Designer Traffic Jams

Construction of Obstruction and Traffic Constriction -- Victoria, BC

Although since COVID more people than ever are having goods delivered to homes and offices, the vehicles delivering them are being blocked by street design in Victoria, creating fantastic Designer Traffic Jams.

In the ever-growing ocean of traffic that grows with population, instead of crossing streets a pedestrian (or car or truck) is ship-wrecked on traffic islands in the middle of intersections, and must dodge through a tangle of bike lanes blocking the flow. In the middle of the road they will find “community spaces” when all they want is traffic space, so as to get from A to B without exhaust-spewing start-stop delays. 

This traffic restriction is about ideological strictures against automobiles. “Stricture” is related to the Latin word “strictus” (strict) -- and “stringere”, to tighten, which is what the City is doing to roadway access. “Strait” too comes from “strictus”: in oceanography a strait is a narrow marine passageway. In urban crossings too we find ourselves driving in straitened circumstances, where we used to have relatively wide open seas to navigate. No one is benefitting, not even the cyclists it's all supposed to be for, who spend more time trying to decipher traffic signs and figure out the meanings of flashing lights and which green light is whose, than zipping along the curbs in the simple old-fashioned way we used to do. 

Snarls-by-design create loud vocal snarling as well. Hate speech is okay, if directed against drivers. Yet if you don't drive, it's only because you out-source your delivery of cargo to others, professional and gig drivers who have to deal with anti-car street-design aggression every day.

The Waste Scream

 

The municipality is building a team for the Waste Stream Restructure Program

“It's a 270-step process,” announces Chief-Bureaucrat-in-Charge, “according to our newly-purchased tax-funded SafeWaste Digital Modelling APP.”

Estimating a twenty year completion time-frame, they are hiring several dozen new staff. Why will the project take so long, ask Taxpayers' Representatives?

“We can't begin until after the two-year comprehensive analysis of existing services.”

“Why so long for that?”

“The time frame's only an estimate at this point, as we're still in the pre-planning stage, before we get to the planning stage.”

“Oh. And in the distant post-planning future, what then?”

“Well, then we'll be do evaluation, estimation, consultation, designation of de-marginalization ...

“And for the public ... information?”

“About what?”

“About, say, a completion date?”

“Completion will depend on the pace of upgrades to international Climate Change Protocols, plus consultation with stakeholder, racialized, indigenous and trans groups regarding equity, inclusion, diversity and of course the building of a de-colonization checklist in partnership with our advisors from the university's new Faculty of Dynamic Indigenized Gender-Free Social Equity.”

“Oh. Well, getting back to the waste-stream ...”

“The what?”

“The stream of waste, isn't that what the project's about?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“Will you be able to marginalize and exclude harmful plastics from re-usable organic materials?”

(Pause) “Umm ... Well, of course I couldn't say, at this point in time. We need to take a deep dive into consulting, partnering, de-gendering, evaluating, assessing, sustaining and ...”

“So, my as yet un-born children will have graduated from university before your program graduates to any actual separation of plastics from organics, if anything organic still exists in the world by then, and ...”

“Okay, just hang on there, don't raise your objection at me Pal, we have rules around abusive questioning of members of Protected Public Employees Category A, and ... Why are you screaming? Do you have PTSD? Has something triggered you? Do you need an ambulance? Wait ... I'll text them ...

Sorry ... can't. Their message says 'LA-LA-LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU ...'”

 

 

We Ban Hate-Speech and Substitute Dislike-Speech

Everyone has inner censors, unconscious and conscious. An author's conscious self-censor is practical, knowing what not to say if you want what you say to be read. This means focus on core messages and don't repel readers at the outset. 

Controlling your tongue has always been wise. Remember those old-fashioned phrases: "least said, soonest mended", and "if you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all". 

Some would call this muzzling, yet would simultaneously like to silence anyone quoting such Euro-cultural phrases. (Ironic, or what?) But those who really care about free speech like to analyze what frees it. "Softly softly" goes further in enhancing communication than does furious shrieking that offends others. 

There's a lot of hysteria about "hate speech" at present, and by accusing others of it ideologues are killing the messenger whenever they don't like a message -- for instance, if it's about a history they deny and for tribal reasons pretend didn't happen, or shouldn't have. Scholarship in universities is more deeply injured by that kind of censorship than social media chatter is.

The knee-jerk "Hate Speech" accusation is disingenuous, but what may be more corrosive, and no one is objecting because it may be their favourite rhetorical tool, is Dislike Speech. How should we calibrate the distinction between "hate" and disapproval?

Love and hate, like and dislike, are emotions, and we can't abolish emotion. Whether expressed or hidden, it's there.

People who hide their hatred often feel free to convey serial dislike (hatred-lite), directing it at values they object to. This Dislike Speech colonizes space from which full-on free expression is driven out -- casting a pall of negativity over communication everywhere. 

So what is the result of all this? Speech law can control what people say, but not what they feel. We need to create an atmosphere of honesty plus courtesy, without letting the heavy-handed "tone police" take over. These are speech-suppressors who call honest feelings of dislike which they don't share, "hate". 

There have also arisen two classes of hate speech -- the permitted (against white, "settler" and "colonial" people) and non-permitted (against anyone else). If you put someone in any sort of "privileged" category, you get a free pass to hate him or her -- and to say so.

When the targeted group dislikes the tone of what's being said they must reserve the right to say so … even if they hate to be disagreeable.

 

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The Fridge Festival 2023

Actor 1: You going to the Fridge this year?

Actor 2: Oh yes! But there are so many shows I don't know which to watch.

1: A bumper crop.

2: Couldn't consume them all.

1: Choose mine!

2: You've got a play in the Fridge Festival?

1: Yup: here it is!

The curtain opens on a refrigerator. 

ACTOR 1 opens the 'fridge door upon shelves of food. Other actors sit behind a table where, holding up changing food-masks, they speak:

Peach:  Stop bumping into me, Beef, you're bruising me.

Beef:  You're thin-skinned, Peach. I'm just trying to get away from Blue Cheese. He smells.

Garlic:  It's too crowded in here. Is there a banquet coming up or something?

Beef:  Yes -- a wedding anniversary.

Peach:  Whose?

Beef:  The couple who live in this house and own this Fridge.

Garlic:  Oh them. They're so high and mighty, they think they own us food too. But we have our own lives to live. I'm having a family -- see these green shoots coming out of me?

Beef:  Yuck, that's indecent. This isn't a farmyard, Garlic. It's the Fridge.

Potato:  Yeah -- a stage beyond the farm.

Garlic:  Well it seems like a farmyard given the amount of dirt in this fridge.

Peach:  That's because it was the househusband's turn to clean it. The housewife reminded him last night, and then she removed all his beer for emphasis.

Garlic:  Good, it was too crowded in here. I hate it when crafty bottles hop onto the top shelf.

Beef:  I just hope no one else starts reproducing. Stay on your own shelf, Garlic. You too Potato, you're sticking those white protuberances out all over the place. You should be down in the vegetable drawer.

Potato:  With a bunch of limp lettuce? Forget it. And I don't see why you think you're so top drawer, Beef. You're just a hunk of dead flesh.

Cheddar: (gasping) I'm drying out. Parched. I need a drink, I wish someone would spill that wine again. Why don't you roll up against the grapes, Potato, maybe we could get a few drops that way.

Corn:   It was Mr. Householder who spilled the wine, that's one reason Mrs. Householder finally kicked him out, along with his beer. He wouldn't take his turn at the cleaning.

Beef:  Nothing new in that.

Corn:  She finally got fed up.

Beef:  How do you know all that?

Corn:  Heard it with my own ears. Didn't you hear that big crash last night? It was Mr. Householder slamming our fridge door shut.

Onion:  But look! It's not shut. That's why it's getting so warm in here.

Beef:  He broke it! If Mr. Householder moved out that would explain why my friends have disappeared. He took all the meat with him. She lives on fruit and veg.

Olive:  Much healthier.

Peach:  Yes. I'm glad there's less meat in here, meat is just dead animals - who didn't die happy.

Garlic:  How true! Whereas we're still alive --

Potato:   -- and still reproducing!

Olive:  Well please stop. I dislike your odours and fecundity, Potato and Garlic. I like a nice tidy rounded little body that knows its boundaries -- like mine, for instance.

Potato:  Yeah -- round body with a heart of stone.

Beef:  You're just the poor man's meat, Potato.

Potato:  I am not, I'm the underground apple.

Grapefruit:  I wish you`d stay underground, if you`re going to keep extending those protuberances into my face.

Cheddar:  Ignore Grapefruit, Potato – he’s got a sour personality.

Potato:  Positively acidic. By the way, does anyone know why there`s going to be a wedding anniversary if one of the householders has moved out?

Corn:  Maybe there won`t be one now. Especially since he broke the fridge door by slamming it and she doesn`t know how to fix it.

Milk:  That`s bad news. It`s too warm in here for the likes of me. I can't keep my cool under these circumstances.

Tomato:  Well, improvise! I like it warm, myself. I`m not even supposed to be in here, getting chilled. At first I was green with envy of those on the top shelf, but now I blush red at my stupidity. I miss the airy freedom of the counter-top, and hanging with the bananas.

Beef:  So anyway ... there was to be a banquet? That would account for the new immigrants in here. Exotic looking, and stuck in their own boxes, not mixing. (Beef calls out) Hey! Foreign stuff in that box! How do you pronounce your name? Parmigiano? What country are you from, Chiabatta? And who are you, Bribiou?

Tomato:  Shh! Don't be rude to immigrants. They're cheeses.

Cheddar:  No they're not, they're "fromage". Me, I'm just “cheese”. But at least I'm organic cheddar.

Corn:  Well bully for you. Me, I grew up in a junk-soil area and it never did me any harm.

Cheddar:  How do you know?

Corn:  Of course I did get hooked on drugs -- weedex and killex and such -- but then I went into rehab. Otherwise known as the grocery store.

Cheddar:  I'm from a deli-patisserie-gelatto-parlour myself.

Potato:  Well la-di-da. Hey Milk: remember when plain "corner store" was good enough?

Milk:  Yeah, and no one gave a fudging fromage about lactose and gluten, either. All I ask is to be decently cooled.

Lettuce:  Me too. I`m sweltering, I`m going limp.

Garlic:  You were always limp, Lettuce, limp and clingy. No fibre.

Fish:  No backbone.

Potato:  (pause) Oh, you're there Fish. So househusband left you behind. Is that awful smell coming from you?

Fish:  No, that`s the clams, they were shoved to the back of the shelf when he grabbed the beer and left the door open.

Potato:  I didn`t know you were in there, Clam. So shy. You should come out of your shell a bit. Be more friendly.

Apple:  Oh no, Potato, now look what you`ve done. You made Clam cry.

Onion:  That's a change, usually I'm the one accused of making everyone cry.

Apple:  Clam wants to go back to the vast cold ocean and the safety of mudflats. She's crying salty tears all over me and ruining my beautiful shiny skin.

Potato:  All you care about is looks, Apple. What a prima donna.

Corn:  Or prima pomm-a! Ha, ha ...

Apple:  Oh shush. You're too corny. Of course I care about looks. And to think you call yourself the apple of the earth, Potato! You'd be an insult to the Pyrus family if you were a real apple.

Corn:  Speaking of looks, another thing I overheard through the open door last night, is that Mr. Householder has found someone new. Maybe someone better looking, eh?

Olive:  And sluttier -- doesn`t mind a dirty Fridge.

Peach:  He`s a creep, then. As unfaithful as that Runner Bean who ran off with the hot peppers.

Onion:  I happen to know it wasn't that simple about Runner Bean. I take a layered view, myself. It takes time to get to the centre of an issue and ...

Beef:  Quiet! What's that smell? Who died?

Onion:  What do you mean, who died?

Beef:  I smell the rot of death. And what's that keening funereal drone? Oh no: it’s a fly! Down in the vegetable drawer. I smell the grave down there. And look: it`s not one fly, there's a cloud of them.

Milk:  Ring the alarm-Bell-Pepper! Maybe someone will come and re-house us.

Peach:  No. There’s nothing we can do about it. We all know we're on death row. No one lives forever.

Lettuce:  Leading to death salad bowl, you mean.

Beef:  Death chopping block.

Corn:  Or death’s lethal pot -- bubble bubble toil and trouble.

Olive:  Now look what you`ve done, with all this gloomy talk: Clam`s crying again, Blue Cheese is sweating with fear, and the carrots have gone rubbery at the knees. Stop with the lurid tales of crime and woe, everyone.

Lettuce:  Why? I like a good pot-boiler, since I`ll never actually be in a pot, myself. Nor in a cauldron with "a charm of powerful trouble".

Beef:  Shhh! What`s that noise? (pause)

Peach:  It's human voices! Stop talking everybody, don't let them hear us. They don't like dietary dialogue, it reminds them of TV commercials.

                   Pause. The actor-foods stand up and turn in a                    circle, shedding masks and facing the audience as humans.

Mrs. Householder (Actor 1):  My husband (now ex-, you understand) slammed the Fridge door so hard he broke it. Now it won't close properly, and the food's going off. I said to myself, what I need is a really good trusty handyman. Someone faithful, someone I can rely on.

Handyman (Actor 2):  Right you are. Glad you called. I'm your man! Direct me to your Fridge and I'll start workshopping right away (pause as he looks inside) ... but I don't know what to do about all this large cast of food that's going off.

Mrs. Householder: I do -- let's eat it! You can stay for dinner, can`t you?

Handyman:  Sure! You open the wine, I`ll fix the door and we'll throw out stale roles and stage only the food that's kept its character!

Mrs. Householder:  I've got some wines that were sold cheap after the flood in the hotel. This will be one terrific Feast Scene and with no Banquo at it.

Handyman:  Just a chorus of vintages from the wine sale!

Mrs. Householder:  Just put that wilted fruit and veg onto the compost pile, okay? Its run is over.

Actors sit at the “fridge” table again, resuming their food masks.

Potato:  Did you hear that? There will be a feast after all – it's our night to shine!

Beef:  Yes, and I'm the star of this feast, this celebration, this new beginning! It's my big role, my destiny, it's what I was born for.

Peach:  What you were "born for"? You were never born, Beef, you were hacked off a dead carcass. You're a butt of jokes and I'd like to attend your roast, but I`ll be too busy seeing my stone into a good compost-home so the tree of my grandpeaches gets started.

Beef:  A tree? But where will you be, Peach? You're no tree. Sounds like you don't know whether To Be Or Not To Be.

Yam:  Unlike me. I always know what I yam.

Corn:  Ignore Peach. She`s a fuzzy thinker. Never gets to the kernel of the matter. I'll be with you at the feast, Beef.

Potato:  Me too, but first my tuberous offspring will be cut off and planted. My dynasty too will live on, like Peach's!

Lettuce:  I, like other fruit and veg, will return to the soil that created us. We go home. It will be a relief to get out of this overcrowded Fridge performance. Don't you agree, Garlic?

Garlic: Yes. But as soon as my roots are established, all in good vegetative time, I will stage a revival.

              Actors stand up from behind “the fridge”,                                         take off masks and become humans again

Handyman:  There you go -- the Fridge is fixed! It should perform brilliantly for another ten years. Now, to the stove. Let's start the feast! We've got our roles, I'll cook, you pour the wine ...

Mrs. Householder enters with 2 glasses of wine, and they toast the audience:

Here's to the Fridge Festival. Food jokes are always fodder for a revival! 

CURTAIN

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For Whom the Vote Polls -- the Armchair In-Activist

Before we vote in elections, we vote in polls -- telling our opinions, revealing public preoccupations -- so that politicians can tailor their messages to what they think we want to hear. What do we want to hear? Many of us want to hear we won't have to be bothered by yet another election. (Didn't we just have one? And doesn't it always end the same way -- with The Government?) But we probably won't get that wish. Political parties lust for the holy grail of A Majority. Yet, to their shared mantra of diversity, inclusion and equity, they should add "minority". (Only minorities can be diverse; a majority is by definition less diverse, more uniform, more herded.) 

The poll in the form of the online survey never includes diversity, for it excludes the whole offline part of the public. Often, that means the seniors -- the very citizens with most accumulated life-wisdom.

As for polls of candidates, no one polls perfectly. Some are good on, say, free speech but have never heard of animal rights. Some are good on eco-conservation, but terrible about history-preservation. T(here is reality-history, and fantasy-history, and any politician trying to please everybody is intersectionally intermixing knowledge with idiocy.) Some would preserve literacy, while simultaneously mouthing that Education Is Elitist. It must be hard trying to choose between principles and popularity, but then, candidates knew that that's what politics was like …

That's why, on the other side, not voting might seem the most rational plan: cherry-picking campaigns, not parties. Being an Armchair In-Activist. This citizen thinks, reads, considers (that's what an armchair is for: propping up a book on the arm, or propping your arm on the arm, as cheek cupped in hand you muse, read, consider …) Yes, the armchair's where the meeting of minds takes place, where private judgement meets public pronouncement. At least, it often does for the old-fashioned offline literate person -- who may be the politicians' most-missed target.

 

Name-Laundering

The ornithologists' group “Bird Names For Birds” is trying to erase human names from the birdwatchers' catalogues of species, in the interests of racial diversity. The Audubon Society's naming committee resisted this at first but is caving in to pressure (perhaps changing its own name to the AuduBAN Committee?). Once a campaign like this takes flight, of course, it will spread beyond birds to more earth-bound species names, such as those of plants.

We will have to say goodbye, presumably, to the "Black-eyed Susan" daisy, as well as Indian plum, Oriental lily, Chinese evergreen and Japanese anemone. To refer to the China doll (Raderachera sinica) will probably be considered hate speech. Many varieties of cactus too are offensive to name-launderers: "Ladyfinger cactus" sounds sexist, "African Milk Tree" racist, and the Easter cactus and Bishop's Cap cactus are clearly offensively white-western-Christian.

But why stop at Avia and Botanica? What about farm animals? About the Rhode Island Red chicken, the Clydesdale horse, the Holstein milk cow? All white European/American place names behind those. 

And what about pets? It's raining racist cats and dogs out there. The famously aristocratic superiority of the Siamese cat won't help it now to hang on to its time-honoured name. Nor will the "Russian Blue" keep his. (Russians are bear people; Russians aren't pussycats, and its racist to suggest otherwise.) And dogs? Forget you ever heard of the Pekinese. And what about the shameful national nomenclature embedded in Irish wolfhound, German Shepherd, French poodle? Possibly Australians won't be as bothered about the Australian sheepdog (being more laid-back in the out-back), and the label “English bulldog” has become a symbol of national pride. But wait, it's shamefully colonialist, isn't it?

A co-founder of the ornithological group “Bird Names For Birds” objects to naming species after humans, meaning after “folks that were involved in colonial times”. But then who wasn't “involved in the times” when they were born, when they were alive? How could they not be? That they also were the first to identify and describe a species is just a thing they did then, and attaching their name to the catalogued species not only acknowledges their contribution to science, it gives us historical and biographical markers to go with the scientific ones. 

The attacks on names, as on monuments and statues, are actually attacks on historical scholarship. Will it stop? Will we even be allowed to keep our own names? If it can't be attached to a species or a street, can your name even attach to yourself? If it shows guilty association with your times, your country, your ancestry ... and hearkens back to the "Age of Exploration", dawn of democratic humanism, developed nation-hood, and famous familial names? 

-- ban it. But how will we know who anyone is? Clearly, we need a new directory: Field Guide to the Culture Wars, though it's hard to see what language it could be written in -- not one using the Roman alphabet, obviously.

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