Sunday, December 18, 2016

We are fucked.
When my newsfeed is full of dead and dying babies
When all you have to do is scroll down to escape an image
of torture, of suffering
when a polar bear clinging to ice looks cute
when another bomb is just another bomb
when the bloodied face of a mother looking for her child
in a pile of rubble
seems ordinary
when our 'democracies' use voicemail and bullet proof cars  to 'reach the people'
when we don't stop to listen to the birds or the frogs or the elephants who are all screaming at us to STOP what we are doing
then i start to lose hope
i smile at everyone i meet
i try to give humanity a chance to prove herself
but holy fuck it's getting hard

Friday, December 16, 2016

the blood, the rotting bodies
they stain our rotten souls
while i string christmas lights
for a holiday that has no religious meaning for me
dear children of Aleppo
humanity has failed
no gas chamber good enough
for our lack of humanity
dear Aleppo
i am castrated and a noose around my neck
no phone call, memo, or email
will make me understand
the gods shake me
and like a dog i shake it off
and prepare for war

Tuesday, December 6, 2016


Throughout my career as a social worker, I have been up close and personal with many instances of woman abuse. I honour those women's stories every day as I fight for a more just world. 
When I was working in Belize with the 'Women's Department' I met a young woman, 15 years old. Coming from a family with a strong Catholic belief system, she spurned her boyfriend's advances to have sex with her. Or maybe she just didn't like him that doesn't matter why. She was young and beautiful and wanted to focus on her studies so that she could be the first person in her family to complete high school. Her boyfriend became very angry at this perceived rejection and stabbed her in the back, severing her spinal chord. When I met her she lay paralyzed in her bed in her family's home, no hope of ever walking again, no hope of finishing school, no medical rehabilitation, nothing but emptiness in her beautiful eyes.
 Her sisters tried to cheer her up every day, but eventually they went on to live their busy lives, as Luisa languished. While I was there, I worked with the school to ensure that she could continue her studies at home, occupy her mind somehow as her mother shed rivers of tears every day. I read to her when I could, told her stories and asked her about her hopes and dreams, but then I too had to leave to come home to Canada. I kept in touch for a while but then the family stopped writing.
Another project I worked on was establishing a phone tree with village women....a PHONE TREE, so that women from neighbouring villages could be harbored in safe spaces to escape abuse.
I don't know what happened to Louisa or to many of the women I have worked with, but I know that violence against women and girls must stop. The patriarchy must crumble. Sisterhood rising <3 span="">