logging equipment from entering the area.

Tree-sitter Kalanu Johnson, 34, decided to come down from a tree after an armed officer approached. “When I refused to come down I noticed one of the SWAT team guys closest to me was fiddling with his assault rifle and I got intimidated. When I asked them what all the weapons were for they just said they were police and they carried weapons,” Johnson said.

He estimated 50 to 60 police, equipped with a dog and a mobile command centre, accompanied by construction crews and equipment including a back-hoe and a feller buncher were involved in the raid.

“Just as the sun was about to come up they moved in and sort of spread out around the kitchen and up the hill surrounding the camp. After about 10 minutes there were about a dozen of them at the foot of the tree with assault rifles and beanbag shotguns and that sort of thing.”

Johnson who has been at the protest for about seven months said it’s been worth it.

“This is wrong on so many levels. People need to stand up against it whether we can stop it or not. People need to resist.”

Leena McGinn, 24, who has been at the protest off and on since the summer, was asleep in a teepee with her boyfriend when the raid happened.

“There were a lot of them. There was a whole SWAT team. They asked us to co-operate and we agreed. We were tired. We were cranky. They hand-cuffed us immediately.

“We asked if we were under arrest and they said: ‘No.’ They were detaining us.”

They agreed not to come back to the area and they were not charged with anything.

RCMP Const. Tasha Adams said police were acting on a complaint from the city of Langford of illegal camping.

She would not say how many police were involved but said the number was “significant obviously to ensure public safety; police officer safety.”

“Police moved in response to a complaint from the city of Langford – the complaint being an illegal campsite on their property. So the police moved in to ask those individuals on the site to vacate the land.”

Langford administrator Rob Buchan said the city filed its complaint with the RCMP after finalizing paperwork acquiring the last piece of land it needs for the interchange.

City contractors began work on the interchange on the north side of the highway even as the protesters were being removed from their camp deep on the other side.

“As soon as the site has been completely cleared, we’re beginning (work there as well).”

Buchan said there was no reason for the municipality to get a court injunction to remove the protesters.

“We’ve been trying to get access to do things on our property, property that we had a right to be on, for some time but we’ve been continually frustrated by the protesters,” he said.

“Yesterday we received the final bit of tenure for the last bit of land we needed to be an occupier for the entire property and that was sufficient for the RCMP to say: ‘You have the right to be on the land. They don’t. We can remove the protesters.’ “

Watch the video – part one is a news broadcast, part two is an interview with Saanich hereditary chief Eric Pelkey.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSHoP1hIzYM]

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Assplode Therapy

Sat, 26 Jan 2008

OK, so I’ve been having stomach problems. No big deal. But one of my friends, a rich, gay lawyer and alternative health guru, insisted on doing something about it. He turned me on to probiotic supplements, and for six months he’s been nagging me to try colon hydrotherapy.

What’s colon hydrotherapy? It’s like colonic irrigation. What’s that? Well, like an enema, only more. Much, much more.

I said no. No, thank you, no, I’m really not a fan of enemas. He said, you have to do it, the health benefits are incredible. I’ll even pay for it.

My friend wouldn’t take no for an answer. He paid the hydrotherapy clinic in advance for six sessions. At first I told myself, I’m not going to do this. Then I decided to call and just ask some questions. I spent a lot of time on the phone with the resident expert, explaining that I had serious reservations and I was only checking it out to please my friend. I wasn’t convinced the procedure wouldn’t do me harm, actually. Reading up on it, I found it could hurt people with ulcerative or inflammatory bowel disorders. But the doctor’s diagnosis ruled out those problems, and with my friend urging me on, I went ahead and reluctantly made an appointment.

That’s how I came to be lying on a hospital bed with a thick metal nozzle pumping warm water up my ass for three-quarters of an hour while Maggie, the attractive young woman holding the tube, made small talk about her trip to the cloud forest of Costa Rica. Occasionally she would pinch off the outflow hose, which was very uncomfortable, but it only lasted a minute. Otherwise, it wasn’t terribly unpleasant. It just felt like lying on a hospital bed with a warm and slightly pulsing metal tube up my ass.

After the first session, I felt great. Energized. Wonderful. So I set up the rest of the appointments.

The second time was a let down. I didn’t feel any better, and I had watery shit for a day afterward. Both times I was disappointed that hardly any stuff came out of me, after my friend’s graphic descriptions. The outflow tube is transparent and runs right next to the bed, so you can see what’s coming out. In my case, it was just water and bubbles.

Today, during the third session, I was cramping badly and finally asked to be let go. And then I did let go. Apparently a little chunk of shit – maybe a piece of corn or something – had been blocking the outflow tube. But as soon as the young woman removed the nozzle, the unforgiving laws of physics and fluid dynamics took over and I assploded all over the bed, the rubber mat, and finally the bathroom. I hadn’t taken off my socks and they were soiled as soon as my feet hit the floor. The stench was foul, like something long dead, which I guess it was. This was no ordinary shit. This was deep shit.

Maggie shrugged at the mess. “We see it all in here,” she chirped at my naked backside as I flung myself toward the toilet in the next room.

That’s the whole point of the treatment, she reminded me cheerfully through the closed door. It often doesn’t happen the first or second or even third session. It takes time to work everything loose.

Maggie had assured me from the start that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, people assplode all the time. Although she didn’t use that term, she called it “release.” I think they should just go ahead and re-name the procedure “assplode therapy.”

Walking out a half hour later, after washing my socks in the sink and using up all the Baby Wipes, I felt like I’d had a bowling ball removed from my belly – ten pounds lighter, ten years younger, and I’m sure an inch slimmer in the waist. Like dropping some heavy old baggage I was carrying so long I stopped noticing it. Like I could just pick up my feet and fly away.

I’m not making any medical recommendations about hydrotherapy here. Some folks insist it is a scam, and it can be even be deadly if the equipment isn’t sterile. It’s definitely expensive and I’m sure after the six sessions I’ll get a pitch about the need to do it twice a year for the rest of my life or more bad shit will pile up and choke the life out of me.

But I think it’s helping, along with the probiotics treatment and the doctor’s medicines and attention to diet and everything else. I was desperate enough to try it in spite of the risk and my aversion to having things shoved up my ass. I’ll go back for the rest of the sessions, but I’ll remember to take off my socks next time.

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Road Kill

Thu, 10 Jan 2008

New highway blocked by protesting “Raccoons”
The barricade at the end of the road is decorated with freshly-planted poinsettias in a mound of earth. Yellow plastic sunflowers, two graffitied TV sets and an oversize truck tire line a meter-wide trench just past the pavement’s end. They mark the boundary between the city and a protest camp occupied by a new generation of Canadian environmental protestors: the Raccoons.

The Raccoons are a ragtag mob of irregulars holding back a major highway interchange project designed to service Bear Mountain, a sprawling golf resort in Langford, just west of Victoria, B.C. A few dozen dumpster-diving, trash-talking, anti-authoritarians with a passion for undisturbed natural places have built a camp in the path of the new highway. The proposed interchange cuts through a pocket of forest packed with natural and cultural rarities: a sacred First Nations cave, a seasonal pond, garry oak meadows, arbutus bluffs, red-legged frogs and chocolate lilies.

Right now the Bear Mountain Tree Sit looks like a gloomy, swampy hobo camp, dotted with tents, tree forts at dizzying heights overhead, and a giant teepee covered with tarps. “A tarpee,” notes one of the campers.

“This is the only example of eco-anarchist action in Canada right now,” says Ingmar Lee, a Victoria environmentalist and camp supporter. “This is the grassroots, and it’s a totally different kind of protest.” Hundreds of people in the community directly support the camp with donations of food, camping gear, and funds for legal defense.

Almost all the Raccoons are under 25, and some are veterans of the Cathedral Grove treesit protest, which lasted two years and ultimately defeated a B.C. Parks plan to cut down giant trees to build a parking lot. Here, the first platform went up in April. Five more followed, and they are staffed 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Kicking the protest camp off public property is a sticky legal issue, and so far no one has moved to start a court case. But Stewart Young, the gung-ho pro-development mayor of Langford, is ramping up his criticism. The mayor’s rumblings peaked with Young accusing the campers of poaching deer and rabbits at the site.

Young said bylaw officers found a deer carcass near the camp in the woods. “We’ve respected their right to protest, but killing deer and rabbits is absolutely disgusting,” Young told the Goldstream News Gazette in December. The city directed the RCMP and conservation officers to investigate and lay charges if they find out who is responsible. No one has been charged.

Two neighbors who live adjacent to the forest said it’s not the campers who are killing animals. “There’s been poaching in this area for decades,” said an elderly neighbor on Goldstream Avenue who declined to give his name.

“We’ve called the conservation officers about deer carcasses a couple times a year ever since I’ve lived here,” said Ron Rayner, a long-time resident who lives just north of the camp and the TransCanada Highway. “It’s an ongoing problem.”

Langford resident Bob Partridge is “skeptical” about the mayor’s claims. He writes, “[J]ust now, as construction is supposed to begin on the Spencer Road Interchange, the protesters/activists who have previously been requesting donations of whole grains, have apparently suddenly become carnivores, slaughtering innocent animals in the woods of Langford?”

“Are we certain they are also not sleeping on duvets stuffed with spotted owl feathers?” Partridge asked sarcastically.

Some of the campers admit they eat deer, rabbits and even raccoons – but they insist they are not hunting . The meat is road kill collected from the TransCanada Highway, one tree sitter told A Channel News. Another pointed out the hypocrisy of building a highway that will mangle more animals, while simultaneously trying to cast the environmentalists as bunny killers. A third wondered aloud if Stewart Young was vegan.

RCMP and bylaw enforcement officers tell us the Raccoons are “guests of the city of Langford,” and they even allow them to have a campfire without a permit. Back in April, Young huffed to reporters, “They are on provincial land right now and it’s going to be a year or so before we get to the point of having to go there, so they can sit there as long as they want.” The protestors took him at his word and set up a kitchen, where they cook raccoon stew, venison steaks, and bunny burgers.

No doubt the tree sit gives Young a royal pain in the ass, but the blustery mayor has bigger fish to fry. Langford City Council, in a “special” meeting convened two days after Christmas, made the unusual move of adopting two new bylaws, rather than just giving them first reading. One bylaw authorizes borrowing $25 million to build the interchange, while the second exempts the process from the usual counter-petition process, which normally would give citizens the right to challenge a decision.

The community’s response is a roar of outrage. Many residents of Langford, it seems, are more irate about the apparent abuse of process than about the imminent loss of green space, wetlands, and rare species. Dozens of volunteers are joining forces to canvass the city with a (non-binding) petition to reject the bylaws.

Steven Hurdle of Langford is organizing the petition drive. “While Langford may have found a legal loophole in declaring the interchange a ‘Local Service Area’ to let them avoid the referendum, we can still win the political war,” he writes. “Langford council might find this an albatross that’s unexpectedly hanging around their neck as this issue drags on.”

Back at the camp, tree sitters and visitors are critiquing the City of Langford’s annual levee tour. Every New Year’s, politicos across the region open up their offices to the public, with free booze and food for all.

Well, not quite all. “They only had bag lunches for like 25 people,” one complains. “I got there at the end and there was no more food. So I took all the tea bags that were left.”

Another camper pipes up, “That punch was weak.”

“Yeah, the punch was watered down, so we had to drink more of it to get a buzz.”

“Yeah, that’s why we brought our own cups. We did it up proper with the cups.”

“We asked if we could take their poinsettias with us, but they said no. ”

Laughter. “We kept asking and we wouldn’t leave. Then after a while, they gave us the poinsettias just so we would leave.”

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The Saddest Pagan in the World

Tue, 25 Dec 2007

Singing the blues in Langford. Photo by Pete Rockwell.

Along with all the other shit that went down this past month, I got hit with the stomach flu, and that triggered fresh spasms of health problems. I’m on drugs now, but they’re not fun drugs. At least I don’t have to worry about getting fat.

The local paper has publicly labeled the Bear Mountain tree sit crew as tree-spikers, vandals, welfare bums, poachers, and outside agitators. The RCMP and city enforcement officers stepped up their harassment this week after the forest defenders dug a trench and built a barricade across the access road at the site of the new highway bypass.

The campers are in high spirits. Six platforms are now occupied by brave souls who are risking their freedom to protect the Langford Lake Cave, Spencer’s Pond, the wetlands, the screech owls, great horned owls, red-legged frogs and arbutus trees. Supporters and volunteers bring food, blankets, and cash donations. The legal defense fund is swollen with contributions as we brace for the inevitable court battle.

Physical and emotional distress have been keeping me away from the camp for long periods. But Saturday night, I was hanging out in the forest, watching low clouds fly across the face of the nearly-full moon, when the shout came from the road. Three RCMP cruisers pulled up at high speed, the lead car braking too late to avoid plunging partway into the trench at the end of the road. The headlights came straight at us, and then dipped down sharply. I thought, “Oh shit, they’re gonna be pissed.”

They were. I ducked behind the welcome tent as the officers stormed into the camp. “You’re all under arrest,” the biggest one boomed out, shining a high-powered light at the four young men in front of him. I hit the dirt, face down in the wet leaves and low brush right behind the tent.

Shouts, running feet pounding down the trail, and the rest of the crew booked it into the woods. “Don’t move!” barked the officer at the four standing their ground. “Everyone’s under arrest.” To another officer: “Take that crap down.” The second officer grabbed the makeshift tent and began to tear its tarp roof from the log beams. A few feet away, I cowered down closer to the ground, barely breathing. The lights shone back and forth, up and down.

Then my cell phone rang. I scrambled to shut it off. All the beams turned in my direction. “What’s that?” barked the officer. “Go check it out.” I melded with the mud and wet leaves at the base of a scrawny dogwood. The lights came closer. Then a shout from the woods pulled them away again.

I was plotting my chances of escape, so I could call the lawyers and bail the tree people out of jail. But there was no need. The cops held the men for half an hour, took their names and gave a lecture. No camping on the roadway. Then everyone was released.

Now I’m back home in the old farmhouse that I share with three other people and assorted visitors camping out on the living room couches. But there is only one bathroom. I keep a bucket with a tight-fitting lid in the bedroom, since my gut rot won’t let me wait around for a vacancy. The room is lovely, with a high ceiling and bay windows, and right now it stinks of shit and incense.

Thanks to the gastritis, the stomach flu, the stress and everything else, my immune system is shot to hell. My sinuses are oozing bright yellow snot and I’m woozy from fever. I’m broke and in debt.

It was obvious that there would be no Christmas for me this year.

But late last night, I heard a commotion on the porch. My friend Rose Henry was knocking on the door. “Merry Christmas,” she said. The man behind her was lugging a hamper filled with mandarin oranges, cranberry sauce, canned veggies, pasta, stuffing mix, candy, and even toilet paper. I almost cried.

One of the roommates got a turkey, and he’s invited a couple friends over for an orphans’ Christmas tonight. I’m making the stuffing.

It makes me think — even the saddest pagan in the world might find happiness at Christmas.

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Tree Sit Braces for a Showdown

Sun, 16 Dec 2007

From Infoshop.org and our December 15 press release.


Rally against the interchange, December 8, 2007. (Photos by Pete)

Bear Mountain Tree Sitters Bracing for a Showdown

Since April 2007, people have been occupying a large piece of land in Langford, British Columbia, Canada in order to stop the construction of a four-lane cloverleaf interchange. The interchange is being built to service the recent Bear Mountain developments (golf course, luxury homes, etc.). The land that is to be used for the road construction includes many culturally and ecologically sensitive sites including a large garry oak ecosystem, a sacred cave, a pond, and culturally modified trees. People have been resisting the Bear Mountain developments for some time, but the city of Langford and the developers have been plowing forward with their plans.

A series of visits from RCMP and Langford bylaw enforcement officers in the past few days has put the campers on high alert. On Friday, December 14, police walked into the camp and took photographs of everyone they saw. Bylaw enforcement officers also photographed people and the camp. Work crews removed two banners on Highway 1 Friday afternoon, and police threatened to arrest the campers if they interfered. A new banner was raised Friday evening.

The city is expected to demand a court order to remove the campers so interchange construction can begin. As of Friday, volunteers had raised five platforms to the tops of the trees, up to 120 feet (40 meters) off the ground, in an effort to stop the project so that environmental and cultural values can be protected. Another platform is set to be raised on Saturday, December 15.

In April, a loosely-organized group established a camp in the woods to protect the wetlands, forest, cave, and wildlife from the development. The area around Spencer’s Pond and the Langford Lake Cave at the north end of Leigh Road is valued by local residents as a park and green space. The new interchange is likely to decimate the cave, the pond, the underground geology and the diverse wildlife in the area.

Volunteers have conducted their own survey of the flora and fauna in the path of the new highway project. Some of the results are online at the Treesit Blog, along with maps, photos, background and links for more information.

Rose Henry (centre) speaks to the crowd about indigenous rights.

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Why My Dad Killed Himself

Tue, 27 Nov 2007

Last Thursday night, right after Thanksgiving dinner, my father poured a glass of wine for his wife Karen and gave her a kiss. Then he went out, as he often did, to sit on the pier and enjoy the city lights reflecting on the ocean.

Friday morning, after looking all over the house for him, Karen found my father in the garage, hanging by his neck from the rafters.

He did not leave a note. The family is in shock. They can’t understand why a healthy, fit man who had everything would commit suicide.

At age 63, my father spent the better part of his days on his sailboat, tooling around the harbor, racing other sailors, and coaching disabled kids. He had a comfortable retirement income while his much younger wife worked part-time. They were happy.

Dad was famous — briefly and locally — thirty years ago as an Olympic athlete. In the past decade, he won the world sailing championship in his class for three years running. He was applauded for his volunteer service at the local yacht club. His friends and colleagues remember him as a pillar of the community, a champion, and a highly intelligent, educated man who didn’t mind hanging out with the common people.

Family secrets

I remember my father as a cruel and emotionally disturbed man who dealt out pain and punishment to his wife and children whenever it suited him. He started with me before I was old enough to talk. When I was seven years old, I made a sassy remark and he knocked me down, grabbed me by the hair and pounded my head against the floor until I passed out. It wasn’t the first time he beat me unconscious, nor was it the last.

We never discussed the beatings. Not even when I had a breakdown and tried to commit suicide at age 12. Or when I tried again at age 14. That year, he tried to smack me around one more time. I finally fought back and delivered one hard and fast punch to his solar plexus that doubled him over. That was when my parents decided to hand over custody to the authorities, who determined I would serve an indefinite sentence in a mental hospital.

My parents agreed with the juvenile court that I was delusional, a pathological liar, violent, immoral and incorrigible. That meant everyone could comfortably ignore my accusations of abuse and neglect, and when I raised the issue with counsellors and court workers, they took my statements as more evidence of my illness. Of course, this was the 1970’s, when child abuse was not often recognized as a serious or widespread problem.

I spent my teenage years in a locked ward at a mental institution, while my parents carried on with their lives as respected members of the community, coping bravely with the burden of a sick and demented child.

Multi-generational trauma

Of all those who knew him, I may be the only one who is not surprised at my father’s suicide. The family’s deepest secret is the death of my paternal grandmother when my dad was in his twenties. She was depressed and drinking heavily, and one day my grandfather packed his bags and told her he was leaving her. Soon after, she swallowed a bottle of prescription pain killers and washed them down with a bottle of wine.

When I finally understood the mystery of my grandmother’s death, it struck me that my father might take his life the same way. He, too, was an alcoholic who suffered from depression. Fifteen years ago, in a rare moment of candor, he told me he was tormented by guilt about the way he treated my sister, my mother, and I. Then he changed the subject. It was the second to last time I saw him, and he never mentioned it again.

My father’s drinking habits didn’t raise many eyebrows down in Florida. Every day, he would crack open his first beer before noon and drink steadily until he stumbled into bed at midnight. But there was nothing unusual about that. Sailors love their grog, and the yacht club was known for its weekly keg parties and prodigious boozing.

The last time I saw my father was September 15, 1999. He picked me up in Vancouver and we drove up to Whistler. We sat on the patio in the late summer sun, ordered burgers and beers and talked about nothing. He stared in puzzlement at the massive hotels, construction crews, traffic jams, raw earth and fresh asphalt, trying to reconcile this scene with his memories of a rustic little village tucked away in the wilderness. The pub’s speakers pumped out Welcome to the Boomtown.

I made my peace with my dad years ago. After the visit to Whistler, he sent me a couple letters, but we never spoke again. With the help of a trauma counsellor, I was able to work through the pain of my childhood and the grief of my father’s rejection.

I spent this past weekend trying to comfort his wife, my mother and my sister. I told them no one could have known what he was planning, since we can’t read minds or predict the future. Even if we could, who has the power to fix someone who is broken?

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Live Nude Animals


Sat, 20 Oct 2007

Derrick Jensen’s captive audience: A discussion with the author about his latest book

I loved animals as a child, but I didn’t like zoos. I found them disturbing and depressing. They smelled like shit and death. But then, adults considered me far too sensitive and sentimental toward animals. When I was five years old, I had what you might call an emotional breakdown after watching my father beat the family cat almost to death in our living room. That was the home life the cat and I shared, back then.

Nowadays, there are laws against abusing animals (and children, for that matter). Zoos are no longer squalid prisons where animals languish and die in solitary concrete cells. Bright, clean cages — complete with natural-looking foliage and ventilation — invite you to peer in at the inhabitants. But still, I am not comfortable visiting them.

Derrick Jensen knows why. He tells us: “Zoos are about power.” And he quotes an admirer of zoos: “You show power by keeping an animal captive; how much more powerful are you if you kill it?”

Jensen is best known for the wildly popular Endgame: The Problem of Civilization, a massive two-volume diatribe on the need to dismantle civilization now, before it self-destructs and takes the natural world with it. His books and lectures dissect our culture’s disease — systemic violence, industrial capitalism and environmental exploitation.

Endgame overturns the mass delusion that our western industrial society is the most peaceful, plentiful and benign in the history of the world. Of course, the majority of the ugliness is exported or otherwise invisible to most of us. We can still rationalize that Western Civ is the acme of human achievement — at least while the oil holds out and the climate is somewhat stable. About ten more years, Jensen figures.

In a world full of violence, brutality against animals is rarely acknowledged. Since shit flows downhill, and humans automatically out-rank monkeys, tigers, sharks and house cats, we get away with murder. For example, Jensen notes that people kill thousands of sharks every year. But when a shark kills a person, a whole country goes into a frenzy. It’s exactly the same dynamic with Canada’s bears, cougars and wolves.

Jensen reminds us we have wiped out 90 percent of the large fish in the oceans already, and great apes and great cats are likely to be extinct in a matter of years. “We should consider that this culture destroys the wild everywhere faster than ever before,” Jensen writes. “We should consider that this culture is killing the planet.”

Thought to Exist in the Wild: Awakening from the Nightmare of Zoos is Jensen’s latest book, movingly illustrated by photographer Karen Tweedy Holmes with stark monochrome portraits of captive animals. Here, Jensen compares consensual exchanges between human and non-human animals with the dynamics of captivity. “Incarcerating animals in zoos is to entering into relationships with them in the wild as rape is to making love,” Jensen writes.

And like rape, there must be some warped instinct that compels people to do it. “Humans visit zoos because we need contact with wild animals,” Jensen states. “We need wild animals to remind us of the enormous complexity of life, to remind us that the world was not made just for us, to remind us that we are not the center of the universe. We need them to teach us how to live.”

I talked to Jensen at his home in Crescent City, California earlier this month. Here are some highlights of our conversation.

Zoe Blunt: You’re saying zoos are bad for animals and bad for humans?

Derrick Jensen: It should be obvious why zoos are bad for animals. Remember the last time you went to the zoo and you saw the bear that had gone insane and couldn’t stop pacing? It drives them crazy, it would drive anyone crazy.

They keep telling us that zoos are good for education, and that is bogus on so many levels. What we learn is you can take an animal out of the habitat and still have the animal. It teaches us that living creatures are discrete machine parts that can be pulled out of boxes. It teaches us there’s an unbridgeable gap between us and them – a gap with a moat and a cage. It teaches us about our perceived superiority.

This kind of messianic language [zoo proponents] use – “The animals teach us, they are ambassadors.” Fuck that, they’re not ambassadors, they’re prisoners. Zoos are prisons. Living in captivity deprives animals of their homes, and deprives them of their parents. A common way to get zoo animals is to kill the parents and take the children.

Blunt: If not for education, then why do zoos keep animals?

Jensen: Why? Because it’s big money. More people attend zoos than all sporting events combined. They’re amusement parks with live attractions. Zoos are fundamentally pornographic. The animals are there for my use, my entertainment, my gratification.

Blunt: Live nude animals?

Jensen: That’s exactly what they are. Instead of a stripper on a pole, instead of a roller coaster, you can see an animal in a cage.

Blunt: What do you think about British Columbia’s new spotted owl captive breeding program?

Jensen: My position on captive breeding, as I say in the book, there are circumstances where captive breeding is necessary. That said, it is obscene to take northern spotted owls from the wild and to use that as an excuse — which is all it is — to destroy their habitat. Words cannot express how vile that is. In this case, it’s a disgusting, immoral crime against nature. It’s an excuse to rationalize further deforestation for the timber industry.

Instead of zoos, people should just go outside, and bring their children because it’s especially important for children to see wild animals. And not just in Alaska or Central America, but in the irrigation ditch behind your house.

If a child wants to see a bear, we have to tell them, “I can’t show you a bear, people wiped them all out here. I could have showed you a spotted owl five years ago, but now they’re gone.”

 

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Dumb Asses Run Our Province

Thu, 18 Oct 2007

DUMB ASSES RUN OUR PROVINCE

The BC Legislative Assembly (“The Ledge”) is a huge gothic fortress where we keep the idiots who make our laws and count our tax money. The Ledge is built on a former Songhees Nation village site in Victoria, the provincial capital, and it’s filled with old-timey crap like some truly hideous murals from your great-granddad’s generation showing the glorious domination of the white man over the naked savages. (Really!)

This week, the Ledge opened the fall session with fresh evidence that our democratic leaders have shit for brains. After years of debate, the assembly voted last spring to get rid of those asinine paintings. But guess what? The murals are still there. So when a high-ranking First Nations leader visits the Ledge, as Tsawwassen Chief Kim Baird did Monday, the bare-breasted slave girls are covered with curtains. Maybe this is a way of showing respect, like hiding the porn mags under the bed when Mom comes to visit. But you can’t stop yourself from pulling them out again as soon as she leaves, can you?

Inside the Ledge, Kim Baird was all agog over the brand-new treaty the province negotiated with the Tsawwassen First Nation to settle their land claim. Outside, a couple hundred indigenous people were royally pissed off. And it wasn’t just the usual rants about treaties extinguishing aboriginal rights, etc, etc. No, this time Vancouver Island native groups are furious that a huge chunk of Gulf Islands fishing territory that has been theirs for thousands of years – and recognized by the Douglas Treaty in 1852 – is being handed over to the Tsawwassen First Nation. Whoops!

The new treaty – which still needs to be approved by the Ledge – pits neighbour against neighbour for the masters’ amusement, but the game is rigged. First Nations participating in the BC Treaty process win cash and prizes, and non-participating nations with overlapping claims lose big-time. The whole stupid mess will soon be winding through BC’s Supreme Court, where the Sencot’en Alliance filed suit against the province in September.

We tried to crash the Visitors Gallery, but it was full and a hundred steely-eyed Commissionaires were patrolling the outer perimeter. One turned us away brusquely as journalists wearing fresh-stamped ID badges skipped past the blue ropes and into the inner sanctum. “But we’re journalists, too!” we insisted. “No, you’re not,” he snorted. “Not unless you have Press Gallery credentials.”

Later Monday, Premier Gordon Campbell scared the hell out of our friend Carolyn K while she was hanging around the side of the Ledge. Gordo suddenly “came sneaking out the back door” with his two bodyguards, startling her. Carolyn notes he didn’t look drunk or coked up, but he is freakishly pale, like an albino or a cave-dwelling lizard. “He’s so white,” she shuddered. “They must put a ton of makeup on him to make him look human on TV. He’s incredibly creepy.”


BC Premier Gordon Campbell was a lot less pale but much more drunk shortly after his arrest in Hawaii for driving under the influence a couple winters ago.

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Captive breeding of spotted owls “obscene”

Wed, 26 Sep 2007

Spotted owl fledglings
Spotted owl fledglings

Capturing and breeding spotted owls is “obscene” and a “crime against nature,” charges Derrick Jensen, a best-selling author, environmental activist and lecturer scheduled to visit Vancouver and Victoria in October.

“I’m not unalterably opposed to every captive breeding program,” Jensen explained by phone from Northern California. “That said, it is obscene to take Northern Spotted Owls from the wild and to use that as an excuse – which is all it is – to destroy their habitat.”

“In this case, it’s a disgusting, immoral crime against nature. It’s an excuse to rationalize further deforestation for the timber industry,” Jensen said.

Environmentalists accuse the BC government of failing to protect spotted owl habitat in its recovery plan while implementing a controversial captive-breeding program. Near Pemberton, a research camp is monitoring attempts to capture a spotted owl while logging carried out under BC’s small business Timber Sales Program clearcuts the owl’s home territory.

Two owls captured earlier this year are living in large cages in Langley and North Vancouver. The entire Canadian population of spotted owls is estimated at 17, and the birds have not previously bred in captivity.

“It is obscene to encourage small business at the expense of a species,” Jensen said. “This culture forgets what the real world is. They think it is industrial capitalism.”

“It is insane – by which I mean out of touch with reality – to promote industrial activities that harm the real world. Because the real world is the source of life,” Jensen asserted.

Jensen speaks in Vancouver on Friday, October 19, 8 pm at the Ukrainian Cultural Hall, 154 East 10th Ave. He visits Victoria for the first time on October 20, 6 pm at the David Lam Auditorium at the University of Victoria.

More news about the spotted owls, Jensen’s visit, and the research camp will be posted here this fall.

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