Author Archives: Jane Cawthorne

About Jane Cawthorne

Jane is a writer currently living in Victoria BC. She grew up in Toronto and also spent many years in Calgary where, among other things, she taught Women's Studies at Mount Royal College (now Mount Royal University). Her work is about women on the brink of transformation.

Survival is a Creative Act

I feel better today. Spiritually. Psychically. I attribute this to watching “American Symphony” with the incredible Jon Batiste. What he and his wife, Suleika Jaouad, share in this documentary is encapsulated by the line, “Survival is a creative act.”

I’m going to write that on post-it-notes and big banners and stick them all around my home because I have a lot to survive in 2024. I was not feeling good about it. Not too much optimism. And then this phrase pops up in my life exactly when I need it.

Batiste talks about how art finds its way to us when we need it in his speech at the Grammy Awards for best album in 2022. It’s magic. (As is the incredible coat he is wearing.) Sean Thomas Dougherty writes something like this in his poem, “Why Bother?” from his book The Second O of Sorrow. Why bother writing? “Because right now there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.”

Survival is a creative act. I looked the phrase up. Ocean Vuong said it in an interview with the CBC. I didn’t look any further. The funny thing is, I’m pretty sure I read that interview before, but the phrase didn’t stick then like it does now. Now is when I need it. And like magic, it found its way to me again.

For a lot of my life, surviving was something I did “on the side.” Then I would rejoin my life in progress. Whatever difficult thing was happening always felt like an interruption. Now I realize it is the main event. It feels good to bring it front and centre. Jon Kabat-Zinn talks about this in his book Full Catastrophe Living. Life is the full catastrophe. Every day. I first read this book when I was about thirty. So I’ve known this for a long time. But it is with me now on a deeper level.

American Symphony mentions Suleika Jaouad’s bestselling book, Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted. Both Batiste and Jaouad are at peaks of creative success when Jaouad has a relapse of the leukemia she describes in her book. What strikes me is the subtitle of her book and the idea of “interruption.” To be clear, I have not read this book, although by all accounts it is excellent. (I don’t read cancer narratives anymore. They bring back too many bad memories.) But this idea that our lives are “interrupted” by illness and other problems we have to solve is one I reject now. Maybe Jaouad does too, but again, I haven’t read her book. If you’ve read it, let me know.

Survival is not a side-hustle. It’s not something we do until we can rejoin our regular life in progress. Our life is whatever is happening. Cancer. Failing hearts. The deaths of our parents, our friends, our dogs. Divorces. Floods and fires. War. Genocide (as victim or witness). A global pandemic. Climate catastrophe. And through it all, our survival is a creative act. It is our life’s work. And to survive while acting with grace and the golden rule at top of mind is a life well lived. This is something I know to be true.

For those following my heart story, I still don’t have a date for the big surgery, but I have reason to believe it will happen before the end of March. I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, whatever you are surviving at this very moment, it is a creative act. Honour it.

On Tyranny: The Grim Reader

Today’s entry into The Grim Reader is a slim little volume called On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder. And when I say slim, I mean it. It’s an essay, really. It clocks in at 126 pages but the book is only 6″ x 4″. Tiny. Yet, it has a lot to say.

I’m breaking the rules because On Tyranny is not about climate catastrophe. But tyranny will only add to the catastrophe we face, so I’ll allow it. Also, it’s my blog, and these things will happen from time to time. So today, maybe it’s “The Slim Reader,” not “The Grim Reader.” (That was a really bad joke.)

Many of us born and raised in Canada after WWII are reluctant to think we have been touched by tyranny. I spent decades living in Alberta, Canada. In the early 90’s, I was teaching in a small town where some of the leaders of the brand new Reform movement lived. I was a young thing from Toronto and not having any of it. The brand of politics that has flourished in Alberta since then, nurtured on a poisonous and steady diet of oil, gas, and exceptionalism is not anything I want to be part of.

Inevitably, the politics in Alberta have not stayed in Alberta. They affect the rest of Canada. And that’s not because Albertans are right (no pun intended). It is in our human natures to try to be reasonable and accommodating. We are social animals. We want to stay with the group and keep the peace. We want Confederation to work. No one wants to break up the family. We want to get along. We are people who compromise (in a good way). We want as much “normal” as we can get. And as “normal” shifts, very often, we shift with it. (See Overton Window.)

This might be especially true in Canada where the motto, “peace, order and good government” is one many of us grew up with. We believe in it so deeply, we can’t imagine losing it. Our institutions will protect us, we think. But as Snyder notes, it is the other way around. We have to protect our institutions.

It’s important to note that peace, order, and good government were never true for marginalized people. Indigenous people certainly wouldn’t have accused Canada of having valued peace, order, or good government. Maybe more like “colonization, suppression, and control.”

Anyway. Here’s another way into Snyder’s work. We all know that ridiculous uncle who comes to dinner and drinks too much and spouts off and ruins everything. Then dinner is over and we all have a bad taste in our mouths. But we pretty much get to forget about him until the next gathering, the next holiday, the next wedding, or the next funeral (which, with any luck, will be his but these people seem to live forever even if they drink and eat cheeseburgers every day).

But imagine if you had to have dinner with that uncle every night? Ask an Indigenous person about that. What was it like for them when settlers took over? Imagine if the drunk uncle takes over as host and he sticks you at the children’s table? What then?

Snyder’s advice on what to do when tyrants try to take over is wide-ranging. These are also history lessons. From a warning against “anticipatory obedience” to new authoritarian measures, to urging us to “stand out” in our defiance, these lessons are critical now. He writes, “The moment you set an example, the spell of the status quo is broken, and others will follow.” One person can make a difference. This is the truth that people in power, that tyrants, don’t want you to believe, They want you to feel useless and depressed and despondent. They want you to go along with whatever it is they are doing because what’s the use in trying? We all know you can’t fight city hall.

But that’s not true. You make a difference. I make a difference. Stand up. Speak out.

Don’t worry about what that drunken uncle thinks of you. He’s ruining dinner for everyone, and we all know it. And it’s not his kids’ fault. Don’t blame them. Or his wife. It’s harder for them to stand up to him. They’ve got more to lose. The same is true for your average Alberta citizen who is kind and generous and would be the first to stop and help you if your car broke down, take you home while you wait for the tow truck and offer you a piece of pie and a cup of coffee.

It’s up to you. It’s up to me.

To be clear, Snyder does not talk about drunken uncles. He does talk about Churchill. Churchill stood out in WWII by refusing to give in to Hitler. He didn’t call Poland or France or Austria far away foreign countries that had nothing to do with him. He understood that the fate of those countries was tied to England’s. How did that end? Germany and Hitler were defeated. Churchill did not concede in advance, as others had done. (And please don’t reply with a history lesson. Just read the book and know that I am not doing Snyder’s argument justice with my brevity.)

Snyder also does not talk about Indigenous people and the history of white settler colonialism specifically. But, I feel certain that he would agree that it  was and remains tyrannical and that decolonization is an important means of acting against all tyranny.

Another of Snyder’s lessons is to “Be kind to our language,” by which he means don’t mindlessly repeat memes and clichés. Make an effort to say what you mean in your own way, if only to force yourself to think about it. (Thus, my drunken uncle analogy.)

Snyder’s lessons, while specific to tyranny, apply to all kinds of things. For example, he writes, “You submit to tyranny when you renounce the difference between what you want to hear and what is actually the case.” The desire to retain “normal” at all costs has cost us all. The pandemic rages on, bringing with it more death and mass disability. We continue to fail to make adequate progress on a just transition away from fossil fuels. COP 28 was held in a petro-authoritarian state and pocked with oil industry lobbyists. Sigh.

What would Snyder do? There is so much good advice. Be in the real world, on the street. That’s where change happens. The real work is done in the real world, not on the internet. (I am aware of the irony. But he also says we have access to mass communication tools and we should use them.)

“Make eye contact and small talk.” Talk to cashiers and neighbours and the receptionist at the dental office. Ask them about themselves. Listen to learn. Don’t fail to listen because you are busy thinking about the next thing YOU want to say. Be curious. Connect. Care. What do you have in common? What is it that you both care about? Maybe some day you will talk to them about what they are willing to do to save something important to them and important to you. Maybe some day, you will work on that together.

Snyder’s grimmest moment is when he writes about the average guy, who under the thumb of a tyrant, finds it is his job to shoot people and watch them fall into a mass grave. Or maybe his job is to bulldoze the dirt over the bodies. In another world, he might have been a plumber or a cop. Hey, it’s happened before. It can happen again. He warns people to “Be reflective if you must be armed.” Police forces historically have been put into the service of tyrants with terrible results. Grim indeed.

But also inspirational. His last lesson is, “Be as courageous as you can.” He writes, “If none of us is prepared to die for freedom, then all of us will die under tyranny.”

On Tyranny is must read. I’d be interested to know what parts of it speak to you.

Late add: Thanks to a reader who let me know there is a newer graphic edition which is haunting. Look for it.

 

 

 

 

Oh My Heart—And Yours

I recently received inevitable bad news. Twentyish years ago, when I was treated for cancer, I had chemotherapy and radiation. Everyone thinks chemo is hard (and it is) but radiation is also a very big deal. Radiation affected my heart and lungs. I have worked hard over the years to keep my cardio strength up. But I can’t keep ahead of it anymore. Radiation has calcified my aortic heart valve. I will undergo open heart surgery in the spring to replace it.

(I’m begging you, please don’t send medical advice.)

I’m ok. I’ve always known this was a possibility. I plan on living through it. I’m grateful to all the people who gave me this last twenty years. I got to see my wonderful child grow up and become the most superb adult.

And let’s face it, when I’m given that long list of side-effects and asked if I understand, what I hear is “Do I want to die now or later?” My answer is always, “Later.” I have a feeling I’m about to sign off on another bunch of those.

I have things I say about this turn of events. “The chickens have come home to roost,” is one. When I’m feeling slightly bitter, I might say, “Cancer: the gift that keeps on giving.” And now, a new one via my friend Marnie, whose parter has had open heart surgery twice: “It sounds dramatic, but remember, for the surgeon, it’s their Tuesday morning.” Good perspective. Thanks for that, Marnie.

I will stay in the hospital for seven to ten days. There are a lot of things to worry about and contracting covid shouldn’t be one of them. Currently, there is a mask mandate for hospital workers in my jurisdiction, but who knows if it will still exist in the spring.

I honestly don’t know what kind of monster would visit a cardiac ICU without a mask on. Or any part of a hospital.

Can you imagine having that covid cough after your sternum has been cracked open? I can’t.

This is where you come in.

I hear people lamenting the state of the world. It is lamentable. They ask, “What can I do?”  Whatever the issue is that you are lamenting, the answer is to take action. Action (hopefully informed action) fends off depression, for one thing. It’s great for that. It gives you a sense of control and gets you out of your own head, often because you are helping other people.

If you are concerned about the suffering and sickness all around you, the first and easiest action you can take to lessen it is to wear a mask. I’m going to say something harsh here. Get ready. If you are not willing to wear a mask, take a hard look at yourself. You really don’t care about the sickness and suffering all around you.

I cannot think of a situation that is not made worse by the pandemic and that would not be eased if SARS-C0V-2 were brought under control. Palestinians are getting covid while being bombed to near oblivion. But if genocide is your goal, covid is your helper. Climate disasters are made worse by people getting covid. Any illness or weakness you have lurking in your body is made worse by this vascular disease that can affect every organ in your body, including your brain. The decimation of your immune system means you will be sick more often. These are all known things. Get your head out of the sand and do some reading.

I’ve been wearing a mask since the beginning. It’s part of my life now. It is my normal. It is me, living with covid.

I am no longer willing to cut people with privilege and means any slack on this. If you are unaware of the criminal obfuscation going on around the airborne nature of this disease by public health and our so called leaders, it is because you don’t want to be aware of it. That’s on you. I wash my hands of you (knowing that hand-washing doesn’t do much to stop covid.) And if you are one of those public health people or alleged leaders, start doing your job. Start with distributing free masks. Then work on cleaning indoor air in public spaces you are responsible for.

I’ll still be active here. I’ll continue to talk about covid, about this new foray into the heart of me, and I’ll carry on with The Grim Reader. The pandemic and covid are conjoined twins of disaster. It’s important we keep trying our best.

And for those of you who will newly mask or mask again, thank you. For those who never stopped, thank you. We are all connected. We can’t ever forget that.

The Grim Reader: A Good War by Seth Klein

The Grim Reader (that’s me) continues with Seth Klein’s A Good War: Mobilizing Canada for the Climate Emergency. TBH, I was not expecting to like this book. I thought the metaphor was tortured, that the very idea that we could harken back to WWII and say, “Hey! Canada did it before so we can do it again!” was too much to bear. Maybe even jingoistic. I don’t ever want to look to war as an exemplary time. But I get it now. Sometimes you have to read the books you are disinclined to read. Klein has a point.

And I have to hand it to Klein for taking the most grim situation ever (climate catastrophe) and placing it against the mirror of World War II to give us exponential grimness. But it makes sense. It’s probably good to remind us all of the dangers of fascism and authoritarianism. Everything old really is new again. Klein reminded me of when we used to fight fascism. Those were the days!

I became engaged with Klein’s argument when he made the point that we are in an emergency, and we are failing to act like it. It’s like no one in charge wants us to know. But it’s time to spell it out. And lucky for us, Klein shows us that there is a play-book to follow. Another seemingly ineffectual government was similarly challenged and pulled itself together. It can be done.

Klein is not merely giving a history lesson, although he is giving a history lesson. He always comes back to the present with specific examples of how we could use the same idea now. It’s refreshing to read something so practical.

One of the many things I learned from Klein is that during the war, the Canadian government established Crown Corporations to do whatever needed to be done. I think they made 37 of them, but don’t quote me. I’m bad at remembering numbers. Let’s just say there were many. And these Crown Corporations got Canada ready for war. Now we have to gear up again. And sure, we should have done it thirty years ago, but here we are. Better late than never.

And not to get stuck on the Crown Corporation idea (there are many more in this book), Klein has a list of possible Crown Corporations that the Federal government could create now—RIGHT NOW—to manage us off fossil fuels. It’s a good list. I wanted to cut and paste it and send a letter to the Prime Minister.

The part that seems impossible to me is getting ideas like this through a polarized government where partisanship has taken the place of leadership. In times like this, can we get unifying messages out to create the kind of “All for one and one for all” can-do attitude that emerged during WWII? The obvious opportunity is to use the CBC. The CBC should be talking to Canadians about climate every day from Sea to Sea to Sea. Instead, our national broadcaster is facing even more cutbacks, and does anyone even care anymore? The public institutions that could be our helpers in this time have been made ineffectual and even dysfunctional. It feels purposeful. It saddens me.

(And yes, we are talking about a need for propaganda, by any other name. Messages of unity in the war were certainly propaganda. But if it works….)

There are ideas in A Good War that can help us in our quagmire. Nothing can help us out of it. It’s too late for that. But these ideas could ease the transition we are going to have to make whether or not we want to. They could make it less bad. And in the spirit of the book featured in the last Grim Reader, I Want A Better Catastrophe, being “less bad” is important.

Lastly, I think A Good War is a book that will speak to an older generation that many have almost given up on in terms of who might pitch in with our climate emergency. Too often, seniors are understood as the cause of the catastrophe and not part of the solution. There are a lot of seniors with energy, ambition, and time on their hands. Not to mention children and grandchildren that they love. Maybe Klein is on to something.

The Grim Reader—Climate Change Books

I’ve been reading about climate change. I’ve been reading so much about climate change I’m starting to call myself The Grim Reader. And of course, no one wants to talk about it. Or they do, but they don’t know how. So I’m starting a new thing. A book club for one. The Grim Reader. Come along with me. Comment. Maybe it will not be a book club for one after all.

Like most people, I’d like to leave behind a world that is recognizable for those who come after me. I have an adult daughter. I’d like her to live in some degree of security and comfort after I’m gone. And if she has children, I’d like their world to be safe, secure, and somewhat recognizable. And if that’s what I want, it’s time to get serious. If we keep going the way we are going, those simple wishes will not come true. Not for me, not for any of us. We hit the 2 degree mark last week—twice. That is, we were 2 degrees over our pre-industrial average. It’s what “they” have been telling us for years absolutely can’t happen. And it happened.

Meanwhile COP28 is being held this week in a petro-authoritarian state and was being called a failure before it even started. *Sigh*. I expect there to be a lot of sighing in The Grim Reader. But there is hope.

There are a spate of books about hope and climate change. All the behavioural psych research says we have to have hope. Why act if there is no hope? I am personally of a more existential bent. I believe we can face hard truths (for example, each and every one of us is going to die) and still find meaning, joy, and purpose in our lives. This is why I want to start The Grim Reader with Andrew Boyd’s, I Want A Better Catastrophe.

Boyd isn’t sugar coating anything. The premise of IWABC is that climate catastrophe is here. It’s baked in now. We’re in it. Welcome to the future. In his words, “We’re fucked.” But stay with me. He wonders, if we’re fucked (which we are), are we totally fucked or mostly fucked or a just little bit fucked. It matters. Because we want to find a better catastrophe.

A better catastrophe is still possible, although the window is closing by the second. There is hope here. But it’s realistic hope. It’s the kind of hope that doesn’t exist purely as a result of denial. It’s the kind of hope I can get behind. It’s a “roll up your sleeves” kind of hope.

In describing his own journey as an activist, Boyd talks to so many others about theirs. There is dark humour, which is something I really need. Maybe that is what inspired me to call this new part of my website The Grim Reader. 

IWABC is almost a compendium of everything everyone has ever said or thought about global warming/climate change/climate catastrophe. You can read it straight through or pick out pieces here and there.

There is even a little section on the right thing to call global warming/climate change/climate catastrophe. My own preference is climate catastrophe, but I think it turns people off. Too doomy. I’m currently throwing the term “climate insecurity” against the wall to see if it sticks. Because isn’t security what we all want? (Tangent Alert: If you think about security too, you might also want to listen to this year’s Massey Lectures by Astra Taylor.)

I also appreciate that after 352 pages, Boyd offers even more resources to turn to under the title “Stuff You Can (Still) Do.” It’s inspirational. You can reach the same information through his exceptional website, BetterCatastrophe.com.

If you do nothing else, check out his incredible flow chart. It’s a thing of beauty and a wonder of communication. It may change you. It changed me.

If you’ve read it, if you want to read it, if you have questions, please comment. I’d like not to be in The Grim Reader bookclub by myself.

(I review the occasional book on Goodreads, and IWABC is one of them. Some repetition, but also some other thoughts.)

Gardening and Writing

Sometimes, gardening is better for me than writing. Both gardening and writing are creative, but gardening has a messiness and physicality that writing lacks. That’s what I need right now.

It’s mid-October and my garden is still producing. Red and green leaf lettuce, romaine, arugula, Swiss chard, kale, beets and a few cucumbers that are trying really hard to become something bigger. The lacinato kale has been growing all year and currently looks like it belongs in a Dr. Seuss illustration. I’ve harvested the last of the cherry tomatoes and a few matinas that are ripening on the counter. I’m busy roasting them and with the help of my little freezer, I will be able to enjoy them through the winter when store-bought tomatoes are always a disappointment.

Cherry Tomatoes

Lacinato Kale

My carrots have always failed. I’m going to try again next year. Why not? The garden is an ongoing experiment. I’m not trying anything exotic. But the joy I get seeing a ripe strawberry and getting to it before the raccoons can’t be beat. I make decisions with the plants. I have to observe closely. The tomatoes have “told” me where they want to be next year. They don’t want to be clumped together. They want to be scattered throughout the beds where they can get more sun. I’ve jotted their wishes down in my garden notes for the spring.

Garlic goes in this week. Russian red. I grew it last year and it came up beautifully. It’s mild and delicious and when I see my garlic braid hanging by the back door, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Gardening whispers to me: grow.