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The Ubyssey Mar 22, 2002

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HE UBYSSEY LITERARY SUPPLEMENT 2 Friday. March 22.2002
Sports/Events
Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
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ESSAY RESEARCH & ASSISTANCE:
any subjects A to Z. Call toll-free: 1-888-
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VOLUNTEERS NEEDED to work
with mildly autistic fun loving boy.
Please call Cynthia at 827-0014.
WANT TO VOLUNTEER? MANY
DIFFERENT OPPORTUNITIES IN
THE DOWNTOWN EASTSIDE.
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Choice of two Premium *** Hotels. Stay
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Use Air Miles for air fare. No Air Miles?
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SPARTACUS BOOKS ANNUAL
SPRING SALE! 10-80% OFF ALL
STOCK!! Mar 21 -27, 311 Hastings
(upstairs). 688-6138. Leftist Politics, Philosophy. Cultural Studies, Feminist Theory, Art, Film & Media, Sociology,
Geography, Race & Native Studies, Ecology...
PEACE IN THE CITY: SUN MAR 24,
7:30PM, Canadian Memorial United
Church (W.15th & Burrard). Julia Butterfly Hill, author of "The Legacy of
Luna" & "One Makes the Difference"
will speak. Celebration of peace featuring
music, scripture readings, & reflection.
MUSSOC PRESENTS: A FUNNY
THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY
TO THE FORUM. Ar the NORM Mar
1S-23. 8pm. $12 Students $15 Adults
from SUB Box Office
ENGINEERS WITHOUT BORDERS.
TUE MAR 26, 6pm, CEME Rml202.
Allan Dakin, a local Hydrogeologal Engineer, tells of his exp. in Swaziland,
administrating a 6-yr CIDA funded survey of groundwater resources. Info:
jtoews^interchange.ubc.ca    ■
ATTN: PSYCH GRADS OF 2002!
Come out to the Psych Grad Banquet on
Sat Mar 23, opm-midnight <£' The West-
in Bayshore. Tix 545 on sale M-F 1lam-
2pm Til the 22nd at South SUB & in
front of AUS. Info: Janela & Cheryl
gradcoordinators@hotmail.com
ARE YOU A LIBERTARIAN? WANT
THE STATE OUT OF YOUR LIFE?
Connect with other Libertarians. Call
^vVestcoast Libertarian Foundation 604-
681-9861  .
PARTICIPANTS NEEDED FOR
STUDY aimed at investigating the scenic
beauty of forested environments. Participants will evaluate computer generated
images & digital photos. Study runs thru
March & lasts for 1 hr. Financial compensation provided. Book a time slot at
604-822-6708 or .
ideal_lab@hotmail.com
FORUM ON REFERENDUM ON
TREATY NEGOTIATIONS: Sat Mar
23, 5pm, Maritime Labour Centre (1880
Triumph St) Speakers incl reps of Native
Nations, unions & community org'ns.
By UBC Marxist-Leninist Study Group
& Investing in Health B.C. Discussion:
Co-Op Radio CFRO, 102.7 FM, Wed
7-8pm, discussion@telus.net, call in:
604-684-7561.
check out
http://www.bcpoutics.ca.
New media critic of "new error Gordo-
nomics."
en/ices
UNIVERSITY DRYCLEANERS. Alternations, Laundry, Dry-cleaning & Dressmaking available at 105-5728 University
Blvd. (UBC Village) ph 228-9414. Discount coupons accepted. Some handcrafts & gift items also available for sale.
CLASSIFIEDS
STUDENTS!
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Teams may be organised into three
tiers; some designated club teams
by Scott Bardsiey
Varsity sports teams may soon be
categorised into first, second and
third tier teams if a proposal
under consideration by UBC
Athletics is passed. The change
will affect resource allocation and
fundraising and will formally
recognise some teams as clubs.
Currently all teams are referred
to as varsiiy, but under the new
proposal, level three teams would
be clubs. Level-one teams would
be those with full-time coaches
and level two would have part-time
coaches.
'It's a matter of giving people a
clear indication of where they
stand and setting down some criteria for how they can go to the
next level, rather than just have
people have expectations in some
sort of box,' UBC Athletics
Director Bob Philip said.
"We already sort of have a tiering system in the varsity area,"
said Philip. 'Right now we call
eveiything varsiiy and we treat [all
teams] the same way in that sense,
but...some get much more money.
Some get full-time coaches."
Teams' budgets and support
vary dramatically: in 2001-2002,
the football team received the
most funding with a $303, 265
operating budget and the Nordic
ski team received the least—
$1600.
Philip said that the system will
not discriminate against teams
that are not in national leagues
such as the CIS or NAIA, because
that would hurt sports like rowing
and rugby, which are traditionally
bUong sports....        _     .. . .
1
However, the proposal is not
yet close to being implemented: all
coaches contacted by the Ubyssey
were unaware of the plan's details.
'I don't know too much about
it," said Paul Boskovich, the manager of the alpine ski team. 'But
so long as we maintain our budget
and our varsity status, it'd be
alright."
Mike Pearce, the men's rowing
coach, also didn't know much
about the proposal, but he agreed
with the concept. "I think it's a
good idea,"he said. It might mean
a shift in traditional mindset, but
with the limited resources that we
have at the moment, it might be a
good time to analyse those
things."
However, with UBC Athletics'
limited resources, fundraising will
become more important for all
teams in the future'.
"We've had...more' and more
success in getting outside support
from the community Our baseball team is funded 80 per cent off
campus," Philip said. "We would
like to help raise 2 5 per cent of the
teams' budgets over the next few
years. They can do it through community sports camps in the summer; they can do it through gate
receipts in some sports, they can
do it through fundraising, donations and sponsorship."
Fundraising and financial support such as scholarships from
Athletics would remain the same
for both tier one and two teams.
But tier three teams would not
receive these benefits, Philip
explained, but they would still get
administrative support from
Athletics. ♦
'YlIlIlKifll
despite ffie-hypeV they really are gc^d.; the songs on their latest? ,- " ■
Yalburn- Walking with'The^ ^e dir^ aiid dark—andt iri all likelihopd;: vi
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play Dick's on, Dicks: Aid Cat Power plays, the next 'night How cool is
: tfiat77:7YY;'^
YTickpts are;|l%2S:at Zulut, Scratchy Noize! andHighlifeYYi ■Y7'.''Y
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-Sl-i**.. it!
RANT
Today is RANTs fourth birthdjy. In ulht-rwords !his is the fourth issue of the Ubyssey's annual literary supplement Its content is gathered
through a contest <'hallongir.<» YP-C #iaJt-ila <o "!f>nd m their written works. The winning entries are now in your hands—enjoy!
Ubyssey staff re.id and ili-i iv*sed the in«?n' s of the numerous submissions, finally deciding upon the top five in each category, which were
then sent to our judges lo st'kvl die v. i'Vief ,nvj runners-ap
While previous i^su.-s of RANT Im e had cnimon 'h&nu'>3 apparent in the works submitted, this year's contest drew writing on a variety
of topics, reflec* j.ng *hi? rLvt-j sh t xpnru nt l 9 'Jtnt hr\ e "-lisped tho h\ r s of the equally diverse students here. You can read about almost everything in the follow.na p:<»'-s
In the Mi.ip ii'iii-fitti.ri (.alfjjury, leaning the \.il-u» ol li\ ing in the moment while riding a bike can be compared to a deep and thoughtful reflection 'iuLi>!j fs. Tho p-.v:r.>! r^ngo sun a •lorkunJev'H.'uUxc piece, to one that brings the imagination to lazy summers on the coast.
Snap ficti' >n ji; ,-diit ed a' 1 fijile of inlwir* ehines 'Jul fix "is nr> the inner mind, both the fear in being alone with it and the grief at having it
betray you !.<>:;«; ?um-li'l,.ion im'lu.'c-i L-.in Jirc>-ui:riM';.iKtf«- one abiut the value of getting away (and getting dirty), the other taking hard
look at the e-xpl"Uaiion nf A is>tra.'ia'>s Alx-ri.y::*."'!. Loi g fum|jnn !'>ut.bed on both the amusing and lhe disturbing, with one piece looking at the
risks of ge-'.lii-g '.jvghl up in u:i illiu-i'in, hii.l .iuo"h<.*r 'hfrt, liaulfi .he dftl^er and allure of self-destruction.
Enjoy it Ha'e J. Rt- id jl. EjI it Blu-ti it S!i?r? it
The Ubyssey Literary-Supplement
Proofreaders
Ai L>i rh'./j
j C\3 CLr.^r.M-n
S ir.ih Cuin'hii.'
fiobrt '"i Kj-ski'li
Alexis K"oh'ini
ffji s EA-ir.,3
Cocides
5hi.'ri EJ.uut>:a
Special Issue Coordinators
Donald ?r::n.<3
Michjcl Si.hwm.il
Chris Shepherd
Designers
Scult Bdrds>y
Laiira 81 ip
DuiTiOiM M''IIi'.tth
Sarah Mami-ill M"r!i"«in
Chris Shepherd
Hywel Tim..*->.•■>
Graeme Worthy
Judges
Long Non-fiction
After serving as a fighter-pilot in World War II, Eric Nicol wrote humour columns
for the Ubyssey, The Vancouver News-Herald, and The Province. He has written over
30 published books, comedy for radio, musicals for TV, and four professionally produced plays. He has been awarded the Stephen Leacock Medal three times, the UBC
Alumni Merit, the BC Gas Lifetime Achievement and the Order of Canada.
Long Fiction
Brian Kaufman is the editor of the Vancouver alternative literary magazine
subTerrain and the publisher of Anvil Press. He is a published and produced playwright and is currently working on a novel, Slush Pile.
Snap Non-fiction
Marion Crook has written 12 published books of non-fiction, the most recent
being The Face in the Mirror: Teenagers and Adoption, and ten published novels,
most recently Cutting It Close. Crook has a PhD in Nursing and teaches the subject
at Kwantlen University College. She also teaches occasionally in the publishing program at SFU.
Snap Fiction
Sara O'Leary is a graduate of UBC's creative writing program, and a literary
columnist for The Vancouver Sun. She is also a novelist, the author of Wish You Were
Here and Comfort Me With Apples.
Poetiy
When John Donlan isn't working as a reference librarian at the Vancouver Public
Library he's writing poetry. He has published three collections of poetry and is the
poetry editor at Brick Books. Donlan also gives readings and lectures in English
classes at UBC and SFU. ♦
Sponsors
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-RANT Coordinators.
Rant Winners
Julie Lees
Winner, snap fiction: 'Single, First Person...Natasha on
Wendy*
Julie Lees is an M.F.A. student; and also a classical singer. Her
first published piece, an article about 18th century picnics, ran in
11 Toronto area newspapers in 1991. Lees is currently writing her
thesis in creative writing: a full-length play based on the disappearance of theatre owner Ambrose Small. She is also at work on a
children's novel.
Andrew Matovitch
Rmrnerup, snap fiction: 'Bliss*
Andrew Matovich, an English Literature student at UBC, cites
Raymond Carver and Ernest Hemmingway as large influences.
Although he is a long-time avid writer, his successful entry to RANT
is his first submission to a literary contest. Matovich also has an
interest in music, and he operates his own recording studio: Pig
Belly Recording.
Erin Gough
Winner, long fiction: "JwaDp'
Runner-up, long fiction: My Life as a Freeze-Framed
Action Hero
After spending six and a half years in university (mostly at the
University of Sydney), Erin Gough is currently in her final year of a
law degree. She has had two stories published in Australian literary
journals, and has also worked as a magazine editor. Gough is
unsure as to what she will be doing next year, but counts journalism, law and creative writing among the possibilities.
Erik Hoff
Winner, snap non-fiction: 'A Conversation*
Erik Hoff is a second year classical studies student and a lifetime resident of Vancouver. He is an editor for Veritas, the UBC
Poetry Club's literary supplement, and he organizes that club's biweekly campus poetry slams. He has written a book (Goddess:
Meditations on Life), and more of his writing can be found on his
website.
Larissa Buijs
Winner, long non-fiction: The Dirt Mentality*
Runnerap, snap non-fiction: Learning the Obvious In
Ridiculous Ways
Larissa Buijs started writing seriously as a high school student
in Mississauga, Ontario, before coming to UBC. She is currently
attending school part-time, and will graduate with a B.F.A. in creative writing this May. Having started out as a poet, Buijs enjoys
experimenting with many different writing forms, and has tried
her hand at dramatic writing and screenplays as well.
Chris Fraser
Runner-up, long non-fiction: 'Please Take a Number'
After completing a unique four-year high school creative writing
program, Chris Fraser moved from Ottawa to Vancouver. She is
now in the fourth year of a history degree at UBC, and enjoys photography and travelling. After graduation, she is considering pursuing a career in film or journalism. Fraser is a previous RANT
winner, in the snap and memoir categories.
Kate Bond
Winner, poetry: 'Midnight in Wonderland'
A second-year arts student with a passion for both creative writing and mathematics (she has not settled on her major yet), Kate
Bond has enjoyed previous success with RANT. In addition to her
excellent placing in this year's contest, Bond was the winner of the
epic fiction category in RANT 2001 with her story "The Price of
Perfume." Bond enjoys "all good literature," but has only recently
delved into writing poetry.
KatKinch
Runnerap, poetry: "Rock-Skipping on Harrison Lake'
Kat Kinch, from Hamilton, Ontario, is in her first year of law
school at UBC. At the age of 11, she submitted some of her writing
to Archie comics, where her first published work soon appeared.
Since then, she has been published by Insite Magazine in
Hamilton, In2 Print, and Esoteric, a UBC law school literary journal. Right now, she is very excited about being a new aunt. ♦ Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
Friday. March 22.20021
Med enrolment to double
Liberals acknowledge physician shortage
briefs
by Kathleen Peering
Transit fares go
up April 1
If jou are tired of wasting loonies
because you don't have enough quarters
lo psry $1 75 for bus fare, never fe3r.
Next month, lhe cost of a one-^one fare
will go up to S2.
Labi November, to make up for funding shortfalls, the Board of Translink, the
Li->v>.er Mainland's transit authority, \oted
to increase fares, to ask thp pro\inc:,.d
government lo raise fuel lax, and to ask
the Greater Var)cou\ er Regional Dislricl lo
Un rea-^j" Lo;>er Mainland property taxes
On April 1, one-zone fares will
mcrease Ly 23 cents lo 52, while hvo-
;md three-^one fare3 will Increase by SO
cents to S3 and 51, iespec'ively.
The cost of Fares*.\ers will also
inirease. A pack often one-zone fares will
£•0 up from 3 Id to SI3, while the cos>t uf
two-zone and three-zone Fare«a\ers will
go up froni 522,75 to $27, and from
S32 50 lo S3fi, respectively.
Origoially, ihe a. bis hikes were expect-
ed lo target bus passes loo, but a3 a consolation to Lraiwit users paying increased
fires and lo encourage regular transit u&e,
Translink decided not to increase monthly bus-pass fees at this time.
Anti-po\erly groups have criticised
this decision, however, stating lhat by
increasing only lhe rostof cash fares and
Faresavers. Translink is unfairly targeting those who can least afford to pay.
The cost of monthly bus passes will
not increase until a full review of fares is
completed this fall. ♦
GAP returns to
campus illegally
Yet another Genocide Awareness
Project (GAP) d:.»play was set up illegally yesterday. But this time, organisers of
the display were protesting a different
is^ue.
Christine Thompson, president of
Lifeline, the org:inisa!ic>n that set up lhe
display, said her group was protesting
what they «ee as .in infngement of academic freedom.
Lifehne is only permitted to put up
iheir controversial display once a terra
This res-Irk U'>n, said Thompson, contradicts I'BC's academic freedom polity.
The policy sup-dales lhat members of
the university ha\e lhe right lo pursue
aieas of opinion and discussion and lhat
behaviour ■Ahi<h obstructs those rights
will not be tolerated on campus.
Thompson said her group purpuso-
fitlly (lis! not seek permission for the display as a protebl of'.he restriction
Lifeline set up i!s banners uround
12pm outside Koerner Library, ".hue
Students for Choice, a pro-choice group,
quickly responded to tho L'feline dispLy
by putting up its own banners dos>e to
Lifeline's an hour laler.
Under a UBC rule, lhe two groups are
required to mainUin a distance of 30
metres between displays. Today the Iwo
groups were less ihan two moires apart
Hannah R»m-in, a member of
Students for Choice, said ihat because
Lifeline chose to ignore tlie university's
rules, Lhey did not feel they li3j Lo follow
tlie rules ei'Jier.
'I think this «hcws disrespect lo students to put up hurtful displays in bitdi-
traffic areas without -.varnjig," she said
The two groups demonstrated without incident uniil 2pm, when Lifeline
look down its display. ♦
Admission to UBC's medical school will nearly double in the 2004-2005 academic year as
the provincial government tries to ease BC's
doctor shortage and encourage students to
work in underserved regions.
"The major thrust is BC stepping up to the
plate and educating the proper number of
physicians,' said John Cairns, dean of UBC's
Faculty of Medicine. According to Cairns, BC
has half the number of medical-school spaces
per capita than any other province with a
medical school.
'{We're] excited and pleased that BC is
showing leadership and coming to terms with
the shortages in the medical field.*
Currently, 128 students graduate each
year from UBC's medical program. However,
according to an Angus Reid poll conducted in
1999; over 300 doctors either retire or leave
BC each year. This leaves the province sorely
lacking doctors, especially those specialising
in geriatrics and Aboriginal and rural health.
The new funding will provide spaces for
96 additional medical students each year,
meaning a total of 224 students will graduate
with UBC undergraduate medical degrees in
2009.
Provincial Minister of Advanced
Education Shirley Bond announced the funding for the $134 million extended medical
program last Friday. $110 million of this
money will be used to expand UBC's medical
facilities and build a new Life Sciences Centre
(LSC) on campus. UVic and the University of
Northern British Columbia (UNBC) will both
receive $12 million to launch satellite medical schools.
'We made a...commitment to train more
doctors in this province in the next five years,
and by expanding medical facilities to include
the universities of Victoria and northern BC,
we're developing a collaborative model that
will be unique in Canada," said Bond in a government press release.
The government hopes that expanding
BC's medical program to UVic and UNBC will
boost the numbers of doctors in less-populated areas.
'By training them in an environment
where they can do clerkships in communities, they will develop links and interests that
will encourage them to go back and settle
there," said David Turpin, president of UVic.
All BC medical students will spend their
first term at UBC, but 24 students from each
class will continue their studies at the
Northern Medical Program at UNBC and 24
will go to the Island Medical Program at UVic.
176 students will, study at UBC.
Some of the new money will be used to
equip all three universities with audio-visual
facilities that will allow transmission of lectures between universities.
'From a provincial perspective, this is big.
This is a bold initiative for the three universities to work together," said Turpin. 'Not only
is it good for the province, it says to the people of the province that these three universities can work together to solve problems in
this society."
Cairns said the increased number of graduates will also help stimulate BC's economy.
and bring more research dollars to the
province. Although 15 per cent of Canada's
population lives in BC, currently the province
only sees nine per cent of the federal government's research funding. Alberta recieves 15
per cent of federal research funding for only
nine per cent of the total population
Students seem pleased with the plans for
medicine education in BC.
*I want to stay in BC," said third-year
undergraduate student Melissa Tiggelaar,
who plans to study medicine. '[Med school] is
so competitive, and there are a, lot of pepple
who would be really good doctors who aren't
getting in*
From a rural town herself, Tiggelaar says
she would like to practise in a smaller community where she feels she could make more
of an impact
Tiggelaar said she feels the new program
will help students since it allows those
already studying at UVic and UNBC to stay
there for medical school and because it
encourages BC students to study in areas
beyond urban Vancouver.
The new LSC, a 40,000 square-metre
building to be built south of the Vancouver
General Hospital at UBC, will house UBC's
medical school, as well as some Science
departments including biochemistry, physiology and microbiology.
'It will bring together people from all
areas of the health sciences and life sciences,"
said Cairns.
Construction of the LSC is expected to
begin this summer. The building is slated to
open in August 2004. ♦
UBC receives $1.4 million from HSBC
by Deborah Santema
This week, the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank of Canada (HSBC)
announced a gift to UBC of $ 1.4 million, the largest donation the university has ever received from a bank. I
Seldom do we see a gift that reaches so many university and student priorities," said Stephen Shapiro, an associate director of UBC's
Development Office. "Communities will feel this too; it reaches
beyond the university."
The donation will be matched by the university to provide $2.8 million to make UBC more financially accessible.
The donation allocates $ 1 million to UBC's new downtown campus
at Robson Square, $200>000 to the Learning Exchange program in the
Downtown Eastside, and $200,000 to create a visiting lecture series
run by the Liu Centre for the Study of Global Issues.
The rest of the money—$1.4 million—will go to scholarships and
bursaries for undergraduate and graduate students.
Martin Glynn, UBC Board of Governors (BoG) member and
President and CEO of HSBC, announced the donation on Tuesday at a
reception at UBC's Robson Square campus.
Glynn said that one of the bank's priorites is to ensure that students can afford to go to school.
"We wanted to make sure there was a focus on students and on the
needy, and so that's where the primary amount of money has gone/
he said. -
Glynn, who received his MBA from UBC in 19 7 6, said that the decision to contribute money to UBC had nothing to do with the university's recent decision to increase tuition fees for next year. He added
that the donation, instead, reflects a strong relationship between the
two institutions. ;
'We have a lot in common. We're a strong local player, as UBC is.
We're a strong national player in Canada, and we also have a global
vision, as does UBC," he said.
Byron Hender, UBC's executive coordinator of the vice-president,
students office, said HSBC's donation for. scholarships and bursaries
will be a significant bonus on top of the financial support promised
by UBC.
'It's a very significant addition to the student support which the
university is putting together for the fall," he said.
Last week, UBC's BoG voted to increase tuition fees. The new
tuition fee schedule stipulates that 20 per cent of the funds from
increased tuition fees will go towards student financial support
But some students are concerned about the financial implications
of this donation
Julie Devaney, a master's student in Women's Studies, is concerned that the donation will cost the university and taxpayers more
than HSBC, and questioned the university's decision to match the contribution.
"What will have to be cut in order to match these funds? UBC's reason for increasing tuition was lack of funds."
According to Devaney, while $1.4 million is a lot of money, last
year, HSBC made $206 million in profit Because the donation is tax
deductible, she said, taxpayers will actually lose out on $300,000 in
public funding, and as UBC is matching the funding, they will lose
even more.
"Tax deductions and fund-matched donations actually cost the public money," she said.
The last major donation HSBC made to UBC was in 1989, when it
gave $ 1 million to help establish a professorship in Asian Commerce,
a professorship in Asian business, and an HSBC visiting chair in international business.*
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FOAM FRONTS: Mesh backs, it never went out of style in
the prairies, njc fensom photo SlngLe, First Person...
Natasha on Wendy
lifli IB
R      F\
N    T
nil
(winner,
snap fiction)
by JuLle Lees
She asked me how I could sit so quietly
for so long.
After talking my ear off for an hour
she finally decided to ask me a question.
And, the question was why I was able to
sit without saying anything.
She asked me why I held no opinions.
I told her I did.
She asked me why I wasn't voicing my
opinion.
I told her I wasn't asked for it
She asked me if I spent my whole life
waiting to be asked my opinion.
I said yes.
She asked me why.
I said it was because I didn't feel it
necessary to enlighten other people to
my way of thinking. I told her it was
She said she presumed the other
person was thinking about her and
about why she didn't have anything better to'say.
I asked her if she usually presumed
people were thinking about her.
She said yes.
I asked, isn't that a lMe self-centred?
She said no. She usually thought people
were thinking belittling thoughts of her.
I asked her if she felt that way
because she held no opinions of her own
and therefore couldn't back up anything
she said and therefore was more of a
bore than something to be belittled.
She started to cry. I sighed. I sat
beside her on her deck chair and placed
my hand on top of hers. I asked her why
she was crying.
She said it was maybe because I was
right. Maybe she didn't have any opinions.
I asked her if she had ever spent any
time alone.
She said she didn't like doing that.
I asked her if she might be willing to try.
She said she'd only try if I did it with
her.
I said she would no longer be alone if
I was there.
She asked me how I spent my time
alone.
I said I spent it under an old cedar
tree on top of dead pine needles by the
lakeshore.
She asked me why I did that
I said it helped me centre my thoughts,
come into focus, form opinions.
She said oh.
I suggested again that she find a place
to be alone, even for eight minutes.
She interrupted: why eight?
•    I responded, why not?
She said she'd try but not just yet.
She liked the feel of my hand on hers. ♦ *1*
Friday. March 22. 2002
National
Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
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BC Ferries sued
Tsawwassen First Nation files for environmental damages
 by Mohamad El Masri
the SFU Peak
BURNABY (CUP)-FoUowing the
Haida nation's precedent-setting
court victoiy earlier this year, the
Tsawwassen First Nation has filed a
lawsuit in BC Supreme Court against
the Vancouver Port Authority and
the BC Ferry Corporation.
The suit charges the two corporations with 'nuisance and interference" of landowner rights the
environmental damage caused to
the Tsawwassen First Nation
Reserve shore on Roberts Bank.
The Tsawwassen reserve is situated between the causeways leading to the port and the ferry terminal. The Tsawwassen people allege
that the foreshore and mudflats
have been damaged by industrial
operations and that altered tidal
flows and siltation are disrupting
the flow of freshwater from the
Fraser River.
The nation is seeking a legal
injunction that would order the
Roberts Bank Superport and the
Tsawwassen ferry terminal to
remove their causeways or alter
them so that the water flow and
tides are not affected.
"We've tried to talk about these
issues to the port and at the treaty
table," said Kim Baird, Tsawwassen
First Nation chief for three years
and a treaty negotiator for 11, "but
no one is prepared to deal with us."
She said the lawsuit was a last
resort
Baird is hopeful the Haida's
court victoiy in February—when the
BC government and Weyerhaeuser
were ordered to consult with the
Haida before cutting down any trees
on the nation's land—will help her
nation's case against the port
authority and BC Ferries.
The lawsuit, however, is not an
assertion of Aboriginal title, but is
based on British and Canadian
common law, under which waterfront landowners have the right to
natural water flow to their land
and to unimpaired shore access.
The Tsawwassen allege that
because of altered water flow from
the port's and ferry terminal's
causeways, seaweed has clogged
the shore preventing the nation
from performing its traditional
sea-gathering activities.
The Tsawwassen's legal counsel
Greg McDade stated in a press
release, however, that the suit relies
on the status of the nation's land as
a reserve.
According to McDade, the lawsuit has been extended to include
the federal and provincial governments because the First Nation feels
that Canada breached its fiduciary
duty when it allowed a port to be
built so close to the reserve.
Because of its traditional use of,
and reliance upon the Roberts Bank
resources, the Tsawwassen nation
has been heavily affected by the government's construction.
"This damage has been ongoing
for years, for the benefit of others, to
the detriment of our community,"
said Baird. "We should have the
same legal rights as any other waterfront landowner to seek justice for
the damage to our lands. This is the
only reserve of the Tsawwassen
First Nation."
Port authority spokesperson Jon
Hicke and BC Ferries spokesperson
Beth Wilhelm both refused to comment on the lawsuit since the court
proceedings have not yet begun.
Neither party has given an official
statement ♦
Canada stalls Kyoto
Canada's delay could kill global environment treaty
by Jeremy Nelson
Environment Bureau Chief
TORONTO (CUP)-A treaty that
many scientists say is essential to
preventing massive environmental
destruction faces big problems, and
many environmentalists believe
that, as the South Park song says,
it's time to blame Canada.
The Kyoto Protocol, if implemented, would decrease global
greenhouse-gas emissions by 5.2
per cent from 1990 levels by the
year 2012. This would not stop global warming, but would prevent
some of its more dire consequences, like flooding of coastlines
around the world.
But there's a catch: in order for
the treaty to take effect, the industrialised countries responsible for
producing 55 per cent of the
world's greenhouse gases must
each ratify it, The top two producers
per-capita of greenhouse gases—the
United States and Australia—have
backed out of the deal, and now the
number-three per-capita producer,
Canada, has stepped back from its
l earlier promise to ratify the deal by
June.
"We want to ratify; we hope to
ratify; our goal is to ratify; but ratification will not take place until we've
had full consultation with the
provinces, the private sector, companies and the general public," said
federal Minister of the
Environment David Anderson.
But environmentalists say that
the time to talk is over. It took more
than a decade to build Kyoto and if
the pact collapses, they claim, global warming will be out of control by
the time a new agreement emerges.
They worry that Canada's delay will
influence the decision of two other
big countries—Russia and Japan—to
ratify the treaty.
"Russia and Japan have been
very close to Canada, and we
remain   very   close,"   Anderson
said. "There's no question what we
do would be influential on those
countries."
Unlike business and manufacturing lobby groups, which claim
Kyoto will cost $40 billion and
result in 450,000 lost jobs, both
Anderson and the environment
lobby believe that scientific evidence supports the possibility of
global warming and that the cost of
inaction is more serious than that
of implementing the treaty.
But the similarities stop there.
"This is not a government that is
serious about reducing pollution,"
said Greenpeace spokesperson
Jamie Heath, noting that greenhouse gases have been allowed to
rise significantly from 1990 levels.
"We're more than a decade into this.
It's not like it came up last week."
"It's not a
choice we
have to
make
between the
environment
and the
economy;
the choice is
if we are
going to put
our economy hack on
a sustain-
able path"
—David
Anderson
Federal Minister
of Environment
Anderson says greenhouse-gas
emissions have increased over the
last decade largely because of economic growth. He noted that emissions have risen only a fraction of
GDP.
"There's no reason to hesitate.
Let's just get on with the work," said
Matthew Bramley of the Pembina
Institute, a climate-change think
tank.
"The difference between an ice
age and the present day is only four
or five degrees in global average
temperatures," he said. "That gives
you a sense of the kind of magnitude of changes you can expect if
the earth's temperature rose by
three to four degrees, which would
be in the middle of the range that
scientists predict"
Anderson says Canada will only
ratify the Kyoto Protocol after accurate cost estimates have been determined by all levels of government—
a process likely to be completed
next month—and after plans showing how Canada will meet the treaty
obligations are made.
"We would not ratify until we
had a good expectation of a plan
that would ensure that no part of
the countiy would be unfairly
forced to bear a larger part of the
burden," Anderson said.
But Heath wonders why the government didn't have these plans
prepared earlier if Canada was serious about adopting the agreement
in June, as initially claimed.
"It's not a choice we have to
make between the environment
and the economy; the choice is if we
are going to put our economy back
on a sustainable path," he said.
Heath noted that many municipalities have already made changes
to reduce greenhouse-gas emissions. Calgary, for example, powers
its light urban transit and its
biggest shopping mall by wind.
Toronto uses methane from its
dumps as fuel. ♦ Mil
• HI IH
R      «
N
by Andrew Matovich
My memory has been failing me. I'm standing in front of the
bathroom mirror in my underwear and I can hear the TV and the
boys arguing about hockey downstairs. I think the World Cup
must be on. I catch bits about Swedish and Finnish players.
What's troubling me most this morning is the tuxedo laid out for
me on the bedroom chair. Clara must have something planned
but I have no idea what it is.
"Clara?"
There is no response. I notice the boys' argument break off
downstairs. Clara must be making breakfast I put on my
housecoat and slippers and shuffle downstairs.
Sarah and her husband Steven are also in the kitchen with
Mark and Anthony. She glares at me in my housecoat and I feel
the need to look away. It seems I am always looking away under
her heavy, penetrating stares. I don't see Clara and know better than to ask with Sarah's stern eye watching over me.
There are cereal bowls with bits of Cheerios and milk, coffee cups and coffee paraphernalia scattered around the table.
Their discarded remnants do nothing but highlight the morose
faces around the room. It seems I have missed breakfast. Sarah
is dressed nicely and the sun through the sliding glass door
illuminates her hair and the blue dress she is wearing. I can
see the snow on the ground behind her.
"You look nice, Sarah," I say hoarsely.
"Thanks Dad."
"You guys look smart too."
Steven, Mark and Anthony really do look good in their tuxedos.
"Dad? Ah, shouldn't you be getting dressed?"
"Yeah, sure. Yeah."
The boys' faces have no colour and I wonder if they are eating properly. Their eyes scan me with concern and possibly
apprehension. Have I been away? I try not to let the confusion
find its way to my face. I head back upstairs.
I turn on the shower and shave while I stand under the meagre stream of water from the energy-conserving showerhead. I
can't even remember how old Mark and Anthony are, 13 or 16,
and who is older and by how much. Shit, I don't even remember when their birthdays are. Sarah and I, however, are old
adversaries. I caught her smoking pot in the garage when she
was 12 and I sent her to boarding school. When she was 13 she
called me an "absentee father" when I forgot to phone her or
send her a birthday gift at Saint Catherine's. I think I did
the same thing the next year as well but I don't
remember that well. My memory has been failing me lately. I turn off the tap. The water is
getting cold.
I dry myself off and stare at the tuxedo
laid out on the green plush chair. I don't
want to put it on. I know whatever occasion this tuxedo is required for is one I
don't want to participate in. I don't want to
go. I'd rather not know what the whole thing
is all about. The phone is ringing. Maybe it's
Clara. She probably ran out for some flowers or a
card or something at the grocery store and is calling to
see if we need anything. I could use some cigarettes. I answer
the phone.
"Clara?"
"Ah, Mr. Bradley?"
"Yes?"
"This    is    Memo) ■ '■
Limousine   service.    I   >
limousine will be by to , '■
you up in 20 "minutes."
"Yes, that's fine. Th:>" ■
There is nothing    ■
now but put on the tux' ■! >
A sigh escapes me li" ■■
the last breath ol  'i
dying  man  and   I .
resign myself to it  *'. ■ _.
Underneath the suit § ;..,
is a bouquet of flow- .V,^ ■ ■
ers   in   plastic.   I ?7Y\
remember      Clara <fc«-!":
telling    me    that *i\ ■ .■.;
Sarah brought her a    "■■"
similar bouquet ever-
day until she came h ■■■■
from the hospital wh'-'i
boys were very younj"   1
Clara is not sick. Wher-   '■
she? Jesus, what is tl •■ !
for? What have I forgo !■ '
Mark or Anthony's wed i ■
they're too young anil -,;
married. Christ, I hop'1 ■
wish Clara would show
the hell is going on. I n-
Sarah is calling me. '
stairs. I know I can't go
is standing in. the dooi
can't look her in the e> ■
on all the guilty memoiictj dial 1 hale no a<
at my hands.
"I'm not going, Sarah."
It's so silent I can hear the sound of my hands turning over
each other. Please don't bring up the wedding again. I couldn't
■>;> l
bear it, please.
"The limousine is here, Dad."
"I can't."
The pause goes on for a long time and the silence is tense.
My nervousness forces me to clear my throat.
"Dad. Look at me," her voice is taut with restraint of anger.
I can't look at her.
"Sarah, I can't face this," I'm grasping for words and I stutter. "I don't know what's wrong with me but I know I can't do
this today."
"Look at me. Look at me! You are not copping out again, you
spineless bastard. What the fuck would Mom say? I'll be waiting in the limousine with Mark and Anthony. Hurry up."
I look up in time to see her head disappear down the stairs.
God, I wish I felt like trying. There is nowhere to go after this
. _;■■_,7. ■.■"" '■. ■ij'.r.--,-»     latest confrontation with Sarah.
There is nowhere to run but out the
front door to the dread appointment with the limousine. Why
■an't I remember what the hell
this is all about? I know from the
sombre look on all their faces in
e kitchen that this is not a celebratory
lent. I wish Clara were here,
leep breath and I look myself in the
ok good in the tuxedo even though
rbund doesn't fit. It looks like the
tiony wore for his high school gradu-
■ monies. How old is he then? I wish I
up the bouquet and head downstairs
1' irk is still in the kitchen sitting at the
■ : s white and he looks sick. I think he
■: crying. He is older than I'd like to
■ ■'' I get some flashes of him as a baby
■ -'1
"i ilright, Mark?"
.-.. )U?"
' I lon't know, Mark. I don't know"
Where have you been?"
I '. ■ I't know. Shall we go, then?"
' )kay, dad."
There is fresh snow out-
ide   and  the   sun  is  too
'iright.    The    limousine's
■ ixhaust    is    pumping    a
stream of grey cloud into
IfSSStSi ke co^ s^t- '^le deep cold
makes the neighbourhood
sound like a fantasy world
tnd the snow makes the
suburban street look like
iie most beautiful lie I've
ever known: Everything is okay. I shield my eyes from the
sun with my hand and I can see Clara sitting in a beautiful
blue dress in the back seat of the black limousine.
Everything is okay. ♦
Snoj) non-fiction
Runner-up
The  day I  accomplished  the
unexpected, I began to understand one of life's simple contradictions. I was on my bicycle. It
was sunny and hot I was staring
down   at   the   bright   grass.   I
approached a burp in the ground
and my weight fell back, causing the
front tire of my bike to lift several inches. Seconds later, it slammed back du'.Mi
and I was hit with eureka.
I felt like a tinkering teen, messing around
on my mountain bike in the mid-afternoon,
doing tricks, hopping logs, thinking about
nothing in particular. We had one week away
from the city and my partner and I decided to
camp near Tribune Bay, just a few pedal
strokes from the non-motorised nature park
that covers a third of Hornby Island. Waiting
for my partner to finish some minor repairs, I
rode away from the tent with sandals and no
helmet, looping figure-eights around the trees
and shuffling across dips and bumps.
When I first took up mountain biking, the
'manual,' among other tricks, intrigued me.
The skill required to do it, however, eluded me
and eventually I gave up trying. The online
tips and how-to guides didn't make much
sense either: "During a manual, the' front
wheel floats while the rear wheel tracts underneath the rider, whose body acts as the counterbalance that keeps the angle of the front
end of the bike in relation to the amount of
weight placed over the bottom bracket."
by Larissa
Buijs
I knew
how it looked
but not how it
felt.   How  does
the front wheel
"float" in the first
place?    So    many
v^^ »-*-*'   j-»     -lines   I   tried   and
**V    .  4^t^    Tir-cl to yank up on the
Vy ■*■"-**'       handlebars. It was like trying to pry a stick from the mouth of
a bulldog. ./
Anyway, a grown woman has better ttefcgs Jo
do. So I practiced the trackstand and the basiiy-
hop. I wore leg pads and full-fingered gloves and
rode around the alley behind my house* I tried
not to remember the time a friend attepipted to
impress me by drifting down a long hill on his
rear wheel, glancing back once or twicei to throw
me a proud smile. And I don't know hisw many
times I watched with awe as my partner pulled -
his bike up into a wheelie while discussing dinner, the weather, or provincial politics as we
gradually made our way to the trailhead.
With not much planned and nothing urgent
to do, our week on Hornby Island was gloriously empty. We spent hours talking over breakfast
and picking blackberries from the bushes. One
afternoon we brought our musical instruments
and books to the beach and settled into the
sand. At night we would hop along the long,
smooth rock at one end of the bay and examine
tiny creatures in pools exposed by the low tide.
One night we even brought our bikes and
Learning the Obvious
in Ridiculous Ways
turned the
quiet shore into a playground.
I was very relaxed when it happened. The
afternoon was hot with little more than an
inconsistent breeze sweeping into the campsite: I felt the pivot beneath me like a horse
: rMng to take a fenc&, I pedalled away in disbelief, turning gso|md as if to ask the ground
for answers. , ~    *
That slight incident was most certainly a
manual. Without any thought or attempt it
had finally happened, an alignment of tha
unknown. At once 1 .understood the vague
descriptions of balance and counterbalance
from £be tip guides, Eveiything they said
my previous moves—and nothing happened
After a few tries, however, my front tire
again came off the ground. This was amazing,
certainly not a fluke, I thought. I laughed stupidly and kept going. On another small incline,
I timed my pedal stroke perfectly with the rise.
My bike lifted more than two feet off the ground
and I slid back, landing square on my feet, holding the inverted bike before me. Soon my partner joined me and I was bouncing around the
grass> Up and down, up and down.
Lett&ig go of expectation is no small thing.
But trusting that whatever you seek will show
indeed supported my experience 1 had found   its lade wheat's ready, when you are ready, is
the 'sweet $$$£ Between rolling oil one wheel    a hecessai-gfstep in learning. What a backward
" *~wiag back onto my tailbone. So dial's   'approach to progress.
I "suppose that I had acquired a whole collection of information about the manual before
it happened, information that was pushed
somewhere into my subconscious when I
* realises! that, for nje, it was impossible to do a
manaai At spine point, this melded with the
^desire fb prove to'myself that it could be done,
'. to experience the joy of doing something so different from my habits and daily tasks. I was
thrilled when my front tire left the ground,
and, somewhere in the back of my head, wondered why it had been such a big deal to
begin with. ♦
and ft
what it means to let go of expectation.
It's a funny paradox. Try and tiy and don't
succ&&d and then, when all conscious
attempts are.,, abandoned, the secret itself
creeps right ii|>, taps you on the shoulder and
runs away laughing— leaving you, most likely,
staring dumbfounded at ih& settling dusfi
The key to the manual, now that IW stumbled upon it, is intuition. It may imfe happened by accident the first time, but tits Singfe
most valuable skill required to do it again is
having a sense of what it feels like.
So I went out to an open space, mimicked Pane Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
News
Friday. March 22.20Q2
ew shuttle vans for summer
Natural-gas vans will be available on campus to students
by Deborah Santema
As part of an initiative to make UBC a more
environmentally conscious campus, the UBC
Trek Program plans to have two new natural-
gas shuttle vans running by the summer.
Trek Program Manager Graham Senft
hopes the Trek's natural-gas shuttles, which
will be used for transportation at special
events and Intramurals games, and to transport international students for special events
on campus and to and from the airport, will
set an example for other campus departments and organisations that buy gasoline or
diesel vehicles.
Although natural gas vehicles are slightly
more expensive to maintain than those pow:
ered by other fuels, Senft argues that natural
gas is the cleanest-burning fuel available at a
competitive price.
"Although [natural gas] is still a fossil fuel,
it's definitely a step up from before," he said.
And Gordon Lovegrove, UBC director of
Transportation Planning, feels the new shut-
"[Single occupant
vehicles]' intrusion onto the
campus puts
pedestrians at
risk, and increases noise and air
pollution."
—Gordon Lovegrove
Director of
Transportation planning
ties may help to reduce the number of vehicles on campus.
"Many and varying events on campus—athletic, cultural, academic, political—[are] producing an inordinate amount of single occupant
vehicles [SOVs]," he said. "SOVs' intrusion onto
the campus puts pedestrians at risk, and
increases noise and air pollution."
The shuttle vans will not replace the security bus, which will continue to be managed
by Security Services. Senft said the new vehicles will differ from the security buses as they
will be used on a per-event basis.
The vans will, however, be used to
improve after-dark transportation options on
campus, as the current security buses are frequently full, do not come very often and have
inconvenient routes.
Although the shuttles will be paid for by the
university, Lovegrove said the Alma Mater
Society (AMS) will most likely run the service.
Trek and the AMS have yet to agree over the
details of operation.
The service will start as a pilot project,
according to Lovegrove, and the vehicles will
be leased while the pilot study is in progress.
Lovegrove said that if demand for the proposed shuttle vans is sufficient, they will
become a permanent service available to stu
dents and, if the AMS chooses to run them, a
source of revenue for the student society.
"At the end of the study period, the AMS and
Trek will sit down and determine whether the
programs should continue, be modified, or be
dropped completely," Lovegrove said.
AMS Vice-President, External, Tara Learn,
said although the shuttle service might be run
more effectively by the AMS, she was unsure
if the AMS wants the responsibility.
"I think that that it is great environmentally, and I think that it is a good thing that the
university has taken the initiative, but we're
unsure at this point," she said. ♦
FIRST ATLANTIC
ANTI-SWEATSHOP
POLICY UNDER
NEGOTIATION
Students rewrite UVic budget
Alternative budget drafted as response to proposed tuition fee hikes
by John Thompson
the Martlet
VICTORIA (CUP)-Morgan Stewart had one
simple reason to draft an alternative budget
for the University of Victoria.
"30 per cent tuition hikes," he said. "That's
it. The alternative to 30 per cent tuition hikes
is rewriting the budget"
Stewart is a student representative on the
UVic board of governors, the body responsible
for decisions such as increasing tuition fees.
On Monday, the board will vote on a budget,
which currently proposes a 30 per cent
increase in fees next year.
But Stewart says substantial increases in
tuition fees are unnecessary and argues the
university has low-balled its revenue and
exaggerated its expenses.
To prove his point, Stewart has drafted an
alternative to the university's current proposal.
"According to this budget, we can still keep
tuition fees low," he said.
Stewart consulted with other board members while drafting the budget and worked
with the current student association chair,
Jaime Matten. But so far the alternative budget has university administrators unconvinced.
"These are basically arbitrary reductions,"
said Jack Falk, the university's vice-president
of finance. "He doesn't understand the details
behind them and nor would I expect him to."
Falk said the alternative budget is technically balanced, since the expenses and revenue equal each another, but said the alternative budget's drop-in revenue would hurt the
quality of education at the university.
"He's balanced it by taking $ 5 million out,"
Falk said.
Stewart said he believes increased funding
in areas like student financial aid is counterproductive, since the increase would be
unnecessary if tuition fees did not rise.
"All increased costs have to be paid by
increased tuition fees," he said.
He also said the university could invest
more aggressively, and that its projected figures are out of synch with the steady increase
in investment revenue in recent years.
Falk said the university budget shouldn't
be dependent on the marketplace.
"You don't change your fundamental
budget based on investment income flows,
because every year you're jumping up and
down," he said.
Falk said he looked at the alternative
budget to understand how it differed from
the version the administration will present
to the board of governors, but still believes a
tuition increase is unavoidable.
Stewart believes students can still prevent
a tuition fee increase if they act now.
"This is the last chance for them to save
about $ 700 next year," he said.
If Stewart's alternative budget is ratified by
the board, the cost of tuition for a full-time
arts degree will increase from $2152 to
$2425 by 2004-2005. That would mean an
increase of two per cent this year and a five
per cent increase over the next two years, to
counter the rate of inflation.
In January, a leaked university proposal
stipulated that tuition would increase by 90
per cent over the next three years. This proposed three-year plan was recently voted
down by the finance committee, which
decided to commit to changes for the following year only. ♦
by Meghan Negrijn
the Muse
ST. JOHN'S {CUP)-Memorial is soon to
bvioiiie tlie first university in E;»s'.ern
Canada to approve an eiiiti-swe;it^hop
code, the university's Oxfam student
group announced last week
Josh Mdiisfudtl. a repn'xenlalrte of
the ra'Ttp'is group, s.dd his nrtutiupa-
!iun and Memorial's bl.idenL uniun sre
trapping up n^goiiati'ins vuLh the university o\lt lhe weaNhop policy.
'On Tuesday, v.e h.id a mco'lng ?:td
we put for«-ad our concerns ii a
codi\" Mhiisfifld y->ld. "The i.d'iiiiJilrj-
tion .lyrui'd to t.-.ke th.it code arid pretty
■al'J adopt it. They t..id d fow edi",ori:d
(.hargs*s 3nd. then they're going lo put
it through senior ddminib'.r^io.'i.
'If thfy igroe to adopt it, our university will be Lhe first Atlantic
Canada university to hu\e a campus
sweatshop policy."
If the code pastes at Memorial,
Mansfield says, the ca.npus O.vfom
group may 'irg/inise a campsfijjn to
encourage other iinivereilies lo adopt
similar codes. If tlie group can get other
uni\ ersities commuted, he believes
they could eventually effect change in
the •miversily clothing industry. ♦
iCT
1
VW
'WPn^jytSi.^.
protests and tuitibii arid boiiibtJ^
campbell aiid pvefcrowding; arid coke deals andYapec and government cuts for all.
::6Jr/iriyY'7Y7^
there's only one news issue left; piclc it up apjril &7 love, lilt arid safari |
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You can go anywhere from here RUNNER-UP* LONG FICTION
§■§ %m hi m      iiiii
RANT 5
1. Tina Machina in cinemas November 3
Standing six metres high with scarlet hair and harlot shoes, she is a dazzling dangerous two-
dimensional technicolour wet dream coated in leather and traffic fumes and flooded with light.
Tina Machina. Movie-star-poster-girl slapped on a billboard strapped to a footbridge above the
highway—a soundless Siren, a machete maiden—captured in a moment of Kung Fu flight
We drive beneath her one night on our way to the city, and then Jules takes the car around
the block so we can drive beneath her again. Each of us has a head out of a window, craning our
necks to get a better view.
3. freeze-framing
"She is so goddam sexy," Sylvia is saying, breathless, whilst George chants her name like a
mantra: "Tina Tina Tina Tina Tinaaa." I
stare up at her wide-open eyes that are
fixed on an invisible target "She
looks like she could crack a skull »"
with her bare hands." Then George
says to me, "I reckon that she looks
a bit like you."
•V-<^
I turn inside out, after that That is, I begin to see myself from the outside in. I uncover, with
some surprise, my sharp fast hyperreal action-hero alter-ego.
Next morning, for example, after showering, I find, upon inspection, a samurai
swordswoman in my wardrobe mirror. Dressed in my bathrobe, with her wet hair in an Oriental
knot, she is flexing her muscles and looking dangerous. She stands there for some time in
silence, the mirror sides framing her like the edges of a screen.
That is the day I discover performance art
If—in front of the Air Canada poster at the bus stop—I strike a pose with feet splayed and
-trriH -^~
r-H 't is possible to imagine (when viewed from the correct angle)
1 it I am hanging off the tail end of the pictured aeroplane.
\(ty\,
f
t
2. twelve items
or less
In Safeway on a Tuesday I am
engaged in the business of buying a sandwich in seven parts.
The queue for the ham counter
stretches all the way down the toiletries aisle. In my hand is ticket
number 63, and the 15 year-old
wearing the see-through gloves and
the paper-boat hat has just called
62, when a girl some way behind,
beside the shampoos, shouts out to
me.
"Hey," she cries. "You with the
wholemeal bread."
I turn around. She is pointing at me with
a packaged toothbrush. "You look so much
like that girl in that movie," she says.
Everyone in the queue has begun to
stare, except for number 64, who is
making his way towards the ham counter. "You know—that action-flick chick,"
the girl continues.
The woman beside her pipes up, nod
ding furiously. "Demi Moore. Spitting
image."
"Nuh uh," corrects the girl. "Tina
Machina."
Then in the fruit barn on the way to gel '
tuce I am caught pinching grapes by a pail
untidy teenagers wanting my autograph.
"That is so like Tina," says one, watching me guiltily swallow my mouthful.
"It's    her    anarchistic-anti-capitalist-
vegan-activist streak that makes her so
awesome."
"That, and the way she can wield a
MaMta P7000 double-action chain-
<\ ; / s  -;y •«•     .,     > -v \'<>' ^nx
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"I'm  sorry,  but I'm not Tina
Machina," I tell them.
A4
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I achieve a simpler yet more effective stance (arms
crossed, feet splayed again, and head to the side for
profile shot) in front of the painted planetary wall
(the earth, sun and moon in irregular orbit against
a black backdrop) beside the local shopping centre.
This is the way I come to move around the city:
in a sequence of spectacular/superstar/stills.
4. topography, cinematography, polygamy
For authenticity I shred my woollen duffle coat
and buy a leather jacket I begin to wear nail varnish. I slick back my hair. I read up on Cindy
Sherman. I enrol in a martial arts course. I
watch Rambo One, The Karate Kid Two, and
Die Hard Three. I practise pre-and post-violence repartee.
I acquire a power ring, an eyebrow stud and an
audience. At the local park, where I like to use
the rocket ship climbing frame as a backdrop,
my onlookers are five years and under. I learn
that I have the effect—with my fists suspended mid-punch, and my head erect—of inciting
terror in youths and infuriating parents and
guardians.
In the city bars, when I sprawl over poker
machines in a mock commando roll, the crowd is
inore responsive still. Here I learn about out-of-
bounds places and positions, about public nuisance legislation, and to always consider who is
watching.
I acquire an addiction to peril and contortion. I become something else altogether. A
hungry puppet An audience junkie. A spectator slut.
5. anti-freeze
It is crowd-pleasing that finally forces me out of
freeze-frame. That, and a violation of personal
property law. While I am at the markets on a
Saturday, hovering precariously in mid-karate-kick
splendour, a passer-by takes a fancy to my patent-
leather single-strap shoulder pack.
The teenagers smirk in unison. "Of course not. People think that kids these days can't separate movies from real life, but we're not stupid. Tina's just your character name."
Then the shorter of the two takes out a disposable camera from an anorak inside pocket. It is
made of green cardboard and has a flash. In fact, it looks very much like the ones they are selling on the features tray in aisle 11. With the cainera in hand the teenager becomes, all of a sudden, a stealthy photographer. Just as I am about to turn—
SNAP
—into a keep-sake, a show-and-tell, a diary-entry pin-up girl, a trophy, a pout a paparazzi poodle, into the shadow of a later self, into kitsch, cult fetish, into an amateur impersonator of a living action-movie star, and for all intensive purposes into Tina Tina Tina Tina Tinaaa.
*        Market dwellers halt awestruck to watch me
vault over tables of second-hand CDs, to see me
streak in and out of focus as I skid between stalls. I blade-
run through mingling shoppers, striding in streamline onto the highway, my pulse beating in
my ears in rapid fire bursts.
Just ahead of me the reprobate mounts the footbridge. I leap up the stairs, taking them in
threes, and reach the top to find him with his arm outstretched, swinging my pack and—
WHACK
—I am floored, fading out, freezing in the shadow of a six-metre-high, unswerving harlot in
reverse, hard as a board against the wind, against the trickling sun, against the world that is spinning now like a roulette wheel or a vinyl 60's soundtrack.
Red, red, red, red
Black. ■
by
Erin Goygh Friday. March 22,2002
Feature
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ravelling to Tibet is controversial. In 1949
China invaded Tibet, illegally occupying a
country with a history of independence
dating back to 12 7 BC. This was done for strategic
military reasons, to provide a lauffer zone'
between democratic India and communist China.
Today, over 300,000 troops and one quarter of
China's nuclear missile force are in Tibet The
London-based Free Tibet campaign estimates that
oVer 1.2 million Tibetans have died since the
beginning of the occupation and over 6000
monasteries have been destroyed. Because of outbreaks of violence and human rights violations
ranging from censorship to torture, many groups
that advocate a free Tibet are encouraging a complete tourism boycott of the area, because they
believe tourism supports the Chinese regime and
its actions.
Despite all of this, I decided to travel to Tibet.
I didn't make the trip because I have np sympathy for the plight of Tibetans. I like to think I'm
a socially conscious traveller. The treatment of
indigenous populations concerns me. I believe
that people should have self-government.
I went there anyway.
'What kind of a hypocrite is this guy?' you
might ask. Well, I don't believe that I am a hypocrite: I'm just not an idealist. After living in Asia
for 12 years, I don't really believe that China will
give Tibet up in my lifetime, tourism boycott
or not.
A lack of idealism, however, doesn't mean
Chinese actions in Tibet are justified. What the
Chinese government has done, and continues to
do, in Tibet is a blatant denial of human rights.
Planning for my trip, I often wondered whether
the voyage would do the opposite of what I
intended—provide outright validation of the
actions of the Chinese government.
But perhaps the key to change is in the future,
not in the past. Travelling to Tibet show 1 'i m it
tourism can actually help, rather th.m ' nJrr
.1
n
\
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PI
Tibetan attempts to raise awareness
plight in the world and gain levera^,'3
struggle for equitable treatment by th
government.
Despite urges for a boycott from son
the tic groups, most human-rights i
encourage visitors to make the trip The Canada
Tibet Committee holds this position, stating in its
travel advisory pamphlet that 'most Tibetans support tourism because it constitutes a meajis by
which the outside world can learn of the conditions in Tibet an 1 tl e filiations of Tibitms." In
fact, the first tra\elleis io Tibit aftir the border
opened in the ^S^s began ihe laige Hal% 'Free
Tibet' movement win. n tLoy ret'iinr. 1 homes The
Dalai Lama himself Wrongly encourages tourism,
as long as it involves a conscious involvement in
and understanding of the situation, rather than a
glossed-over package tour controlled by Chinese
tour guides. ?
I- -/■■ -.. * r
t is relatively easy to get to Tibet by going on
a Chinese government-sanctioned tour, run
by a government travel agency. However,
this kind of trip achieves nothing. Instead, it
does the serious harm of solidifying China's
Art, photos and text by Tejas Ewing
*
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prevent you froin talking to, the local people and
seeing what life is really like.
By making a bit of an effort, however, a traveller can see the other side of the story and bring
this information back to his or her home country,
perhaps helping to increase support for a free
Tibet. AU foreign journalists are prohibited from
entering Tibet. Even tourists who behave too suspiciously can be harassed. However, if observations are discreetly made, the Free Tibet
Campaign suggests that 'such reports by responsible travellers can be an important source of
information to support organisations outside of
Tibet*
You don't see many news stories about the
*• i e of Tibet. Instead the most common source of
^irmation is from travellers who return home
ind feel compelled to share their observations
nd spread the word. However, discretion is the
kc\. There are Chinese spies in many areas, and
'ourists have been arrested and detained for
mnecessary contact with Tibetans. Similarly,
tn se Tibetans you speak to can be arrested.
While having a private conversation with a
Tibetan guide, restaurant or shop owner is not
suspicious, acting like a journalist is.
o, what other efforts should a traveller
.make? Ill use my own experience as an
example. First of all, choose a Tibetan travel agency There are a number of Tibetan-owned
agencies m Kathmandu, Nepal One of the only
convenient flights into Tibet is from Nepal, and
using these agents gives you the chance to spend
a few days in Nepal. Try to plan a trip as an individual or with a friend or two; this gives you the
greatest amount of flexibility. I travelled with my
., ^fathe^ and we were allowed places that tours
never go. Finally, make sure that the agency you
" cKoosI uses Tibetan guides, even if you cannot
find a Tibetan travel agency. Many different travel agencies in the Vancouver area will make an
gffort to fulfill your request, and each request you
claim to the area since you see what the Chinese „ make reduces the chances of the Chinese banning
want you to see and hear what they want you. tj?
hear. On his website (www.ciolek coni),
Australian Dr, Matthew T. Ciolek, an Asian ajid
Pacific Studies professor at the Australian
National University in Canberra, informs read\
Tibetan guides. Such guides cannot be easily censored, and they provide an honest perspective to
each place you choose to go. The risk of interference from Chinese spies is also limited, as they
can't possibly eavesdrop on your private conver-
ers that many tour guides will falsely say that the "^ sations. These guides can also help you plan a trip
extensive damage to Tibetan monuments is a
result of the 1904 British invasion. Or, if trav-
. ellers witness a protest, guides will say it is a
religious cerejnony, calmly assuring visitors that
•Tibetans are allowed to freely express them-
Y.selves'as-the tourists are ushered away before
4 ihe police arrive. Y 4 • f
'Tours-organised by the Chinese government
brihg-'traveilers to places that present Tibet as a
peaceful; harmonious colony of China, places that
Jhat takes you away from the controlled travel
Ireas created by the Chinese government, Our
{pride was not shy about telling us his thoughts on
jhe current situation. In fact, many Tibetan guides
see it as their responsibility. '   ■   ;
^     Without a Tibetan guide, I would never have
" learned about Chinese attempts to overwhelm the
Tibetan population with Chinese migrants. Our
guide explained.that the entire area of downtown
Lhasa is now populated by ethnic Chinese who
have displaced local Tibetans, including himself
and his family. He explained that Chinese now
outnumber Tibetans by over a million. He told us
that his son was now in Dharamsala, India, where
he could finally learn Buddhism and the Tibetan
language, unhindered. "What I earn as a guide
allows me to visit my son,* he told us. While
Chinese tours claim that Tibetans are allowed to
learn about their own culture, our guide informed
us that the Tibetan language is banned in schools.
Our guide fed our interest with his personal
stories, and seemed truly pleased to find an attentive audience keen to do something when they
returned home. Tourism in Tibet provides local
people with perhaps the only safe way to tell others about their situation. Based on the friendship
we formed with our guide, I believe that guides
take a great deal of pleasure in their work and the
opportunity it affords them.
Each place we visited was accompanied by a
description from our guide of the widespread
abuse by the Chinese. Our guide told us how,
everywhere—even in the Potala, the Dalai Lama's
former palace—overt acknowledgement of the
spiritual leader's existence is illegal. Our guide
talked about the destruction of Tibetan cultural
monuments, a systematic attempt to rid Tibet of
Buddhism. He told us about the current manifestation of that aim—the arrest of the six-year-old
Panchen Lama after the Dalai Lama proclaimed
him to that high position.
Our guide also explained to us that tourists are
making a difference through their presence
alone. He said, "With each and every tourist that
enters the Tibet, it becomes more and more difficult for the Chinese to oppress us." The Chinese
government realises that it cannot have a lucrative tourism industry while continuing to stifle
the culture of Tibetan people. Many cultural sites
have been recently reopened for the benefit of
tourists and Tibetans alike. Other sites are being
steadily rebuilt and repaired. When China first
occupied Tibet, the removal of Buddhism from
Tibetan society was the primary goal. Now, partly
thanks to tourism, the Chinese government has
eased its grip a bit Our guide told us that many of
the sites we visited were completely closed during
the imposition of martial law in 1987-1988. Due
to the increased tourist interest, however, these
sites are now open even to Buddhist pilgrims.
Once again, Buddhists are allowed to make their
lengthy and arduous pilgrimage to the Dalai
Lama's palace. In this practice, Tibetans walk the
entire route, prostrating themselves flat on the
ground with every step, subsisting on donations
from passers-by. This is no longer banned
because the Chinese understand that it is good for
tourism.
fy father and I consciously wandered
off the usual tour-group route. Away
(from the overt Chinese control, you
can experience the richness of Tibetan culture
while actually making a discernible difference.
When visiting such attractions outside of Lhasa,
you can tip the Tibetan workers, rather than putting your money in a jar that gets taken by
17
Chinese officials. For this reason, any tourist
should make an effort to plan excursions as far
from Lhasa as they are allowed. You can do some
research and stay in Tibetan monasteries or
Tibetan-owned hotels. Again, the Chinese government has seen the benefit of Tibetan ownership
for increasing tourism. By making a point to support this, you reduce the chances of any sort of
crackdown on local ownership rights.
1\
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In straying off the beaten path, you can also
meet a number of foreigners working to make a
difference. A gentleman from the Red Cross
explained to us that the increasingly open borders, attributed to tourism, now allow him to
work in rural areas, improving the conditions of
the indigenous population. Similarly a French
graduate student told us about her experiences
with a charity organisation, cleaning up the trash
dumped near an important monastery in Lhasa.
"I would not have been allowed to do this ten
years ago,* she said, "Opening up to tourism
means opening up to eveiything else as well."
We learned a great deal from these people
about possible ways to help, mainly because we
made an effort to travel beyond the attractions
listed in the glossy travel brochures. It is impossible to learn anything if you only go to the easy
places. The attractions in Lhasa and its vicinity
are interesting and worth seeing, but for the
most part are under increased government control. Even the monasteries just outside of Lhasa,
such as Sera, provide you with a scene that is
carefully controlled by an 'invisible' police presence, Leaving the city allows you to support
Tibetan businesses and Tibetan people, so that
all of your money does not go into Chinese
hands.
In two of the locations we visited, we stayed in
the local monasteries. In the Tibetan countryside
you can see monasteries as they really are-
including a'constant military presence and ever-
present threat of force. Witnessing monastery
life, yet knowing it is at risk, truly brings home
the consequences of China's actions.
Hearing the monks play their longhorns at
dusk or seeing them practice a traditional song
and dance, yet knowing that this is luxury to them,
makes a person feel the need for change. This is
why the Dalai Lama and so many others support
tourism that promotes conscious involvement in
and understanding of Tibet's plight Tourism can
be a positive force in Tibet; not only because it can
benefit local Tibetans, but also because of the
desire it can spark inside every visitor to see a
free Tibet For a people who remain censored,
tourists offer the possibility for more Tibetans to
speak to the world. ♦
+ JS
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by Erin Gough
long fiction winner
1. jump
Like a fever breaking. Like being shaken awake. It's the moment of ,
whiplash in a car crash. It's inertia finally slapping you in the face.
There's the black sky, the black surface below and you with your
toes on the railing between. When jumping at night you can feel the
water even before you meet it blind. The fall from the bridge to the
canal is never far, but it's far enough for you to know the buzz of hollow air and the cold of what's to come and to ask the questions that can
send you more numb than the water ever will: What if it's not deep
enough? What if I fall too fast? And almost before you've asked these
things you're heavy in the depths of it and already choking and spitting and lashing your way to the surface.
But you get there, eventually, and you say, "Christ," and "God
Almighty," and haul yourself out with mud on your clothes. ;
And after that, you do it all again. j
i
2. hot baby wild
The night I meet Cushla is the night I get fired from the Q Store,   ';
and it's hot, so hot I'm having trouble moving down the street The
salt and chips air is thicker than pub smoke; the footpath is cracking
under my toes, but despite it all, there I am, walking shoeless in tlie
dark, with the exhilaration known only to those who have been recently made redundant
Half an hour ago under fluorescent lighting, I discovered that you
can't swear at a customer and not lose your job; that this is especially
the case when the customer in question is married to your boss; and
that if that's the way it's going to be, then there's space enough in the
security camera's blind spot at the end of aisle three to stash half a
dozen videos into your backpack and make off with them without ever
being caught.
And so it is that I come upon Cushla in the writhing summer heat
on the slow way home an hour before my usual finish-up time: with
stolen goods harboured in my bag, and a desperate urge to do something wild.
She is walking in front of me, water dripping from the ends of her
hair and down her back. She has a long-sleeved shirt with jeans that
meet heavy boots at her ankles. From the way she is stopping at corners, I can tell she is lost, .i' ■;    '  .:''
What I cannot tell is that she will become my distrac-1,   ■   <>•   ;
tion. That for almost two months, in place of boredom,   *',. ■
she will be the thing I five and eat and breathe. Right now
all I am certain of is that I have never in my life come
across anybody wearing more clothes on such a crazy-hot
night, than this damp and dizsy girl, this trick of fight
everything else.
The canals we make our own, because nobody has
i laimed them yet. They are the space between other places,
Mi re to provide that shimmery real estate ideal known as the
\ i1 r-view.' Mere accessories to this greater cause, not things in
1 i'      'ves. Not to anyone, that is, but Cushla and me.
A bjt.Lt away from one of these waterways, near the coi "icr
Havana Road and Sanctuary Drive, Cushla finally turns ar.Mind
on that sweltering night, and asks me where she is. She hasn t
a clue. She's lost herself entirely. The streets go around in circles, it seems to her. She smiles at me, and wipes the
damp hair out of her face with the back of a sleeve.
"Where do you need to go?" I ask. !-,
Her eyes turn away for a moment "Cargo Street," she
says finally.
I can help her with Cargo Street. I know it because my brother
works as a nurse in the hospital there. But just before we reach it,
as we are crossing the bridge on Killinger Road, she stops. I turn
around to see her leaning on the railing looking straight at me.
"Have you ever jumped off one of these bridges?" she asks.
I laugh. It's a long way down.
I watch her lift herself up and climb over the railing, onto the
narrow stretch of concrete on the other side. With her hands holding
tight she swings back until the length of her body is stretched out over
the water. I watch as her fingers slip gradually from between the vertical bars.
Standing on the bridge, wanting to know what will happen next, I
do nothing, at first. I wait for her to disappear. At any moment I expect
she will be gone, that the water will collect her, that she will drop away
as if she were never there at all. But the more I wait for her, the more,
it seems, she waits for me.
"Come on," she says at last.
The railing is almost too high to get over. I push myself up ... -:,c
with my hands, and then haul my legs across, until I am finally ': ■ i".'"
on the ledge beside her. .4k4^i'
She grins then, and almost at once I am watching her Y','..y*|.,^ ...
leap into the heavy air, her arms outstretched, the wide / ;*,:#r''.vji.f
sky against her back. §\i
ing and ducking, and doesn't answer.
"Come on," is all she yells.
I laugh into the noise of my racing blood, into a mouthful of water
that finds me in the quiet world beneath the surface, until I pull myself
up through the fog to meet her shrieks of delight. She swims over to
me and pushes me down further, her hands firm on my shoulders, my
f h e against her neck. She holds me like this until I need to draw
breath. I struggle against her grip. She holds me a moment
longer. Just in time she releases me, and I gasp for air. Then she
is at the edge, heaving herself and her raining clothes onto the
embankment, ready to go again.
The bridge at the end of Haven Street, or the one in the mid-
■lV of Tropical Road; night after night we fall off the edge of every
place we can. Sometimes the levels seem too low, but Cushla doesn't
appear to care. She always jumps first, and I know that if she didn't I
would lack the courage, and probably the inclination. Part of me wants
the thrill of the fall, but mostly I need to follow Cushla; to take the water
into my mouth to belong to it, to belong to her.
Afterwards we sit along the edge of the road rolling pieces of gravel under the palms of our hands. When she stretches for more pieces,
out of her long, damp sleeves, I notice scars on her arms, her wrists;
streaks of silver. I wonder how they got there and what the skin feels
like at those places, but I never ask. We talk instead about the best
bridges to jump: the ones where there is the least traffic, or where the
water is clearest On the way home we follow the canals past the rows
of mansions, standing so huge and silent that we submit to their
speechlessness. At these times we carry our thoughts like secrets along
the steady dark ribbon, to the beat of the crickets and the sound of
squelching shoes.
4. day*
,:?7
.'pp
**■"'
3. the neighbourhood
But first of all, the neighbourhood.
The neighbourhood, you need to know about, because it is part of
the endless heat, the long days, the water-logged nights that follow. The
neighbourhood is what makes things dull enough to fall out of.
The neighbourhood must come first because it was here first, only
by a short while, but by enough to make all that comes afterwards contingent upon it. For two months it is our nature and our nurture,
Cushla's and mine. What we are, and will become, has everything to do
with it.
With its broad, open streets and three-storeyed houses, first of all,
most of them built by car retailers^or jam manufacturers, or magazine
magnates simply to shift merchandise:
This stunning, classically modern
Roman-Scandinavian villa with
fully landscaped gardens located
less than half an hour from the
world's most spectacular beaches
could be yours. Just buy ten bottles of your favourite tonic water
to enter the draw and begin your
new life in paradise on the
Australian Gold Coast.
In between the prize-homes are the manufactured greens that the
brochures call parHands or common gardens. There are roundabouts
topped with bonsais. There are ornamental fountains. Then snaking
right through the middle of everything in this neighbourhood that
breeds us—through the greens, between the houses, through the broad,
open streets—are the waterways. These come to shape us above
I wake to the sound of engines. Outside the sun
beating the landscape white. I shift my head in half-
sleep, feel the dampness of the pillow; remember.
There are trucks on the street; they are building smother mansion. I go out into the garden to watch the men lift
ceramic basins, cane lounges, peach-coloured carpet in double-jointed
rolls. When they leave, I climb through a window and into the living
room. I run my palms along the lacquered pine table-for-four. I take off
my shoes and stretch out on the settee, pressing my toes into spotless
cushions. The house feels gutted, the air stale; once outside again on
the checkerboard lawn I am dizzy and unsteady on my feet
My summer, now lacking the certainty provided by regular work
hours, becomes imbued with this rhythm—a series of suffocations and
resurfacings: empty houses followed by wide open streets; wakefulness followed by afternoon sleep; hot days followed by night, and
everything that night brings with it the cooling dark, the water, Cushla.
Having lost the Q Store job I begin spending time following my
brother in and out of hospital wards carrying thermometers and bed
pans, or simply butting my toes against the slippery linoleum. This is
where I find her again. In the steel-framed bed she looks limp, and
paler than I remember, her expression disengaged. I stand beside my
brother as he talks to her and she glances about without listening. I
search for recognition on her face; I find none.
But when my brother turns away momentarily to read ht r
chart, she looks straight at me, arches her head against
the pillow, and grins.
"Any new aches or pains to report?" my brother asks    ,
her, glancing up from his clipboard.
Her face becomes sullen. "Right here," she tells hi'n
pointing to her nose. Right on the bridge.
As she says "bridge" her eyes flit back to meet
mine. She bites at her bottom lip. My brother writes it down with the
stub of a hospital pencil. I stand beside him, wanting to laugh out loud.
6. houses
-j?-
a
5. nights
We agree to meet on Palm Street, where the bridge is concrete and
steel and two lanes wide; where the cars roll past anonymously, their
headlights leaving you blind at intervals.
On the first night I wait there over an hour. My house key is heavy
in my shorts pocket; it is on a ring which I've safety-pinned to the
inside. Under the togs beneath my clothes, my skin is damp. By ten
o'clock, she hasn't come. I turn to peer at the dark water below, and
think about going home.
Five minutes later she appears from nowhere, grinning and panting. Five minutes after that she has already leapt into the water, and is
shouting at me to get a move on. "Does the hospital know where you
are?" I hear myself ask, but the cars are roaring by, and she is splash-
It is a heat-soaked night in January and we have jumped three
bridges in a row, but still it doesn't seem enough. I am awake
and energetic, and decide to keep Cushla from disappearing.
"I've got something to show you,* I say to her.
I lead her through the flat empty streets. We are still dripping wet
is we climb through the window of the vacant mansion, into the
stale air and a room full of unused furniture.
"How do you know about this place?" she asks as we feel our way
hrough the darkness.
"I've walked past it," that's all.
Cushla jumps onto the lacquered table and swings her legs over
Li;e edge. She looks around. "This house is huge," she says, grabbing
my hands. We should have a party here.
Yeah, right," I say. "Like no one'd notice."
"Are you serious?" Cushla grins. "Nobody cares. We can do anything
we want."
"What do you want to do, then?" I ask.
"Oh, anything," she says. "It doesn't matter to me.*
That's when I touch her face with my hand, letting my fingers rest
on her cheek, the silence of the room beating around me. She laughs,
and asks me what I am doing. Then she pushes herself off the table,
and I stumble backwards to let her pass as she moves towards the
door. It opens with a siren sound; the house alarm. Cushla shrieks
against the noise. "Come on then," she cries.
I stand there drenched, as she races down the street.
7. into the water
The last night I spend with Cushla is a Thursday at the end of summer. Running out of bridges, we head to a place we have never been;
to a street that leads to the city. The road is high over the water. From
the bridge we can see its surface deep down in the bunker of the
canal.
Cushla takes off her shoes, bending into the shadows with the
water beneath her, and slides through the narrow bars. "Hurry
up," she calls to me, or I'll lose my nerve.
Looking at the waterway, crusted at the edges and muddied with
:>ut, I can tell it's not deep enough. "What are you waiting for?" she
as>ks me from the ledge.
I stare at her, incredulous. It's too dangerous.
She considers me for a moment, and then lets her gaze fall back
upon the water. "I'm doing it anyway; I don't care," she says at last,
and that's when I realise that she doesn't
She turns around to face it, her hands freed, balancing on her
heels. I want to shout out, but she is already in the air.
The water shimmers, licking itself black and sounding like thunder that strikes the moment she arrives, the moment it welcomes her.
I stand back from the edge with my breath caught in my chest, barely
wanting to see.
The water is a still mirror. There is only the sound of cars on the
road. Cushla is nowhere at all. I hear a splash, and she is hauling herself up to the surface beneath me; she is under the bridge in the shade
of the already dark.
The surface of the canal rolls and shudders. I hear her laughter
resonating between the concrete walls. She calls out to me. I do not
answer her. High on the bridge, with the cars roaring past on their
way to the city, I am bending down with my hands on my shoes, untying the knotted laces, carrying them home. ♦
(4:MW^44:'\
■ . °°  ^ .: "■■   '    -'iv    '•' 7V:a-': ■"" v-f^p-
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■     H^B^*'^ ■'■ -■'■ ' 7/7 -■■■■■•><.■ ■ ■■  4%:;,:  C -•■:   . ,. 81
Friday. March 22.2002
Culture
Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
-7 b »,  IC/U;   «/ufc h^j* p~{- '* sa4.*«^r r.y.fc*>w?
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Check out
• Interactive program and industry displays
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www.opehhouse.bcit.ca
or 604-453-4097
Blood, sweat and raffle tickets: The
Ubyssey goes ringside at the ECCW
ECCW MARCH MADNESS
Bridgeview Community Centre, Surrey
Man 15
I wasn't sure what to expect when I arrived in Surrey,
that cosmopolitan capital of culture, to watch
wrestling. Two great,
heaping portions of
Surrey manhood stood at
the door, staring blankly.
Seeing me approach, one
of them commented helpfully, "The gay wrestlers
went that way,* pointing
toward the entrance.
Expelling a wet snort
from his snout, he added,
"Sorry. Don't mean to be
so mean. I'm mentally
retarded."
Indeed. '-
The wrestling arena, of
course, is not only a showground for athletic and aesthetic feats, but also a place,
to put it crudely, for 'checking out the crowd.' Several
connoisseurs of the fine sport examined the mats of
the ring, carefully noting the material, consistency and
firmness. One may have even tasted it. I don't know.
What was surprising was the good turnout of youth.
It's always pleasant to see youth involved
in 'culture' and wholesome sports. The
few adults who accompanied the budding sport-lovers eagerly joined in the
frenzy of excitement.
One wrestler from the SCUM clique.
Bam Bam Bambi, was frantically selling
raffle-tickets; the prizes were a pair of
autographed photos and a fine 100 per
cent cotton T-shirt with the word SCUM
spray painted across the front and back.
But the crowd seemed to get really
pumped when Bulldog Bob Brown Jr, the
commissioner of Extreme Canadian
Championship Wrestling (ECCW), was
introduced by the ring announcer.
"Thank you for the popular introduction,* the commissioner shouted.
The excitement, of course, was only
beginning. Over the next three and a half
exhilarating hours, the audience was
graced with seven extreme wrestling
matches: one three-way bout, two tag-team
matches and four individual matches. There were also
two verbal confrontations between new and old enemies,
two raffles, a concession stand, a merchandise table, four
calls by the ring announcer urging the audience to visit
the merchandise table—all culminating in one extraordinary evening of fine culture and entertainment
The event for me, really began with the fourth
<#
The wrestling
arena, of course,
is not only a
showground for
athletic and aesthetic feats, but
also a place, to
put it crudely,
for 'checking out
the crowd.'
match—a grudge match between Johnny Canuck and
Sweet Daddy Devastation. The Sweet Daddy himself, a
man of great athletic ability and an even greater pot
belly, flaunted his 'sweetness' all throughout the
match. His trademark attitude quickly made him a
crowd favourite. His opponent Johnny Canuck, gim-
micked as a Trig, burly homosexual,' graced the audience with squirts from his water bottle, and was sure
to maintain direct interaction with his fans, not allowing celebrity to cloud his sport.
The match started in Canuck's favour, but soon,
Rockford, another wrestler, appeared (out of nowhere!
I swear iti) to the Sweetness' defence. Of course,
'Gorgeous' Michelle Starr couldn't just stand by and
watch so, he, too intervened, coming to Canuck's
defence. Canuck and Starr, after ejecting Sweet Daddy
and Rockford from the ring, finally engaged in a dialogue after a period of estrangement.
The audience had the privilege of hearing Starr's
confession, that he had missed Canuck—not only as a
tag-team partner, but also as a tag-team lover.
"I stood by you, and I stood behind you,* Starr said.
Starr seemed oblivious to the fact that Canuck was
a big slut. Canuck had shown his shiftiness all through
the night, simulating fellatio on Rockford, anal sex on
Sweet Daddy and grabbing the buttocks of every single
man who dared venture into the ring.
I sat quiet despondent until intermission.
When the wrestling began again, the audience was
treated with a Hardcore Tag-Team Match
between Moondog Manson/Prince
Alladiin and Killswitch/Wrathchild.
Wrathchild, however, had fallen ill from
some kind of dreadful disease. Moondog
had a conflicting account of Wrathchild's
condition: he claimed that Wrathchild
had turned into some kind of cat, a
pussy. This exploration of past events
and the faultiness of memory was
intriguing but the show had to go on.
Fortunately, the commissioner found an
eager understudy in no time. Cheechuck
was chosen as the best candidate and
joined the fray.
This match took wrestling out of the
ring and onto the aisles and streets. The
distracting details of the ringside action,
the quick-paced, plot-developing events,
not to mention the frenzy of shifting
locations
%*sanai
MXiMtmiiiM&iAWWTi^
(the match,
at one
point, was taken outside
to the parking lots),
forced us to keep up. But
I'd hardly call the match
revolutionary. The
wrestlers, no doubt,
would've done this all
over again the following
day for "Warehouse
Warz,* happening somewhere in Langley.
Amidst the screaming, the excitement the chairs, the ladders, the blood,
the trashy women and sweaty wrestlers, I found myself
on the floor, flushed and convulsing with excitement It
was as if someone hit me in the back of the head with
a chair. The crowds were far, far away, cheering, all
around me. What had happened? Something real,
something true had taken a hold of me. Culture, my
friends, culture. ♦ _J-S1311*
B
R      P     N    T
"Aboriginal studies, hey?" The mustard-blond Aussie heaved sideways to face me in his narrow seat The coffee and complimentary peanuts on his
breath raised hairs on me. "Yeah, yeah I could tell ya* few things about Aboriginal studies/
I thought: God. Eighteen hours across the Pacific and the last thing I need is this Croc Dundee look-alike lecturing me on my fsture
education. I took a deep breath*
"See, there are two kinds of Aboriginals." He threw back another handful of peanuts. "There are the real ones, who
live way the hell out there, eat worms and bark. They're still around; my buddy dated an anthropologist and got in .
with (hem and lemme tell ya has he got some stories. But then there are the fake ones, all bloody wasted on a street
corner living on dole money. It's the real ones you want to find.*
I looked at him, astonished Was he serious? Was he typical? Having spent the previous two years i
bubble of UBC liberal arts academia I couldn't believe that people still thought and talked like this. Didn't
he know that Aboriginal society was a complex interplay of hundreds of cultural groups all with
their own traditions, songs and folklore, mixing with European culture in thousands of
individual ways?-1 couldn't believe he could render all this complexity into two
simple images, My optimism toward my exchange year waned.
As it turns out we were both wrong. In Australia there aren't two        - >
kinds of Aborigines, nor are there thousands.
There are five.
io a
-f   +
Aboriginal # 1: The Artifact
Museums love him, The pale archivist gives tours by the hour passing
case after case of arrowhead and stone tool. "The Aborigine used day to
paint his face before going on the hunt." "The Aborigine would eat insects
like the one pictured here.* "The Aborigine was very proad.*
If you shut your eyes, you will probably find him there. It seems we all have
a shadowy image of the Australian Aboriginal in the back of our minds, scratching his eyebrows and hunting for kanga. This Aboriginal is dark and primitive, ,
close to the soil, in touch with, the rhythms of the moon and his own pre-modern
pulse. He is dim but dignified. He is not entirely clean.
Anthropologist's have been feeding our images of him .wildly for decades. People
have lived and died interpreting and explaining the Aborigines, poking and prodding, measuring skulls, dissecting corpses. They write paper after paper. There are
more journal articles and PhD dissertations than there are Aboriginals alive today,
page after page, - black ink on flat white, For decades they told us that the Aborigines
were at the' bottom of the Great Chain of Being; Angles, Saxons, Eastern Europeans
and then Australian Aborigines.
Has anybody progressed?
Aboriginal #2; The Tourist Attraction
Every year tourists by the Airbus-load add educational excursions to their days of surf and sun, "Take a walk on the wild side in
Australia this summer!* 'Original inhabitants frozen in their StoofrAgB statel* -Watch an authentic Aboriginal hunt and taste some
bonafide bush tuckerl
This Aboriginal Is the actor in face paint on the glossy brochure; this is the underpaid artist who made the dot painting you'll package up and send home to Dad; this is the original owner of that cartoon didgeridoo on your airline ticket. He is warlike but handsome, primal but harmless, at one with nature and himself. He is very hip,
The Australian tourist bureau couldn't have made him up if they tried. Pace Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
Culture
Friday. March 22.20021
TALKING ABOUT A REVDLI
By RON NURWISAH
i*   $*$
*!   *'
s x
A/?r OF THE G/?£4f PROLETARIAN CULTURAL
REVOLUTION
at the Belkin Gallery
until May 26
'A revolution is not a dinnerparty, or writing an
essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and
gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained
and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another."
—Chairman Mao
While the Cultural Revolution might not have
been a dinner party, the arts were an important
part of Mao's attempt to indoctrinate the
Chinese people. During the Cultural Revolution
of the 1960s and 1970s, the government strictly
controlled the arts and profoundly distrusted
intellectuals and the educated. Hundreds of
thousands of Chinese were 're-educated' and
persecuted as a result, but a lucky few were
enlisted for the revolutionary cause to make
propaganda posters and paintings.
Some of this work can be seen at UBC in the
BelMn's current exhibition, Art of the Great
Proletarian Cultural Revolution. Dozens of
pieces, including posters, sculptures and even
an artist's personal sketchbook, try to capture
the frenetic and frightening revolutionary fervour that gripped China from 1966 to 1976.
1 Images of Mao Zedong dominate the show,
just as Mao dominated China's political and popular consciousness for decades. The chairman is
simultaneously seen as a man of the people,
speaking to peasants and greeting children, and
as a messianic figure. One poster has Mao, the
'rightful heir' to Marxist-Leninism, next to Marx,
Engels, Lenin and Stalin. Brezhnev, the Soviet
\
:>
leader at the time, is
notably missing a testament to the hostility
between China and its former communist ally.
Mao's life is also the
subject of a number of
stirring images. One
depicts young Mao atop a
mountain, soon to be master of all he surveys.
Another has him among
the people, teaching communism. Some are even
less subtle in their praise.
In a number of works, the
chairman appears to have
a halo around him, not
unlike the Buddha. Others
show Mao as the sun, the
source of enlightenment
and life.
Like all good propaganda, the art in this sho-v
is effective. The works have a strong visual
impact and are riveting: full of strong de in-
faced, smiling peasants working together lo
build a new, better, communist China.
In hindsight however, it is clear what ;hp&e
works leave out. Paintings of China's revolutionary war against the Japanese and the
Kuomintang nationalists are suspiciously free of
carnage, although millions died in the war ,vhich
lasted two decades. The mass starvation during
China's Great Leap Forward is ignored, as is the
cruelty and violence of the Cultural Revolution.
It is this tension between the sanitised. Utopian images presented by this show and lhe daik-
er, bloodier history of China that makes this
exhibit not just a worthwhile historical review,
but also a riveting and enjoyable show. ♦
f if
ill
' il
\$\
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TTNTVFRSTTY
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Aboriginal #3: The Derelict
Street corners are full of them. "They've lost their culture." "They're a black mark on the cityY
the street when an Aboriginal person is there...You just never know what they will do.*
"I'm not racist but I cross
This is the Abo, the Boong, the Koon, the Blackie, This is the receiving end of all your charity and all your anger.
This is every scapegoat you could ever need.
Why isn't the budget balanced? Where do my tax dollars go? Why aren't the parklands safe at night? This
Aboriginal carries all of Australia's mistakes on his or her tired back, he is every mugger who was never convicted; she is every heroin-hooked single mother yott have never met. This Aboriginal is assumed into all ihe
dark corners that no one wants to walk down, but eveiyone needs.
Aborigine #4: The Conversation Piece
Every civilised person should add one to their list of dinner-party repertoire, "Oh, we just love our
Aborigines/ "We all attended the reconciliation day parade. A real one-up for Australia." "Their
stories are just glorious. I have two collections/
This Aboriginal takes many forms, depending on the company and the conversation. This
can be the ear-to-the-ground hunter living in his unspoiled habitat, or the hardworking single parent In a Sydney suburb, or the dozen or so children packaged o£f to a Christian
boarding school. This Aboriginal creeps into the everyday banter of anyone who wants to
look concerned, engaged, informed.
There are a few rules. Conversation-piece Aboriginals do not complain. They don't
campaign for equal opportunities or official apologies. They don't get confused about
choosing between cultures. They don't remember or remind anyone about atrocities. They don't say the word atrocity, or genocide, or massacre. They generally
appreciate eveiything the Europeans brought They generally get on.
Aborigine #5: The political campaign
It's the 21st century and the Aboriginal issue is on the top of every campaigner's
list "If elected, I will promote reconciliation between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal
people in Australia/ "If elected I will clean up the city square and provide adequate
resources for those Aboriginal people living there." "If elected I will raise the
Aboriginal standard of living by 30 per cent...Without of course lowering anybody
else's/
This Aboriginal is the bar on the graph and the bell on the curve. It is the sis-year-old
smiling with the Cabinet minister for a photo op, It is the Labour Party's love child and the
Liberals' cranly teenager. This Aboriginal is silk-screened and stream-lined, average, token and
representative in every way.
The rhetoric runs high. The prime minister won't apologise for past wrongs but the opposition
might, The local Liberal MP wants to clean up the streets but die Labour MP down the block insists it's
her jurisdiction too. This Aboriginal lives and dies in election campaign speeches, front page news stories,
journalistic awards. It is 30 per cent less employed, 40 per cent less educated and will die 15 to 20 years
younger than the average Australian. It is somewhat empowered, somewhat doomed, somewhat dying out and
somewhat blossoming into a new cultural reality., .depending on who's in power.
+   +   +
On my flight home a year later I sat beside another broad-shouldered Australian, skin leathery tanned and neck as red as
an outback sunset.
.    "So, what did ya study here, dear?* he asked, throwing back some peanuts. This time I was prepared.
"Colonialism/
by Cbtis Jraser Friday. March 22.2002
101
THE UBYSSEY
FRIDAY, MARCH 22, 2002
VOLUME 83 ISSUE 46
tfp/frf
Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
EDITORIAL BOARD
COORDINATING EDITOR
Duncan M. McHugh
NEWS EDITORS
Al Lin Choo
Sarah MacNeill Morrison
CULTURE EDITOR
Ron Nurwisah
SPORTS EDITOR
Scott Bardsiey
FEATURES EDITOR
Julia Christensen
COPY EDITOR
Laura Blue
PHOTO EDITOR
Nic Fensom
PRODUCTION MANAGER
Hywel Tuscano
COORDINATORS
VOLUNTEERS
Graeme Worthy
LETTERS/RESEARCH
Alicia Miller
The Ubyssey is the official student newspaper of the
University of British Columbia. It is published every
Tuesday and Friday by The Ubyssey Publications Society.
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Editorials are chosen and written by the Ubyssey staff.
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necessarily reflect the views of The Ubyssey Publications
Society or the University of British Columbia.
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Press (CUP) and adheres to CUFs guiding principles.
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members. Priority wil! be given to letters and perspectives
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advertising that if the Ubyssey Publications Society fails to
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EDITORIAL OFFICE
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HyweJ field Hockey* Tuscano looked up lo find lhat he'd followed her
up the stalls and over to the supply room across from the bio lab. Alicia
Miller opened the supply-room door and stepped in. 'Get in here," she
said with a mischievous smite. Ron Nurwisah hesitated, *! don't think
we're allowed—'Julia Christensen groaned, grabbed his arm,; ad yanked
him into the room, closing the door behind Mm. Mike Schwandt leaned
against a wall 'So what did you think of Alexis Roohani?' he asked.
Think I have another psycho stalker?* "Beside* ma?* Sarah MacNeill
Morrison asked. She used her body to press him up against lhe wall 1
don't know about you, hul (he smell of formaldehyde...it makes me
crag'.* Duncan McHugh just looked at her. Mb brain a cluttered fog.
"Crazy?" Kattiy Deering put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him
on the Ups. Instantly the fog started to clear. "Oh,' Nic Fensom said when
she pulled away. 'Crazy." Graeme Worthy smiled as he tucked hiB hands
under the hair that felt like a thick, silky curtain around bar face. Chris
Shepherd pulled Ai Lin Choo closer, releasing a long exhalation of breath
as her warm, soft body pressed against his. How could Tejae Ewing have
allowed his worries to interfere with getting his minimum daily requirement of Deborah Santema? Donald Prime was so stressed, he hadn't
even been thinking about kissing Carly Hollander, and that was wrong.
Deeply wrong. Scott Bardsley's Hps found Laura Blue's again, and he
opened himself up to the intense passion of their kiss. Justine Saelneng
tasted sweet and deliriously alive. John Moon could hardly believe the
kind of crap that Pocket Books printed in kids novels these days.
V
Canadian
University •
"<- *>;>'■.-■ press
Canada Past 8t£i* Agraimnt Number 0732141
Better watch out, "O-Town
a
$5306.82 is quite a lot of money. For most of
us, it would be enough to cover a year's worth
of rent or the cost of a fantastic vacation. But
according to a statement released by the
Canadian Alliance of Student Associations
(CASA) this week, $5,3.06,82 buys something
much "bigger* and certainly much "badder*: it
buys a huge banner.
CASA, a national student lobbying organisation (of which UBC's Alma Mater Society is a
member) is in "O-Town*—or, as we like to call it,
Ottawa—to lobby the federal government to
improve student financial aid. This is important
work and we are glad that CASA is speaking out
on an issue as important as financial aid for students, but at a time like this, when students all
over the country—especially those ih BC—are
facing massive cuts to programs and rising
tuition costs, we have to question the effectiveness of a $5306.82 banner unfurled on
Parliament Hill.
This question is all the more timely given
the events at UBC last week when students
occupied the President's Office to protest
tuition increases. Those students didn't have a
banner, but they did have pins and placards,
as well as help putting out a press release to
publicise the occupation. These resources did
not come from CASA, though. No, the $2 5,500
that the AMS pays in annual dues (on top of the
$13,000 it paid lastyear for 'Conference and
Official Business') does not pay for pins and
placards. No, the students who protested the
tuition policy UBC's Board of Governors eventually approved had to get that support from
elsewhere.  They had  to  get it from  the
Canadian Federation of Student (CFS).
But wait a minute, is not UBC a member of
CASA? Why is it that CASA didn't even offer to
help students out then? There are a few reasons. First, CASA has avoided protesting in
the past. Its approach has always been to
lobby, instead of protest, preferring to meet
with high-ranking government officials,
rather than, as CASA would probably see it,
yelling at them from far away.
Another reason that CASA did not help out
UBC students who occupied the President's
Office last week was because CASA, like the
AMS, did not agree with the protesters'
demands. CASA takes a 'realistic' approach to
the cost of post-sepondary education. It disagrees with demanding a reduction of fees,
which the CFS advocates.
But should we even be surprised to find out
that CASA didn't offer support to these student protestors? While the AMS did a lot of
work during the tuition consultation process,
it did nothing to help the students who occu'
pied the President's Office. It didn't provide
them with financial assistance. It didn't provide them with technical assistance. And the
AMS Council didn't even acknowledge the student protesters at last week's Council meeting. Are the people who spent last Wednesday
night in the Old Administration Building not
students? They certainly speak for a lot of students when they say they don't want tuition,
fee increases. Is the AMS not supposed to represent the interests of all students?
It is shameful that students, dissatisfied
with the tuition policy, had to rely on the CFS
(an organisation that receives no funding
from students at UBC) for support, instead of
CASA (which costs students at UBC $38,500 a
year) or even the AMS.
Why did CASA not provide leadership last
week, when students here could have used the
experience, and influence of an organisation
of its size and importance? Where were its
directors? Were they too busy painting the
banner? Were they playing with the CASA
brain, star of the CASA 'Education Builds A
Nation' tour of last year? Who knows. Maybe
they were resting up for this week.
And this week is important. CASA representatives, including AMS President Kristen
Harvey and AMS VP External Tara Learn, are
meeting with several federal ministers and
MPs, calling for substantial changes to the
Canadian Student Loan Program (CSLP). Their
proposal includes several things: the harmoni-
sation of loans (i.e. a 'one student, one loan' system); changes to the effect parents' income can
have on students' eligibility for financial assistance; and the inclusion of book costs, non-
tuition student fees and regional cost-of-living
differences in the needs-assessment criteria.
These are all tremendously important initia-
Jfives and CASA is right to be fighting for them,
with or without a banner to back them up.
So let's hope that the 'masterpiece* displayed Wednesday on Parliament Hill was
worth all the money CASA spent on it. It's just
too bad that last week, when a huge banner
could have done some good at UBC, the students CASA is supposed to represent turned to
the CFS instead. ♦
letters
AMS president's
comments on
occupation offensive
As one of the students who took
' part in the occupation of the Old
Administration Building last week,
I was deeply offended by Kristen
Harvey's comment that the Alma
Mater Society (AMS) "has done the
best job that we could have in this
situation* ("Students attack AMS
inaction" [Mar. 19]). Other student
unions across the country
recognise that 'lobbying' the
university and the government
with nice, polite reports at the last
possible minute does not do
students any good. The AMS
represents almost 40,000
students, and it has let every
single one of them down. Harvey
clearly has no idea that she is the
beneficiary of a hundred years of
student activism and that she
stands within a long and respected
tradition of progressive and
powerful student leaders who
have fought for accessible, open
. and democratic universities. If she
did, she would have been there
with   us,   demanding   that  the
university remain accessible to
poor and working-class students.
Instead, she plaintively asks, "Why
are you turning on your fellow
students who are working on
Behalf of you?"
The truth is, Harvey and her fellow AMS executives, not to mention
Board of Governors representative
Tieg Martin, who voted for the
tuition increase, have done nothing
effective for students facing massive tuition hikes. It is they who
have turned on their fellow students and they deserve the anger
that was expressed by the students
and staff who marched into the
AMS offices on Thursday, March
14. To dismiss that group of protesters as "a mob of union members and some students" is to turn
a blind eye to the fact that it is
union members, not the AMS, who
have joined in the fight for lower
tuition. Harvey has made her contempt for UBC students and staff
clear by refusing to take any kind of
activist role in this fight and for that
she deserves our contempt in
return.
-Josh Bowman
Arts 3
Work with, not
against, UBC admin
As I awoke March 13,1 found that I
had been cordially invited to one of
many rallies to protest the
university's decision to increase
tuition. After the initial anger at the
organiser's misunderstanding of
the issue passed, I realised that it
was completely understandable that
some people fail to see the whole
picture. The simple fact is that
education is suffering at our fine
institution. Labs (the first victims of
budget shortfalls), for instance—the
core of a science student's
education—are now biweekly, no
longer weekly as they once were.
Classes in all faculties are full past
the brim, reducing the amount of
time available to each student.
There are countless other examples;
the point is that we are the ones
who suffer when such shortfalls
occur. Those who ask the university
to reduce tuition overlook the
simple fact that it has an obligation
to raise funds so that it can continue
to provide us with the quality of
education that we enjoy.
For those unfamiliar with the
system, universities have two ways
of funding a student's education:
government subsidies and tuition
fees. With the cost of education rising and subsidies at a fixed level,
we are left to bear the burden, save
a change in government policy. Put
another way, we are wasting our
time asking for reduced tuition. If
the university agreed, nobody but
us, the students, would suffer. A different approach, however, could be
beneficial to both us students and
the administration. It is a little
known fact among students that
our president, Dr Martha Piper,
has a very impressive record in lobbying Ottawa to provide such funding. What is there to suggest she
couldn't do the same with Victoria?
Instead of pointlessly fighting the
university administration, striving
towards an end that will hurt only
us, we should instead stand beside
them in their quest for further government funding. Only by working
together can we hope to achieve
our common goal of more accessible post-secondaiy education. For
all students.
4 .  —Gabriel Mastico
, Science 1
H -7.
□
R      O     N    T
Winner: Long Non-Fiction
Ue
lot of people are irritated that I talk about bikes
so much. There're better things to' discuss, they
say, like the current state of our society, the
tenor motives of network television or the government's latest brainstorm. Pick one. I'd be happy to engage
in an argument, but the fact is that my bike makes me
happier than does the rest of the world.
Before I took up mountain biking, I was stuck in a deep
rut of emotional turmoil. I was anxious and bored and
really quite sick of thinking. I know, this is normal. But
when it came to parents, friends, ex-boyfriends and
employers, there were heaps of putrid problems. The resolution—if ever it was in view—could be reached only by
navigating through a perplexing maze of issues with two
fingers snapped tightly onto my nose. There was never an
obvious route and I usually ended up on the ground,
mouth open in a pile of dung. I had an incredible need to
do something simple, something straightforward, something instantly gratifying even.
One summer day while unemployed, I went out for a
jaunt on an old steel Triumph. I was riding along a paved
path in a nearby park and saw something which, in all my
teenage years of wandering the pedestrian and bicycle
routes that linked together the limited green space in the
drab borough of Meadowvale, I had never noticed before.
It was a half-hidden track leading into a little clump of
trees between older suburban developments. I looked
around cautiously, as if leaving the pavement was a
crime, and pedalled into the forest
A canopy of deciduous, trees masked the surrounding
houses and I imagined that I had just driven 30 kilometres north into the rolling hills of Caledon and stood
among a quiet neighbourhood of oak and ash. On the
ground, a complex system of man-made bumps and
stunts scavenged the earth of this secret boon. The image
of weathered trees, bushes, dirt and decaying logs was
sharp in the shade of the late afternoon: a refreshing
change from the strip malls and six-lane traffic routes that
defined the rest of Mississauga. I rode along the curved
path, laughing and jumping off to catch my balance. When
the light began to fade, I raced home, beaming.
That was it Within weeks I had a brand new bike and
a trail map of southern Ontario. In the fall I returned to
Vancouver for school arid the world of downhill mountain
biking drew me even further into the woods.
I'll admit that one of the reasons I can afford such a
sport (equipment, upgrades, more equipment, more
upgrades) is because I've been pampered and babied into
a middle-class lifestyle, somehow inheriting the privilege
to spend money on leisure. An entry-level mountain bike
is over a thousand bucks.
My justification? It keeps me grounded, though not
always with the rubber side down. It keeps me focused
when I know that yet another conversation about the
newest cuts to social service will result in a back-and-forth
of*juggled jargon and misdirected anger. It keeps me
focused when I'm guessing which province is next in line
for a right-wing soap and wash, when I am overcome by
an irreversible feeling 0pf hopelessness that begins to
affect my daily tasks, my relationships—my very words. I
head to the forest when I want to talk to thojrees, when I
know that their simple presence and casual perseverance
can teach me to stop, listen, realign.
While demonstrations serve to build community and
strength for collective resistance, our bodies beg for
attention, for nurturing, day after day. We owe it to ourselves to listen.
Though I sometimes wish I could escape it all and
spend my days with the moss and loam, I don't I am, for
now, a visitor to the country. I am a resident of the city
dreaming     of    an
impossible lifestyle.
I am attached to the
convenience of community   swimming
pools, independent
film   on   the   big
screen and designated bike lanes.
IT KBBPS MB
SR06//VDEIX
THOUGH HOT
ALWAYS WITH
THB RUBBBR
SID£ DOWW.
There are people
who devote their
entire lives to recreation, to being outdoors on a. regular
basis. Sometimes
they're roaming hippies, sometimes professional athletes.
Some push their
bodily limits far
enough to engage
the so-called
'extreme' aspects of
sport, making
money by modelling
for commercial ads.
Okay, this is it, my pet peeve. An extreme athlete feeds on
adrenaline and, unlike the average folk, she focuses on
getting faster, higher, deeper than we could ever imagine—sometimes going right over the edge from a lack of
self-control. Then she gets famous. She gets snatched up
by sponsors because her desire to defeat the unknown is
appealing to advertising hogs that spend their entire existence digging obsessively through the muck for the next
human emotion capable of netting capitalistic profit
If I may indulge in a little bit of casual psychoanalysis,
why must the extreme athlete go to such lengths for physical satisfaction? Which comes first the desire to jump off
a cliff or the appeal of fame for doing it?
Once upon a time people were naturally fit Women
and men were always outside, always working to sustain
the family, the community, the land. Even the elite had to Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
Culture
Friday. March 22.2002
111
Howsabout youM<« *.
read RANT
THE UBYSSEY
HIES SfUAIlSiai UTiLiTEIS?
Visit Hnp://vm,w3.iaus.NET/iH0THW0RKs/H0Mt.H™i
Cijck. os the "Miscellaneous Mathemicai Utiuties" unk
• N Emotions in N Unknowns
» Bgenvdues wi Ogenvecfors for Square Matrices
* Finding Roots of o Fundios
» Riding Minimtiras/Jtaimums of a Function
• (toenail Integration	
SMALL ACCIDENTS
[Raincoast Books]
by Andrew Gray
A wife sleeps alone in a tent in her backyard while her husband lies alone in bed, reminiscing about the way
they made love in that tent years ago. It is just the first of many touching scenes in Gray's collection of short
stories, Small Accidents.
In the first story, "Outside,* we are introduced to a couple who live in separate quarters—the house and tent The
couple was recently in a car accident, leaving both mildly injured. The wife accepts the blame and is racked with guilt
But the accidents have more than just a physical impact on these characters; they also bring to the surface previously existing but repressed problems. It is these accidents, both small and large, that link all of Grays stories.
The accidents trigger change, exactly what is needed to motivate Gray's characters to find what they truly
desire. In "The Fallen," the narrator
inherits his father's home, the house
where he spent his childhood.
Rummaging through" his father's
possessions he begins to comprehend his father's eccentricities and
under stand the inan. In the story,
"The Land His Mother," Neil, a
young traveller in New Zealand, sees
a poisonous snake and fails to warn
his traveling companion and longtime friend, whom the snake bites.
This  incident  sparks Neil's
desire to leave his friend and girlfriend to travel the country by bike.
This montage of characters,
brought together by accidents, is reminiscent of Joyce's short stories: we
receive partial glimpses of characters,
yet they remain unforgettable. The
characters we meet are so vivid, and
are found in a setting so familiar to
Lower Mainland readers that they, too,
seem familiar. The image of the man
who hasn't slept in four days because
of his medication in "Feeding the
Animals," or that of the man abandoning his life at home to live on an island
paradise in "Nasty Weather," are real
and honest
The characters acknowledge the
impact these 'accidents' have on their
lives. Gray's characters realise these »
events occurred to lead each person
onto a different life path or to change
the attitudes. Small Accidents brings
well-constructed characters together '-**'*J
in a light-hearted, yet touching collec- yJ&J
tiun of li\ rs l ni-vppi ledly changed. ♦ ("i'ft.?
ENGINEERS WITHOUT BORDERS
MONTHLY SPEAKER SERIES
Tuesday March 26th, 6:00 pm
CEME Room 1202
Hydrogeological  Engineer,  Allan
Dakin, will tell of his experience in
4
■2
Swaziland, administrating a 6-
yr CIDA-ftmded survey of the
groundwater resources. Info:
itoews@interchange.ubc.ca
-Cat ly Hollander
VOTE
Ubyssey Elections
Voting times
are posted behind the office
black-
board.
Sub 24. Like you don't know.
Chris Shepherd, Sara Young, Lisa Denton,
Laura
Blue, Sarah Conchie, Lars Goeller, Jesse
Marchand
, Alicia Miller, Rob Nagai, Parm
Nizher, Natasha Norbjerg, Michael Schwandt
fl Mel GUTS eHcHremitiH 8US4iS0tf
l~h
(MS Ml ffl
I BosiM Oinstiulwve Pass sf it 'easb 1 m\n%\ iiriHisi. sp a
ipasi if at !iast 35 i%_% m 2 Bteia » SJuBiisafenb Ubj« Uflk biSniii
anlPama(rifita4
f REE London Stopover Packaqe.
i TWO NIGHTS AT ST. CHRISTOPHER'S iNN
i BIG BUS PASS
i ONE EVENING MEAL
i DAILY BAGGED BREAKFAST
i FREE HOT TUB AND SAUNA USE
Msfe He taked mm Mareh 15 - May 31/02
tf^p"
^TRAVELCUTS
Canada's student travel exoertsl
Lower Level SU B The New U BC Marketplace
604-822-6890 604-659-2860
Digibie Busabout pass must be purchased at the same time as the tendon Link from any Travel CUTS/Voyages Campus
office in Canada. ■ lflndonStopovermustbetakenbetweenMaichi5-Sep.3o/o2,subjeatoavailabililyatflmeof
booking The two nighis. multi-share accommodation at St Christopher's can be taken prior to. or after use of Busabout
pass, but must be taken consecutively and dates must be confirmed at time of booking Busabout pass. ■ Package is
non-transferable, non-changeable, and has no cash value. Offer subject to change.
'iW$$gi
j|idil|idriil(filiiW
__,
by Justine Saeiieng
BAG BABIES
at iHe Havana Theatre
until Mar. 23
'Bag Bibles' is a sa'incsl pic'y, predated by UBC's
E:>glish Siu dents' SocieLy, not actually about b?^s
or babies; but the gaj> between 'he upper and
lower rl.ib.~vs. IL lAes .m hinu&ing 1'xk ut soual
s>/eolypes aH jite-rpls !o break dew i the ar iQ-
cvhy of a person's public imaj,e to aye what iii s
beiieiih.
Dick ->nd Ji :w J.irn s Jl 'n.'s Dai &zA A:.gela
Ferreha), both pub! c rr.[- ;r,:ls agf/s, -veltun'.e
'-her newvst clients: a xirh, siaii iod coaplrf tu nv i
Ri( k ,,01;\ itr Plesscs, -ri one nf his I'-vee r-:W) a.id
Ela're (Ajjiy?vraJ.(?rJ(). ivi(k -nd Elj_-:e j'.:tt ( n't
Set -i.'-ay fr^m joc« !y's.;jJ^-ijcjiIs a" i bo be^n
±e oe-iP h for a r,e.v, ;;i.v.o ippe uln^ image. Enter
Jane's Untie Gwr^e {M-k MuNi'irra-t) w.ih un
exci'"ng mw idei th >l ,\-;l —rabidly bene^t 'he
nth -.:id ihe poor.
Can^-Uin pL.jAryhl Allan Strar.l">-i £•;><"! to
iVjtfEic-s lo ■Jl-j1-j ite '■is ponL Towards <he end
of he second a'-t, h'_ ,v.wr Ihe «loiy begins !o 1 <g
and Stratum practically boats the audience over
lhe ht!<"l .. ith his aire idy obvious interpre' al ton of
society. Perhaps 'he only symbolic distinction he
makes 'ire the ibnning couplets of ihe elite and
ihe common prose of the poor r<nd humeless. By
hd\Jng 'he usural'-r (McMonii doing Jouble
'Jul>J fde'ress ihp audieai'e directly, S'ratton
acknowledges some of tlie wc -ikneiscs of the play.
Th:s l:t'Je theu!ric?l devire works n\>l doesn't
detract fr"m he plot. In Dct, ma' h of -he humour
tomes fr"Ti 'hf-se m'ia:f:l«.
In gt-ner.il the hifih-ciirj-ty rabt is o'mne and
help* t'J redeem ihe -?tiipt's il-tws. Por'iciiariy
iri.j-rL'i.«i\e is Bri-i llvop'-r as i.ewB-\om?n Ka'ie
Hi the. IL'n.is MrMi'iran, however, wl-j proi'ided
■}:e hitjh'igl.t of "he night whf :i 3:e beu-buvol to !he
Baa Dabies r? ip. Yv>, -.h-.t's n<4ht. Be a iboj.hu c.nd
rapp^—,vbo knew? In f stt, ihf-ie are 'wo v-ev
pocted but ■-ifihtr'L«I\e mu«i(..l numbers, bomh
'.oil p-orforiM' 1 by all he nitor*.
Desji.te b'j-ne flaws, Ls ji!.iy is fua L'> w»ifh.
You r>wy be w'lideriiy why .'"is ;>!.-<>' is' ailed ' Bi£
Babies.' The audience had lo wail i.nlil tl^e end of
Act I lo find that out. You'll h=\e to wait, too ♦
CARING • TECHNOLOGY • CAREER OPPORTUNITIES ..
await you in this exciting field!
BCIT is now accepting
applications for the January
2003 term Radiation Therapy
Technology Training Program.
If you have two years
university (60 credits) with
Math, English and Physics,
and 40 hours (minimum) of
volunteer work, you may be
eligible to apply.
Application deadline:
September 30, 2002
To find out more about this
in-demand career:
School of Health Sciences
604.451.6923 or
Toll-free 1.800.663.6542
ext 6923
lorraine clarke-roe@bcit.ca
#- Continued
RANT
use their physical selves: in- war,.
exploration, * crusades.    Humans'
across the globe were strofig and
.   . durable. Then we progressed.
Y Y' '   White man'conquered all and wrote
books about it Simple .tasks were replaced
'   by machines, efficiency, and more machines..
• We-built roads from here to the gold mines,   *
Columbus made his ill-planned trip. Eventually^
we turned our fociis inwards, developing an intangible  sixth dimension.called 'cyberspace.' The
* human assembly line is no longer the most efficient
method of production and, leaving the discussion-of   ;
genocide for Another day, the explorers have done their
exploring.
It's no ^yonder extreme athletes have been popping up
by the herd over the last half a century. With all the
emphasis on having a big brain, we often forget about our
muscles. In an effort to save them, we play sports, have
sex, walk the dog around Stanley Park. People must make
a deliberate attempt to exercise in the urban playground.
Physical activity is, in turn, encouraged primarily as
recreation. And who has the money to spend on a new sea
kayak, scuba gear or a full-suspension mountain bike?
. . *-     ■ .   j.  -«•*.       ji   t    t That's   not   a
HB HAV> ALL
THB CLASSIC
PERSONALITY
TRAITS Of THB
-LIMITS
ATHLBTB
rhetorical
question. The
back-breaking
and necessary
evils of auto
mechanics,
plumbing and
construction
are reserved
for. the working class.
Okay, back
to the point.
So     there
are thousands
of people, suddenly, with an
eye on outdoor
activity to help
stimulate
relaxation.
Add two cups
of   corporate
media: with persistent greed for the bigger and better, television and magazines idolise and celebrate extreme-
sports athletes, those super-human people who represent
something to strive for and daydream about. What's more
eye-catching than a snowboarder throwing himself 200
feet in the air from a plush, untouched peak on the inside
flap of your magazine? One million other people are
thinking the same thing. Perhaps extreme athletes will fill
the history books as the explorers, crusaders and pirates
once did.
I used to date a man who thought he was an extreme
mountain biker. Now that's the worst of both worlds. His
appetite for adrenaline leaked into almost every other
aspect of his life, including future planning. He wanted a
degree in mountain sports, a self-built home in Whistler,
a solid mortgage investment plan and an apprenticeship
in furniture building within three years—having begun
none. I realised very quickly that even his memory of personal accomplishment was exaggerated; his friends had
filled me in on the details, which, of course, were far less
exciting. He had all the classic personality traits of the no-
limits athlete, which they're now saying might even be
linked up with an 'extreme gene.'
I definitely digress. I'm not
exactly building a positive
argument for riding my
bike down a mountain in
the name of personal
fulfillment.    Okay,    I'll
'       .      * ■    admit: I am sometimes pulled
>■•"' into extreme mountain biking prop
aganda.   I   went   to   the   Vancouver
< International Mountain Film Festival to watch
^\ Dirt.Divas andtJJide to the Hills. I scour the racks of
... specialty bike shop's and fantasise about having the
money to buy fatter tires. I know what an extreme athlete
eats, breathes and thinks because I read adventure magazines..
But my goals are meagre. If I hop over a wet log with-
. out slipping, I'm happy. Winding through trees and drifting over roots with my eye on the ground and my brain in
hibernation helps sift out the litter. As they say, that's all
that really matters.
Haven't I convinced you yet?
Well,  it's not all fan and
games and fat; tires.  I
realised recently that I
was so afraid of falling
that I would get upset
and discouraged every
time I was thrown—even
after   landing   on   my   feet.
Standing there on a cushion of
autumn leaves, my bike dangling
from a log a few feet away, I did a
quick inventory of body parts. Not
even a bruise. So why the fear?
I hopped back on and tried
again. It took several nervous
attempts, but when I pedalled the
entire length of that log and rolled
back onto the muddy trail, I whooped and
hollered as loud as I could. I had faced a
demon, the littie red monster that hangs from my
shoulder and tells me again and again to give up. You're
always scared, it hisses. Women are always afraid of
something.
I whipped that demon like lightning across the forest
Driving back to the city that day, there was something
different about the road, the overcast sky and the cars
weaving gently along the highway. A mystical soundtrack
might as well have been playing in the background.
It's addictive, you know, the desire to overcome a busybody mind. Eventually I found other ways to explore the
serenity brought to me by this simple vehicle. Oh, the
great surprise! Commuting around the city on an old
Apollo bicycle has become a vital part of my daily activity.
There are others who quietly enjoy this mental cleansing. They are on the streets and in our parks. They drift
from curb to curb, zigzagging along a deserted alley in the
orange light of night, opening themselves to the moon.
I pulled up alongside a car the other day and watched
a tired woman sitting in the driver's seat She lifted a cigarette to her mouth and, with glazed eyes, rolled slowly
through the intersection. Stuck in the mindset of technological advancement and all-round convenience, we
would sooner gather a guaranteed retirement pension
than fresh blackberries.
What a shame it would be to miss out on the pie. ♦ 12
Friday. March 22.2002
Opinion
Page Fridav-the Ubvssev Magazine
-' c> /  /  _ /■ r> Ay. Are you eotieamsd about tha tuition inoraatia and doaa
l\  \  X        x"  K,   /    ** C^SIRS9' how you plan to finance your education? "i
z
%m% §m ut m
—      «     N    T
winner    poetry
/     MIDNIGHT IN WONDERLAND
by  Kate  Bond
You've come into this garden, Alice;
here, under the porcelain madness of the moon,
will your crocus eyelids be moistened,
your waxing skin embroidered;
here will the whisper Drink me mist your ear.
I am inside the glass bottle;
I am inside cold licked candy
I am parched by you, Alice.
We could paint the roses black, you and I,
in this midnight garden of lacquered shadows.
I could crush these rose petals and raspberry tarts
and smear their blood on your newly tinselled throat-
in the spasms and the March madness^-
Off with your head, my quenching Alice;
I am the Queen of Hearts, of thirst and petals.
*.
'ifli
-%¥4
yt
/
\
*■-$&
runner-up    poetry
ROCK-SKIPPING AT HARRISON LAKE
-1
by Kat Kinch
There are spiderstrands, mercury bright, bridging the stones beside my feet.
I remember my child palms that knew which stone curves had forcefields surrounding
and could bounce the breadth of the waves between us and the boat
us and the ducks, us and the opposite shore.
Even the clouds stop here, snagged by the mountains and the spiky pines.
They turn pink and blue in the lazy ripple of the sky and they sink
into the valley below the lowest reaches of snow.
And the small, smooth stones, in multitudes, pave the lakefloor
and the ducks navigate the layer, chill and clear, between rock and air.
Seals come in, shiny and slick, from the salt water, to flop on the jagged beach.
I remember to count time in the proliferation of moss, the unfolding"
of young ferns, the shift from rain to sun and back again
and the bloom of heavy, hot mist under gleaming cedar.
Count time in the soft expansions of the lungs while sleeping
under snowbright stars, and in the interval between
the skip and the plop of a rock returning to its bed.
'     -'J <7'      !
.    .-    /      •      s>
J      .ft j
J
m

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