Teaching to Win or Learning not to Lose?


It's been a while so I am going to go back to a classic "Lowetide" style introduction to start us off. This handsome fellow is Paulo Freire, a Brazilian thinker and scholar of education. He's been on my mind a lot lately because I've started and now finished teaching my first ever University course, a 3rd year lecture on the Sociology of Education. Freire is something of a legend in the field, one of the founding fathers of an area of study known as "Critical Pedagogy." Critical pedagogy looks at fundamental inequalities that exist in the classroom, in the way that teachers teach and students learn, the way that management types and policy makers decide what is to be taught and why. In the early 1970s, Freire wrote a book called "Pedagogy of the Oppressed" and I think that some of what he has to say applies to our young and confused Oilers team. (By the way, yes, we are a hockey blog again. We've just been busy with other projects for about 16 months, during which the team was so bad it was barely worth thinking about.)

Anyhoo, as I said, there is a young and confused team on the ice. As fans, we really don't know who or what they are. They seem to lack an identity. One of the primary functions of education is to socialize students. This process is often how students develop a sense of self and learn to interact with others. It's possible that the lockout combined with a new teacher (Ralph), a new curriculum (Ralph's system) and a rotating cast of crap in the bottom of the roster has delayed the socialization of the team. That is a possibility and also why I wanted to look at Freire's understanding of education. Freire looks at traditional education as something of a "Banking Model", in which teachers deposit knowledge into the docile minds of the students, and students withdraw that knowledge in order to write exams and papers etc. etc. Freire asserts that the teacher is the narrating subject while the student acts as a patient, listening object (Freire, 57), that the teacher’s role is to “fill” the students with the contents of the narrative, which are almost always detached from reality (ibid, 58). It is a conscious attempt to minimize or even annul the students’ creativity to serve the interests of the oppressors, in this case, the State. The oppressors then use their supposed “humanitarianism” to preserve a “profitable situation” in this “banking model” of education (ibid, 60). This could be interpreted as the State attempting to maintain a hegemonic control over knowledge in the classroom, socializing the students to believe the values of the State without question. The State, in this case, would be the Oilers organization and the oppressor is obviously the Hydra-headed beast known as "MacTamblowe". They know the team isn't going to stop making money so why bother putting any work in? They can just switch up the teachers at will and the message won't change. Why else would Bucky and Smith still have positions?

Enter Ralph. He has a reputation for being a communicator first and foremost. Ralph has a teaching style unlike any that the last few Oilers coaches have employed, and while the team has languished under the oppression of previous regimes, perhaps Ralph's new vision could work. Ralph is a motivational speaker and prides himself on creating an atmosphere where the players and coaches engage freely in dialogue, and that coaches can learn from players, too. It's a different approach to thinking about the game. What would Freire think about Ralph's revolutionary approach to teaching?


Dialogue is the encounter between men, mediated by the world, in order to name the world. Hence, dialogue cannot occur between those who want to name the world and those who do not wish this naming—between those who deny others the right to speak their word and those whose right to speak has been denied them. Those who have been denied their primordial right to speak their word must first reclaim this right and prevent the continuation of this dehumanizing aggression… Dialogue is thus an existential necessity. And since dialogue is the encounter in which the united reflection and action of the dialoguers are addressed to the world which is to be transformed and humanized, this dialogue cannot be reduced to the act of one persons "depositing" ideas in another, nor can it become a simple exchange of ideas to be "consumed" by the discussants (76-77).

As Freire states, without dialogue there can be no communication, and without communication there can be no true education. This is perhaps the most radical statement in the entire book. We cannot begin to be educated or act as educators unless we communicate. 

The Oilers have shown signs of promise this season. When they are engaged, they play well, particularly when they actually have the puck. Unfortunately, they are maddeningly inconsistent, but at least it looks like the team might finally be learning not to lose. It's possible that had the team gone through a proper training camp to learn Ralph's systems, maybe they would have been a bit better. However overcoming years of oppression is hard to do. There is still a sense of defeatism in the team, and that will take time to overcome. Acquiring better players might help, too, but that is on MacTamblowe to work out. The players, like the fans, need to demand more from the State or threaten to bring it down. Some players like Taylor Hall appear to be capable of instilling a revolutionary spirit, but too many are still stuck inside of the old model of learning, where thoughts are mere deposits, not ideas to be explored creatively and passionately. With an offseason and a proper training camp, perhaps Ralph's critical coaching will pay off, the Oilers will actually develop an identity and start to win consistently, not because of but rather in spite of the organization's inability to care for its people and provide the necessary means to succeed. 

As I asked so many times in my class this past year: "whose interests are actually being served?" Something to think about...

YAKUPOV

That is all


Life in a Very Complicated Place: Travel Desk Vol. 5

Hello faithful readers. All 6 of you that have been following this little excursion from hockey and into politics will be happy to know that my trip is coming to a close and our regularly scheduled Oilers banter will be returning in a few weeks. The other 4 readers who are here for my rants on life in the middle east? Um...sorry, I have maybe one more of these left in me after this.

Rosh Hanikra, the Sea

Last weekend I was treated to an experience few people outside of the middle east get to have. My Druze friend took me to his village, Abu Snan, and I was privy to a sort of cultural exchange I never thought I would find myself having, exposure to life in a typical Arab village in the north. Now for most of my life I've been socialized to have at least an implicit fear of the other. It's part of the system I grew up with, (friends, feel free to debate that as much as you like; it's my perception of the system many of us were a part of and you can read my Master's thesis or some of my other scholarly work if you're looking for some evidence of this claim), and yet not for a second did I feel unsafe in a place that is 100% Arab, mixed almost evenly between Muslim, Druze and Christian. Abu Snan is historically a Druze village but over the years its population and land base has been able to expand. That said, its neighboring village, Kfar Yasif has a building freeze and hasn't been able to grow or support the demands of its populous. That is one of the fundamental differences between the Druze agreement with the Israeli government and the status of other Arab communities inside of the 1949 borders. In any case, this story isn't to talk about the politics of land in Israel, but rather my experience of the people of Abu Snan, who might be the friendliest in the entire country. It is also home to the best Shawarma possibly in the world, a place called Karem. If you're ever in the north of Israel, it is a must visit, but get there early. It's so good and popular that the owner shuts it down after the first spit of meat is finished, and will often turn away people if he knows he's running out and his regulars are still on their way. But trust me, it is too good to miss.


I was welcomed with open arms by my friend's parents, brother and very old friends. There was a real sense of community, of historical bonds that comes from growing up in one place and maintaining friendships over long periods of time. I know that feeling well, and in a sense it was a bit strange to walk into a new circle of people who had known each other for 25 years. I actually saw some analogues to my own friendships and sensed a sort of brotherhood of shared experience that I always feel when I go back to Edmonton for a visit. The similarities didn't end there. Our Friday night was spent outside, with a fire, an Argileh, and several dozen beers. Sounds a lot like summer nights back home, too, doesn't it (other than perhaps the Argileh). The conversation and drinking carried on until well into the wee hours, as such nights often do, and we knew it was time to shut it down when the morning call to prayer began to echo through the village.

My friends made a point of explaining to me that they are effectively society's trash, the liquid at the bottom of the garbage bin, and that when they drink, they de-evolve into a much more primitive state. I didn't see that at all. What I saw was a group of friends with inside jokes, genuine compassion for each other, and a bit too much beer. Then again, coming from Alberta where white trash/redneck jokes and the occasional group beer-shotgun competition is standard fare, I really felt myself close to home despite the palm trees and stray cats. One friend made a point of asking me how I felt about hearing conversations in Arabic, if it made me uncomfortable. I can honestly say not for a second. It was a typical Friday night, just in another country. The amazing part about language and culture is that if you spend enough time interacting with people in a language you don't understand, you can pick up on the non-verbal cues and still follow along. Plus, now I can curse in a new language rather well, which pleases me.

Rosh Hanikra, the border

To put into perspective about where in the country I was, we were able to drive up to the border with Lebanon in less than 30 minutes. This is a complicated part of the country where identity and culture are constantly tested and the lines between who is what are very blurry. One of my friends was telling me that he wants to leave the village permanently, not to mention the country because of the racism and discrimination he feels and the fact that he's Druze puts him in an uncomfortable position, knowing his privileged status within Israeli society while other Arabs in his village and others like it don't have the same sorts of opportunities. He resented being in the Army and it was there that he felt the most racism. His family is of Syrian origin, but due to the complications with Syria, he will never meet his cousins who still live there. Yet others from the same community feel very attached to Israel, find serving to be an honor and can't imagine not doing it. It's complicated to be an ethnic minority within a very divided and hierarchical place where one's ethnicity is tantamount to status and access to power within the state. To most Druze though, the arrangement with Israel is a positive one as they are able to keep their historical land and property rights, which to them is the most important part. And having spent some time on their land, I can see why.

Abu Snan/Kfar Yasif, from my friend's balcony


I spent my Saturday evening indulging in two local traditions: The family meal and the Classico. The family meal consisted of perhaps the most delicious food I have ever eaten in my life. Kebabs, grilled Lamb, Tabbouleh, Olives from the family's own Olive trees. And of course everything that required oil was made using hand pressed Olive oil from these same trees. Words cannot describe the amazement. And it didn't stop coming, either. The Classico was the Soccer match the village and most of the rest of the country was waiting for, the annual match between F.C. Barcelona and Real Madrid. I've grown to enjoy Soccer a lot more than I was expecting to, and have become a Barca fan by association, but the event was something closer to an Edmonton/Calgary or Canada/USA hockey game than anything I've ever witnessed. There were about 70 Druze men, equally divided in terms of team allegiances hanging out in the local pub, a hookah to every 3 people, and the match up on the big screen. The intensity of the match, the passion of the fans, and the energy in the room was incredible. The result however, was disappointing, but as an Oilers fan, I've grown used to that. It was in this moment that I was able to put my limited knowledge of Arabic to good use, screaming with joy when things went well, cursing and shouting when things went badly, all in the local dialect. As the only white Anglo for miles, the people who didn't know me were all very pleased to see that I was embracing the local culture and the passion. It also demonstrates how sports teams are so often tied to a place, but the idea of fandom and all that comes along with it seems to transcend space and place. How a tiny village in the north of Israel is so evenly split between two clubs from Spain is beyond me, but sure enough it happened. And in the aftermath the village exploded, people pouring into the streets to celebrate the victory, driving around honking their car horns, shouting and jumping with unbridled energy, while the people who lost walked or drove home in disgust. And yet the clubs themselves are completely detached from the material realities of life in the village, the region and the country. (Canucks fans could learn a thing or two from these people!)

I can't say for certain how typical the snap-shot of life I experienced actually was. I don't know what it's really like to live in these Northern villages. I do know however that there are major problems with employment, schools are underfunded, infrastructure is lacking and in some cases, the villages themselves are unable to grow despite the population and demographic situation begging for expansion at the same rate as Israeli communities. The funding isn't there even though the tax base is. What I do know, however, is that I was treated like family by total strangers, given a glimpse into a community I wouldn't ever have been exposed to had it not been for a little bit of luck, and had the best time of my entire trip. And they say these are the people I am supposed to fear?


....

Oilers notes: I've never been more unsure of what to do about "winning the lottery" as I don't think Tambo can be trusted to make the right decision. #2 would have been so much easier.

I think I can safely say I want the Kings to win the west, if not the whole shebang, if for no other reason than to watch former Oilers get another shot. Stoll's game winner against the Canucks was a thing of beauty, and Penner has been playing like, well, the real Penner as opposed to Pancakes. That makes me happy. He's a player I've always really appreciated and its nice to see him produce when it counts.

I'll be returning to North America in less than 2 weeks and Kingston by June. It's been a good run over here and I really appreciate all the feedback from everyone who has been following along. These stray observations are likely going to appear in my PhD dissertation in one form or another and all of the comments you have made over the past few months, on the site and privately, have kept me on my toes. Thanks for that.

Go Oilers

SWS

Black Panthers and Bombs: Travel Desk volume 4

This post is probably going to get me in some crap. I'm fine with that. I've been away for a little while and wasn't sure how to return to the blog, let alone my own head after the events of the Purim weekend. I was waiting until something really cool happened I think to balance out the good with the bad. It's been an interesting month in the Holy Land since I last wrote and now I think it's time to share some of it.

Good: Meeting a member of the Israeli Black Panthers yesterday. More on that later.
Bad: What many around these parts have characterized as a "real Israeli" experience, by which I mean rockets.


This map shows the range of Grad Rockets that are sometimes launched from the Gaza strip into the Negev region. The rockets of course come with a reason, and this particular attack was no exception. Early on the Friday after Purim, the IDF targeted a Gazan resistance member, blowing him and an associate up. There were rumors, not definitive proof, but rumors that these two men were involved in planning a major assault. We will never know if these intelligence reports were valid or true, but that is hardly the point. When one's supposed sovereignty is breached, one has the right to defend it. This is a concept that applies on both sides of the security fence. The IDF felt the preemptive assault would protect Israeli sovereignty and security; the Gazans felt their security had been breached and so then the rockets come. That's life in the region. That's how it goes. I am not going to place blame or inflammatory comments up today; you the readers can do that on your own, and that's cool, but I know that our 9 readers come from diverse backgrounds, some political, others not, some Jewish, others not, others still simply hockey fans who are getting progressively more bored with the way I've hijacked their 6th favorite Oilers blog on the Inter webs.

Anyhoo, if you look at the map, you can see a city called Be'er Sheva, a rather famous place historically and currently the largest metropolitan area in the Negev. It's also the home of a very good friend of mine, his wife and their very young child. I decided to go down and visit them again because I needed a break and they're just damn fine people. Plus, my friend always has really nice scotch, we eat well, and it was Purim! (For those that don't know, Purim is basically Jewish Halloween and its an actual Mitzvah to get so drunk you don't know right from wrong on this holiday. True story!) At dinner that night we saw on the news that something happened in Gaza in the afternoon, a couple of militants were targeted and killed so I was told to brace myself for the potential for retaliation. OK, sure. It seemed unlikely to me that anything would happen. Wrong.

1030 PM and we are sitting around having a perfectly normal conversation when the siren goes off. I hadn't heard it before but I knew exactly what it was. Stunned, I look towards my friend and without even a trace of irony say "so this is actually happening?" as we are running down the stairs towards the bomb shelter. A few minutes later we heard the new "Iron Dome" missile defense system engage and do its thing. All is quiet, then suddenly a large rumbling boom off in the distance and the whole building shakes a little. Then 3 more. On the outside I was trying to look and feel as calm as possible. On the inside I was screaming and cursing and trying not to lose my dinner. We return to the apartment, I grab the scotch and down 2 shots in succession without blinking or batting an eye. I ask if its over. I'm told hopefully, but probably not. And because its Shabbat, the buses aren't running so I can't even flee in the night back to Jerusalem where its safe. It was a long night to say the least, 1AM, 330AM, 7AM and then again the next evening around 530. That's when it ended for me. It continued well into the next week for the residents of the South, not to mention the residents of Gaza who also endured precision tactical strikes until a ceasefire brokered by Egypt came into effect several days later. A real Israeli experience. Just what I always wanted.

While I was inside of it, clearly scared and wondering what was going to happen next, my friend asked me if this changed my perspective, altered my political position at all. I assured him it hadn't, but at the same time there was a part of me that was feeling a kind of anger I had never felt before. I wasn't angry at the Gazans or the Israelis per se; I was angry that such an existence has become normal. I was angry that my friends had to live like that. I know they choose to live in the south, but they don't choose to live under threat of violence. I know the Gazans don't choose to live under threat of drone planes and precision tactical strikes either. The craziest part of it all was knowing that while the rockets were being blasted out of the sky and the mortar shells were falling, there were 1000 Israelis at the biggest club in town, partying like it could be their last night of party well into the next morning, all in costume and engaging in the most holy of holy drunks. Normal life, right? Yeah, welcome to the new normal.


....

So for a few days after I had to try and wrap my head around that anger and not let it consume me. On of my supervisors told me I had been decolonized. In a sense, he was right. I had to sort out my own position on all of this and could now express the lived experience and still I am on the left, perhaps even more convinced of the need for new strategies of resistance and redefining the peace process and the problems of nation-states defined by ethnicity, the politics of exclusion and the use violence as a form of bio-political control. As my fear and anger faded I came to accept the experience as a part of me, a new normal. Innocence lost in a way I never expected.

This experience lead me to try and take advantage of the other sorts of sociopolitical opportunities available to me in this country, ultimately leading me to the neighbourhood of Musrara yesterday, right on the seam of the 1949 armistice line, down the hill from the newly developing  and predominantly Ashkenazi and middle class Jewish West Jerusalem and directly under fire from the (then) Jordanian controlled East Jerusalem. This neighbourhood was a former Palestinian community that was eventually settled by African and Arab Jews who actually have more in common with their neighbours to the east than they did with their fellow Jews up the hill. At least that's the narrative according to one of the neighbourhood's long time residents and few surviving members (due to age, not violence) of the Israeli Black Panthers.

They borrowed their name and were directly inspired by the Black Panther movement of the United States, recognizing the importance of the intersection of race and class in the struggle. Mizrachi Jews were brought into Israel from their former homes in the Middle East and Northern Africa and were settled in the interior, far from the almost exclusively Ashkenazi (at the time) cities along the coast. They were almost always placed in areas closest to the borders, on a macro level in cities along the various armistice lines between 48-67 and on a micro-level in terms of civic planning in neighbourhoods. Musrara was no exception, and since there were many abandoned homes, it was a place for cheap housing for the unemployed and undereducated non-white Israeli Jews in Jerusalem.

The Panthers wanted change for their social conditions, access to schools, health care and infrastructure that had been denied to them; they wanted a voice in Israeli society and were sick of being pushed to the margins, labelled as backwards, primitive and incapable of integration. Eventually they bulled their way to a meeting with Golda Meir in the early 1970s. Not much came of it other than the discovery of a common love of smoking. Meir characterized them as "not very nice." The 1973 war ended a bit of their momentum, but their early work created quite a storm in Israeli society and paved the way for the protest movements of future generations. Without the use of social media, the Panthers managed to mobilize more than 8000 disenfranchised and disaffected protesters in the early 1970s, the strongest and most organized protest movement in Israeli history until the housing protests of last July.

Reuven made an argument that I found particularly compelling. He claims that the peace process won't really happen until the Mizrachi Jews are given an equal role in the power structure of the nation. He believe that due to the shared ethnic backgrounds, marginalized class position, linguistic and cultural affinities, that it will be the coming together of the Mizrachi Jews and the Palestinians (regardless of religious affiliation) that could create a lasting peace. Call me crazy, but I think he just might be right.


.....

The Oilers have points in their last 6 games and DD looks like he might have found a path towards consistency. Who knew that all it might take was letting him get the majority of the starts?! He made an absolutely brilliant save last night, coming out to his own blue-line and stacking the pads to take away a potential breakaway opportunity, was dynamite in the shootout, and is playing with poise and confidence. Hemsky and Gagner are playing wonderfully together and Harski is a beast. These stray observations are about all I have for the Oilers these days. They're playing for pride, and regardless of the way the draft lottery goes, I would really like to see them end the season strong. I don't care if they don't finish 29th; draft position shouldn't be the objective, learning how to win consistently should be.


Go Oilers

SWS

Making lemonade

There's 3 (good) reasons I keep watching oilers games:

1) Everyone is healthy.
For the last few years March has been the time of year when we get to watch a roster half full of players from OKC/Springfield finish off the lottery march. Every game that Hemsky's healthy has some value. Dude could have had a hatrick today if the puck was bouncing different. Alas.

2) The biggest loser race.
With CBJ's loss tonight, the Oil are 8 points clear of their 3rd straight 30th place finish. This particular season also has an extra-special battle for epic failure. Ever since Tyler Dellow brought it up a few weeks back, I've been following the race for worst team of the current CBA and damn if it hasn't been a good one. Edmonton currently sits 8 points back of Columbus and 5 back of the Islanders which seems like a pretty big gap with only 14 games left, but these are 3 tremendously bad franchises and I wouldn't put a flatline past any of them. Pretty compelling stuff.

3) Learning from other people's mistakes.
Thanks to dawgbone98 at Copper n blue and Justin Bourne at Backhand Shelf I may have actually learned something about watching hockey over the last few months. Oilers games are just chock-full of defensive breakdowns so they're a great opportunity to play 'spot the error.' My favorite from yesterday:



This one's easy, Colorado scored because Linus Omark is as soft as milk on the backcheck. Am I right internet?















Yup!

But something felt a bit off about that. Why would he possibly play that soft on someone in that good of a shooting position?

I went back and watched the goal a few more times before the gears started turning.

Omark plays left wing.

How the hell does the LW end up covering the guy in the low right slot?


If you have gamecenter or PVR, the whole clusterfuck starts with 16:29 left in the 2nd. RNH actually wins a faceoff! and everything proceeds straight downhill from there. Highlights from the next 61 seconds of play include:
- Petry turning the puck over just inside his own blueline (bailed out by Smid)
- RNH and Hall combining to turn the puck over just inside their own blueline (bailed out by Smid)
- RNH neatly boxing himself out on the backcheck (bailed out by David Jones missing the net)
- Zero puck posession for the Oilers 'top line' outside their own zone

Eventually, Colorado breaks off for a change and Petry skates the puck up past the blue line. All 5 Av's are clustered together by the Oilers bench so Petry decides to skate the puck. Straight ahead. Since they play for the Oilers, Hall & Eberle decide that a turnover just before the red line is a good time for a line change.






The positioning doesn't look too bad here but Hemsky and Omark have no speed coming off the bench, Petry's flat footed, and Ryan Wilson's just off the bottom left edge of the picture with a full head of steam.





Ok, the Av's forward on the far side is wide open but Wilson decides to go outside...





And he makes RNH look like Ryan Whitney





Smid had to slide over so Wilson doesn't have a straight line to the front of the net, and manages to land a pick on Ted who returns the favor by almost decapitating Smid (amazing agility by the kid to stay on his feet though.) Luckily, there's no immediate danger since the other 2 Avalanche forwards managed to run into each other in front of the net.





At this point, Omark's back and has recognized that McLeod's uncovered so he heads down to tie him up, probably assuming that Petry and RNH are going to double Wilson. It's not ideal defence but they should still be able to keep everything to the outside.





And then it really hits the fan.
Petry somehow decides to play outside on Wilson, possibly (hopefully?) thinking that RNH is going to pressure. After puck-hawking all around the zone, RNH decides this is a good time to switch back to 1-on-1 cover and breaks for the front of the net to take McLeod.

The best part is that Hemsky already has the outside covered if Wilson tries to keep going around the wall, and Omark actually has McLeod's stick tied up. If either of Petry of RNH goes straight to Wilson then he has no lane to the front.





The chain reaction of errors is now almost complete. Petry's totally lost position on Wilson (who's a freaking DEFENCEMAN! ffs.) RNH changes his mind and decides to drop his man to chase the puck again. Unfortunatly, once Omark saw RNH turn to cover McLeod he started moving back up ice.




And Omark's left holding the bag.

I suppose you could argue that Omark should have stayed low until RNH actually came all the way up to McLeod, but there were 5 pretty clear mistakes before that and IMO they're at least as bad.

Also fun:
This isn't the first time Petry and RNH have teamed up for some epic D-zone coverage

Turns out teenagers might not be the best choice for playing D in the NHL. Good thing we'll have a new one in the lineup when September rolls around.

Memo from the Travel Desk 3 - Hippies and Hospitality

There are some amazing things happening in this country that tend to be overshadowed by all of the death and violence and fences and bomb threats, things that would have been unimaginable even 10 or 15 years ago in the West. I had the good fortune of experiencing one of these amazing things, and you're looking at it right now. This is a mud hut built on a Permaculture farm in the middle of the Negev Desert. Yes, a Permaculture farm in the desert. This place has been in action for 20 years and self-sufficient for 12. The notion of sustainable and ethical agriculture and energy has really only been inside the mainstream for a few years back in Canada at least as far as I know-perhaps it's not even really permeating mainstream consciousness yet and I am projecting, perhaps it's been going on for a while and despite my position in the Academic world and surrounded for years by Hippies, Lefties, radicals and the occasional dude who wants to go blow up a dam to make a point, I still wasn't aware of it...

This farm was actually a living and breathing example of what can be done to an environment without actually impacting that environment. Everything grown there can be eaten, and everything that's eaten goes right back into the earth-yup that's right, compost toilets, worm colonies, and no pesticides anywhere. Adding to it is the giant row of solar panels collecting the powerful desert rays which are used to power not just this little farm, but also the neighboring Moshav. Instead of going off grid, which I assumed was the plan, the grid was reversed, one of the ways the farm is able to support itself, especially during the hot summer months when this surprisingly lush green space turns into a dust-bowl and there are no crops to be sold.


In about three months, the only viable plant life will be the cacti in the distance. The weeds, flowers, shrubs and crops will all come back again in the winter, but this really is a farm in the desert. I look forward to a return visit when there is nothing but sand and dust (and mud huts!)

They also had an extensive greenhouse set up, planter boxes that doubled as composters to make the most of limited space and designed to leave as little of a footprint as possible, and the best part of all is that with all of this organic material being contained in one space, it smelled a lot better than I was expecting! Really, it mostly just smelled like hippie, and not even the pretentious western bourgie-hippie smell (patchouli and weed mixed with organic deodorant), but just the musk of people who work outside and don't really care what the rest of the world thinks. It was a truly incredible use of space and place to provide for both the land and the people living on it, a sign that better ways of looking at consumption patterns and environmental impact are possible, without resorting to Derrick Jensen-like strategies that tend to advocate blowing stuff up. I know of a few places like this back in Canada, and have a close friend who wants to create such a space as well, and upon seeing such a community in action, I understand how viable Permaculture can be. I am not trying to use this blog to advocate for a drastic return to an anarcho-primitivist lifestyle but there is something to be said for knowing that you can eat everything around you, that weeds have a purpose often forgotten in the western world, and that other plant-life in the same families can be located and planted, knowing that the growing conditions will actually work. After the shock of spending a month living with checkpoints and guns in a land that seemed harsh, unforgiving and insular, this was a welcome respite.


.....

I should follow up about my new neighbours in my ongoing quest for cultural exchange. There is truly something to be said for the idea of Arab hospitality, and my Druze friends made a point of making sure I know it. Every time I see any of them, they always seem to want me to feel welcome here on their floor, in their home, inviting me over to visit with them and never shying away from talking politics with me. I've spent more time with them in the last little while, but it wasn't easy for me to do. Even as recently as two days ago I was feeling somewhat agoraphobic, to the point that when my neighbours had friends over and got really loud, I would hide in my room. All the shouting in Arabic got to me, not because it was Arabic, but because it reinforced my own otherness, my perceived inability to communicate, and therefore not really be a part of the community. I know I should be using these moments as opportunities both for research and, more importantly, to get to know my new community better, yet I struggled with the courage to do so. When it would be small gatherings or chats with 1 or 2 people, I would be fine, but once it turned into groups of 4 or more watching soccer and getting rowdy, I tended to retreat to my room. Being Jewish, White, and foreign living in their space sometimes makes me feel like a post-colonial jerk. I know these feelings are entirely in my own head and not real, yet they do exist. I usually don't avoid these sorts of issues unless I am forced to the outside, such as an experience I had at a conference when my whiteness, heterosexuality and masculinity were the direct causes of my removal from the organization's annual general meeting, but it is a different experience for me here. I was removing myself rather than being forced to the margins by external forces, hardly my standard practice...and yet...

The good news is that I broke my own barriers last night and watched FC Barcelona, the football team of choice on this floor, absolutely crush Leverkusen with a fairly large group. There is something about sports that seems to be a strangely universal mode of communal bonding. This went beyond nationalism or religion and into something deeper, more visceral, almost base level. Sure we have our national and regional rivalries like the Battle of Alberta or The Old Firm, but there was something remarkably different about watching a Spanish club taking on a German club in a Champion's League match, while listening to the play-by-play in Arabic. It was such a profoundly social experience that cut across so many cultural divides, moments of shared joy in 3 different languages creating new bonds of affinity. Tonight I am going to use my trusty Game-center PVR and record the Oilers/Leafs game. Tomorrow my neighbours will watch their very first hockey game. Win or lose, I hope it will be an experience my new friends will remember.

Go Oilers

SWS

Memo from the Travel Desk 2 - Kingdom of Fear




One would think after this morning's (er, last night's) historic performance by Sam Gagner, I'd be writing my own sort of post game, praise be the new hockey Jebus sort of post here today. Nope. You're going to have to wait it out and read for a bit yet. Before I talk about Samwise's performance for the ages, I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about public transit and guns.

This is the Israeli made M16 assault rifle. It is the most common weapon in the country, the automatic of choice for the police and the military. I see these things at least once or twice a day slung over the shoulders of men and women in uniform. They're so common that I've actually grown used to them, which is terrifying in its own right. After my first trip to this country eight years ago, I remember mentioning to a friend in passing after landing at Pearson that it was in fact strange to not see soldiers and guns in public spaces. Amazing what a little bit of time in a different environment will do to how we see the world...some call it socialization. Others call it...well, you faithful readers can decide for yourselves.

Which leads me to my WTF? tale of the week. I went to Be'er Sheva last weekend. It was a great time; I saw an old friend, met his wife and newborn baby girl, drank some beer, and ate a little too well. The highlight of course was having a big bed in room of my own and access to a clean shower, one that didn't require wearing sandals while using it. The trip was the best part of my time here so far, other than meeting a couple of really great professors who actually seem to want to help me. But I digress, as I often do. The point was that such a trip necessitates bus travel. Israel actually has a very effective and efficient network of buses and other forms of public transit. Credit must be given when credit is due after all, except for one key point: bus arrival and departure times are very fluid in this country. In case anyone was wondering whether Jewish Standard Time was nothing but a myth or based on a trope that everyone has for their own cultures, it's actually institutional practice here for public transit.

Soldiers and civilians alike travel by bus all the time, and sometimes its hard to tell who is whom. I saw a few plain-clothed types who were armed, but with semi-concealed handguns. That's normal-ish, didn't really give me cause for concern. And Be'er Sheva is also home to a rather large base, so a couple of standard issue soldiers in uniform were also on the bus with their familiar companions on their shoulders. Nothing out of the ordinary. Fine, guns, what of it? Well, it seems that it isn't just soldiers who are allowed to carry these incredibly power tools of death. Who knew? I was sitting on the bus minding my own business when the bus stops in the middle of the desert, one of 3 stops between Jerusalem and Be'er Sheva (I was smart enough to take the "express bus") when a fellow in plain clothes and wearing a white knit Kippah gets on the bus, armed with one of these really big guns. It's standing room only at this point and he comes towards me, stops right beside me and calmly just hangs out for the duration of the trip. I was then face to face with an M16 for the next 45 minutes. I can assure you I didn't like it.

When I arrived in Be'er Sheva, I asked my friend if off-duty soldiers were allowed to carry those weapons, at which point he asked me what the fellow was wearing, intentionally asking about the knit Kippah. Turns out this guy wasn't army but instead a settler-I don't know if it's a "behind the green line illegally occupying a space according to the UN and international law" settler or a "living in the seam zone or ridiculously close to the wall" settler, but they're all allowed to bear arms. Remember, this is the weapon of choice for all in this country. Kingdom of fear indeed.

....


I really can't put up a post today and not talk about the magnificent play of the Oiler Hobbit. I remember only vaguely the sorts of hockey wizardry the old boys club used to be capable of, but I never expected to see anything like this in the post-dead-puck-bettman point-shanaban-goalies wearing pads bigger than the net era of hockey, but sure enough, it happened. It happened and it was absolutely incredible. The chemistry between these three players, at least for the last 40 minutes was incredible, especially on the final Gagner goal, where Hall, Eberle and Samwise looked like they were playing catch on a baseball diamond, but with the puck. It was ridiculous. 16 points between them, 8 points for Sam alone, and back to back exclamation points on a chicago team who shelled these Oilers 10-2 in their own barn a couple seasons back. Patrick Kane wanted revenge for the "we want 10" chant from the 9-2 game (repeated last night), yet he forgets it was these same frustrated fans who were chanting "we want 10" when the Hawks were wiping the floor with the Oilers, a chant filled with vitriol and bitterness that was fortunately turned back upon itself this season not once but twice. Let's enjoy these moments when they happen, but try not to dig too deep into the Oilers mythology or create a narrative about this being the turning point that launches boys on the bus 2. RNH isn't Gretzky, neither is Sam. Sam however has the incredible fortune of being able to share a record with 99. Last night we were able to see an amazing achievement for a player who might just be turning a corner. And from where I am sitting, that's good enough for me.

Go Oilers

SWS