how to help

Ed and I thrive today because our ancestors came to Canada to work on stolen land. Even today, we live on the unceded territory of Kwantlen, Á,LEṈENEȻ ȽTE (W̱SÁNEĆ), S’ólh Téméxw (Stó:lō), Semiahmoo, and Coast Salish nations.

I love Canada, but Canada is not a place worthy of celebrating this year. To that end, Ed and I are donating our Canada Day wages to the Indigenous Residential School Survivors Society and True North Aid. We are privileged to be in a position to do this, and we are only in this position because of our ancestors and the stolen land they were given. I am reading, and learning, and listening. If you’re able, please help in any way you can. We are ALL thriving – whatever your level of thrive may be – because of our ancestors and the atrocities committed to build this country.

Here are some resources that friends have shared with me.

There is so much work to do, and it’s on all of us to help.

skeletons everywhere

In case you don’t follow BC news unless another foot has been found, two people have been arrested for allegedly plotting to bomb the BC Legislature building on Canada Day, using pressure cooker-style bombs. This is awful for many reasons, and I am glad they did not carry out their plan.

We’ve never been this close to a terror plot before, and it’s strange to watch it unfold in the media and know it’s on our turf instead of elsewhere in the world. I get the distinct feeling that no one is really quite sure what to do, so anything goes .. like touring the apartment of the suspects and showing the world how they live.

Yesterday afternoon the suspect’s landlord opened up their apartment and let the media in to take pictures and film the inside of their home. Is it just me, or is that really fucking weird? It feels like we’re taking a giant leap towards the media obsession shown in Natural Born Killers, and I definitely don’t want anyone to saw my legs off. Just sayin’.

It’s also a slippery slope. What if the media was invited to take a look at your most private moments the minute you get accused of a crime? What if people were invited to see how you live and pass judgement on you based on your dirty laundry, both actual and figurative?

I can only imagine what people would think if they knew little more than what I was accused of and what my home looked like. At first glance (and also second through nineteenth glance), my house is full of toys and gay porn. I have books on common household goods that will kill you and lists of poisons that can be mistaken for disease. Murder in the 16th century? You bet. How to have sex like a lesbian? Entire shelves. A butcher knife with blood splatter? Yes, but it came like that, honest. Bloody coconuts? Naturally. My browser history is terrifying (intellectual research); my purchase history questionable and fabulous. If you add all my superficial pieces up, what sort of picture do you get? If you were told I had done something terrible, how ominous does my collection of headless Hello Kitty vinyl bodies become?

I don’t blame their lawyer for having misgivings about the media tour. As horrible as their alleged plot is, they deserve to answer for their actions and NOT the fact they are terrible housekeepers with poor taste in decor. Catch anyone in a bad week, and the same could be said about us (um, minus the plan to blow people up). The gubmint already knows too much about us; we don’t need that information casually shared with Jack and Sally Public (because they’re jerks).

NOT WHAT IT SEEMS don’t judge me