Wolfgang Ziegler at the Seed Museum in Gönningen, Germany.

This is a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while, and I’m pretty psyched to finally have found an excuse to write about it. There’s more to it, but this is a good intro. If the subject floats your boat, take a trip to Matador to get the whole scoop…

How the US is behind the rest of the world in GMO policy

On the state of the anti-GMO movement in America.

I come from a long line of seed traders in the small village of Gönningen in the Swabian region of Germany. As far back as the 17th century, my ancestors were traveling all over Europe, selling tulip, hyacinth, and narcissus bulbs and heirloom tubers, from the Netherlands to the Black Sea. In the 18th century, these intrepid villagers took their high-value seeds all the way down the Mississippi River Valley, traveling by foot, ship, and train via Liverpool and New York all the way to Memphis, Tennessee.

Books have been written and films have been made in Germany to document this important piece of history, not just for the entertainment value of this pre-television version of The Amazing Race, but because the very idea of small-town merchants disseminating saved seeds has all but become a thing of the past, thanks to giant agribusiness conglomerates like BASF, DuPont, and Monsanto. When my uncle, Wolfgang Ziegler, closed his small seed store a few years ago, he was the last member on my mother’s side of the family to have called himself a seed trader.

Fast forward to November 6th, 2012, an ocean, continent, and centuries away from the Gönningen of yore: In the State of California, USA, residents are being asked to vote on Proposition 37, a referendum whose passing would require food products made from plants or animals with genetically modified organisms (GMO) to be labelled as such.

Read more…

1. Go about business as usual as if nothing happened.
2. Make fun of anyone who took the end of the Mayan calendar literally.
3. Acknowledge that the world (as we know it) is in fact ending, and find the deeper lessons in it.

While it was physically impossible for the world to “end” (go poof?) on the same day in all time zones, the end of the 13th (144000 day) b’ak’tun cycle in the Long Mayan Calendar also means that we’re now at the beginning of the 14th. So really, whatever you think of the Mayan Calendar (or any other calendar, for that matter), a more precise interpretation as to what is actually happening is a transition from one unit of measurement to the next.

This does not come as a surprise, as in this solar system of ours everything seems to be happening in cycles: Day follows night, new Moon follows full Moon, spring follows winter follows autumn follows summer follows spring. Momentum and gravity just keeps us spinning around the Sun. We don’t always (or hardly ever) know what will happen tomorrow, next year, next century, or next B’ak’tun, but what we do know for certain is that something will happen.

Music and the Moon: The two workhorses of the universe

The idea of an absolute ending thus can only exist in our heads, and my guess is that it stems from a projection of fear and insecurity we hold in regards to the limited time we each individually have on this grand carousel. If we were more at peace with our own impermanence, there wouldn’t be a market for apocalyptic fear.

And yet, we are human creatures forced to scratch and claw our way through this limited-time-only earthly offer, not gods who can fill their universal bellies at the tables of infinite grace and boundless love. We schedule meetings, set deadlines, make reservations, plan events, listen to 70s music, wear 80s clothing, and study an ancient civilization’s understanding of time, so we can partition that which is timeless and endless into bite size chunks, to be more easily digestible by our preferred operating system, the brain.

Dividing time into different sections is like getting on a boat to escape the endless ocean of mystery. Our daily calendars are like personal life rafts that keep us afloat and moving. Birthdays and anniversaries are like party boats where we remind each other that we’re on the rugged ocean while keeping a safe distance to the water. Big epochal time divisions like centuries, millennia, B’ak’tuns, and Piktuns, on the other hand, are more like cruise ships: transferring from one to the next is like moving a boatload of people (pun intended) across the dark sea on a bunch of rope bridges. There’s bound to be some panicked splashes during a big collective brush with eternity.

Our B’ak’tun cruise ship plowing towards melting glaciers

That’s what I suppose is happening right now. A bunch of us earthlings, collectively tuned in via social media and perhaps even psychically, dangling between two Mayan long count cruise ships, some enjoying the ride, others freaking out, some trying not to look down, others standing on the pier, laughing in jest.

There are, of course, those who say, “look, there is no cruise ship or any other floating device.” They’re called Buddhists. And yes, they are right. It’s all a figment of our imagination. There is indeed no cruise ship, and there is no long count. Not even a short count. There is only the open ocean.

But, as sentient beings on a small planet in an infinite universe, our imagination is the glue that binds us all together and connects us with our source. It enables us to give meaning to our existence and to fill that mysterious blank canvas with the painting of our choice. It is meaning, after all, that is the oxygen of the soul, the food of the gods, without which neither our minds can survive nor our hearts can evolve.

And yet, meaning can’t be packaged, made to expire, or empirically proven. It arrives unannounced and happens when we least expect it. We know when it’s there, but we can’t describe it. It’s not the story, it’s the lesson. It’s not what is given, it’s what we make of it. It’s what turns mere numbers into dreams and metaphors.

Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas and a frog won’t stay in a pot of slowly boiling water. And still, although we know these things to be demonstrably false, we understand the meaning of these metaphors, each in our own way, yet clearly and unequivocally. One resonates because it evokes our highest human potential as giving, sharing, and caring beings. The other captures our collective imagination because it viscerally shocks us out of our shared inclination for denial and complacency. Though not true, these stories are full of Truth.

The question we should thus ask ourselves about the Mayan Calendar is not whether it was correctly calculated or whether any particular prophesies are to be taken literally (though I don’t see why the Maya would believe that the world would literally end in the middle of even longer Piktun, Kalabtun, K’inchiltun, Alautun counts). The question that to me seems the most juicy and relevant is, why has it captured our collective imagination as it has? What is it about an ancient chart that has drawn us like moths to the flame at this particular point in history? Why are we responding so strongly to a passage of time so big and long and unfathomable that it is out of anyone’s personal reach? What is its Truth for us right now?

I’ve heard this and seen it written quite a bit in recent weeks, and I believe this to be the answer: the reason we are psychically drawn to such a long and ending cycle is because deep down we share an awareness that life as we know it cannot continue any longer. It resonates because even on a conscious and intellectual level we all know that we have created problems that may very well be beyond our control and lead to endings of all kinds. We all know it — the unprecedented carbon and methane emissions, melting arctic ice sheets and permafrost feedback loops, the loss of top soils, forests, and biodiversity, 7 billion humans and growing, droughts, floods, an economic system based on perpetual growth, and on and on. The planet is bursting at the seams and we are behind the wheel, pedal to the metal.

To me, our collective tapping into the Mayan b’ak’tun cycle and channeling it as an end-of-times energy makes perfect sense. While a lot of it has certainly been overhyped by media outlets and attention seekers who are sure to move on to the next big news cycle tomorrow, for the rest of us I feel like this is both a blessing and an opportunity to raise our consciousness and tune into a higher frequency. It’s like we’re being woken up from our consumer nightmare to re-envision and re-imagine and re-dream a new world in which we’re physically and energetically realigned with our home planet.

To be sure, while this is not a “poof, everything is gone” moment, this is also not a “poof, we’re all enlightened” moment. It’s a transition. And it’s only an invitation for us to do the hard work it will take to live within our ecological means. I’m not sure we can do it. We’ve already altered the earth’s ecosystem and atmosphere so much that the planet we remember no longer exists. But it is more than worth the try, because I believe that the path to healing our planet is also the path to healing our ailing soul.

It’s a new beginning, but this time we don’t need the cruise ship. We can just swim.

From Burning Man to Critical Mass to Santacon, whenever there’s a public display so beautifully weird and unheard of that it makes people stop in their tracks and burst into random giggles and conversations, chances are it’s connected to the City by the Bay. Add in our penchant for geeky tech explorations and you could call this condition we’re collectively afflicted with a severe case of “prototyping mania.” It didn’t surprise me at all then when I heard that the Urban Prototyping Festival (UP Festival for short) was going to make one of its inaugural appearances this weekend in downtown San Francisco.

Check out the whole story and tons more pics at shareable.net

I’ve posted about Sunday Streets quite a few times and I keep telling myself that I don’t need to do it again, but what makes this event so special is that it’s never quite the same. Each time I go, even for just a couple of hours, there are new sights and sounds. The people who’ve been there before keep reinventing themselves, and all the first-timers add so many new layers of fun and creativity that it’s hard to keep up. I really can’t say it enough, but when the streets are for the people and the people get out of their cars, really cool, creative, and unexpected stuff happens, just like that.

Of course, there were the usual suspects, like the lindyhoppers…

the hula-hooping kids…

and the finger-pickers…

there was serious chillin’ out…

and the roller-blading acrobatics…

There were some variations on familiar themes. For example I’d seen lots of cute pets and heard cool tunes, but I hadn’t seen the bulldog standing in as a flyer for a sidewalk sale…

or a Balkan brass band smokin’ it up…

But I knew something was up when even bubble girl — a Sunday Streets institution — was stopped in her tracks. Was that really what I think it was?

Yup, it was a mechanical pony, a modern day hobby horse made for streets of few cars. Bubble girl couldn’t resist a closer encounter…

But wait, that wasn’t it. As we kept walking, they kept coming in our direction…

as if it was the most normal thing in the world, like checking your emails…

Indeed, this could become a daily sight if it’s up to these guys bringing horses back to the mission district…

This kind of transportation may seem a little unusual, but I think it really signifies the bigger kind of changes we need to see in how we get around in our cities, if not literally but definitely symbolically. It’s all nice to tinker around the edges, a bike lane here and a Smart Car there, but I think it’s not just about physical changes but about a different kind of thinking, a more imaginative way of being together, if we really want to have cities and settlements that are on a people scale.

Most ideally, a little people scale…

In order to create a whole new paradigm we really have to dare to embrace the impossible, and as we were walking back towards 24th Street, we were stopped in our tracks by a perfect demonstration of what’s possible when we collectively attempt to rearrange the existing pieces…

Yup, there it was, the leaning tower of street jenga…

With the slanted table and a fierce San Francisco wind blowing we thought that we were pretty much witnessing the end of the game, but what happened next…

was really amazing.

One guy after another kept stepping up, pulling out piece…

after piece…

There were so many oohs and aahs, and people were having a great time, laughing and cheering each other on…

With each move it felt more and more like we were all in this together. This kid was amazing, he literally took out the foundation of the tower…

and unbelievably, with its entire bottom corner missing, the tower stood…

It was nothing short of a miracle, but then again I kept thinking to myself that this is what we can do on a larger scale, to re-envision our entire foundation without collapsing the whole thing. We just have to work together and support each other. And we’ve got to be bold!

In the game, however, we know what must happen…

but in life it’s the process of collaborating, pushing each other further, and expanding our horizon that frees us from the same old building blocks that got us stuck in the first place. The future we want is in our hands, and in our streets.

by Sven Eberlein, reposted from Yes! Magazine

Money talks. Occupy George’s graphic artists highlight who has the wealth in the United States—and who doesn’t—then send those dollars back into circulation. Photo from Occupy George.

Since long before Abbie Hoffman dropped dollar bills over the New York Stock Exchange—unleashing hilarity as Wall Street traders scurried to gather up cash—humor has been a potent political weapon. It can expose the absurdities and inequities of consumer society. It doesn’t need big bucks to be effective or contagious—Occupy has shown that creativity and imagination can be powerful enough to build a national movement. And the Internet and social networking can allow a well-orchestrated prank to reach millions in minutes. Want to use your wit to confront corporate power? Here are creative and inspiring examples.

Truth in Advertising

Corporations may try to influence our perceptions through advertising, but who’s to say activists can’t give their messages a little editing? San Francisco’s Billboard Liberation Front has been “improving” ads for clients ranging from Wachovia Bank to McDonald’s for more than 30 years. One recent campaign helped telecommunications giant AT&T refine its message from an obtuse “AT&T works in more places, like Chilondoscow” (Chicago, London, Moscow, get it?) to the more discerning “AT&T works in more places, like NSA Headquarters.”

“Not only were we helping NSA cut through the cumbersome red tape of the FISA system, we were also helping our customers by handing over their emails and phone records to the government,” read a statement to press from James Croppy, designated by the Billboard Liberation Front as the “AT&T vice president of homeland security.”

Other activists have fought back by getting their own ad space. Canadian artist Franke James launched a crowd-funded ad campaign on bus shelters throughout Ottawa, using her visual essays to call out the Harper administration’s coddling of dirty oil industries. “It’s a great way to change the conversation from consuming stuff to making positive social change happen,” says James.

Mobbing the Lobby

Reverend Billy delivers mountaintop mud—and entertaining political theater—to Chase Bank lobbies. Chase has “financed 80 percent of the mountaintop removal strip mining in Appalachia,” Reverend Billy said. Photos courtesy of Reverend Billy.

The mall, the bank lobby, the retail store—the spaces where ordinary people interact with corporations—are ideal locations for political theater that raises awareness.

Reverend Billy and his “Church of Stop Shopping” are a band of activists on a mission to draw attention to the problems of consumerism. Two years ago, they decided to hold their Easter Sunday service at JPMorgan Chase’s Astor Place branch in Manhattan.

“This is a call to bring the earth back to the bank that has financed 80 percent of the mountaintop removal strip-­mining in Appalachia,” announced Reverend Billy.

Armed with soil sent by activists from West Virginia’s Coal River Valley, they built a little mountain sculpture in front of the ATMs, singing, “There’s a mountain in my lobby!”

Two months later, Chase announced that it would subject all mountaintop removal financing to more extensive review and revealed that it was no longer serving coal company Massey Energy. The Reverend doesn’t claim credit, but he believes the church’s 18-branch campaign may have been “the mosquito in [Chase’s] tent.”

Similarly, in August 2010, a progressive group called the Backbone Campaign used the floor of a Target retail store to stage a flash mob—and draw attention to the Citizens United Supreme Court ruling that lets corporations give unlimited campaign contributions. (Target gave $150,000 to the anti-gay, anti-worker candidate for governor of Minnesota.) On a quiet day inside a Seattle Target branch, a group of ordinary-looking people standing beside shopping carts broke into song and dance as a brass band played the 1980s hit “People are People”—with new words and the catchy chorus line, “Target ain’t people, so why should it be / allowed to play around with our democracy?”

The 5-minute, GLEE-style dance party got some of the other shoppers visibly animated and shaking their booties. The YouTube video of the event, created by Agit-Pop Communications, went viral, with over 1.5 million hits.

Artist Franke James designs art and ads addressed to Canada’s prime minister.

Running for Office as a “Corporate Person”

The absurdity of the legal precedent that says corporations are people is hard to ignore. Eric Hensal decided to mock corporate personhood by testing out whether a corporation could run for office. The Murray Hill Inc. for Congress campaign began with a proposal written on a napkin at a Tastee Diner. “I’m driving to meet someone for breakfast one morning, the Citizens United decision comes on, and I’m like, the hell with it, I’m running my corporation for Congress,” says Hensal, owner of the small, Silver Spring, Md., public relations company.
“Murray Hill Inc. for Congress puts a boring subject like campaign finance on a human scale,” says Hensal. “People laugh, but they appreciate the underlying truth behind it.”

Impersonating a Corporation

Occupy Our Homes helps homeowners stand up to banks and sends protesters to camp out at the homes of people facing eviction or foreclosure. Photo by Johnny Nguyen.

Enbridge, an oil company with a long record of spills, planning a pipeline more than 700 miles long through pristine British Columbia wilderness—what could possibly go wrong? Enter the Yes Men’s “MyHairCares” campaign, a flurry of fake press releases under the Enbridge name asking more than 1,000 salons across Canada to collect hair to mop up the oil giant’s future spills.

For years, Andy Bichlbaum and Mike Bonanno, a.k.a. The Yes Men, have been drawing attention to corporate abuses by pretending to be corporate spokesmen. The Yes Lab for Creative Activism’s new “project wizard” allows anyone to cook up the next prank. “Nothing we do is rocket science,” says Bichlbaum. “After coming up with a funny project idea, it’s just a matter of applying elbow grease and connecting with the right people.”
Mic Check

“Mic check?” someone shouts. “MIC CHECK!” the crowd echoes, almost in unison. After the New York police banned the use of electronic amplification in Zuccotti Park, necessity compelled the first Occupiers to prove that the power of a crowd was enough to amplify the messages of the 99 percent. The simple human microphone has come to signify the Occupy movement’s resilience and adaptability. Now, this cheeky “technology” has become a tool for disrupting business as usual with righteous rants. A crowd begins an almost unstoppable call and repeat. They overpower a luncheon at the U.S. Chamber of Commerce or interrupt Black Friday sales at Walmart to announce to shoppers that “Walmart could fire its employees for the mere mention of forming a workers’ union.”

University of Michigan Board of Regents meeting is interrupted by students’ “human mic”: “You value funding start-ups instead of students. We are here to reclaim the university. We reject your vision.” Photo by Sasha Kimel.

Disorder in the Court

What can match the legal power of corporations? At a courthouse in Brooklyn, a simple song was enough to drown out the proceedings. In October 2011, members of Organizing for Occupation (O4O), a group of New York City residents formed to respond to the housing crisis, disrupted a foreclosure auction with a song written specially for the arbiter of (in)justice. “Mrs. Auctioneer,” they sang, sadly and beautifully, “all the people here are asking you to hold all the sales right now. We’re hoping to survive, but we don’t know how.” While the singers got escorted out of the courtroom in plastic handcuffs after half an hour, their heroic anthem apparently reached the hearts of potential buyers, and according to reports in Village Voice, only one of the three buildings set to be auctioned that day was sold.

————————————————————————

Sven Eberlein wrote this article for 9 Strategies to End Corporate Rule, the Spring 2012 issue of YES! Magazine. Sven is a freelance writer living in San Francisco, with roots in Germany. He blogs at svenworld.com.

We’re talking 4 miles of streets the way little people would imagine and design them if they were in charge!

Here’s a series of impressions of a carless afternoon from yours truly, bike reporter Sven. And yes, most photos were taken while riding, another testament to the liberating creative power of losing your fear of being flattened by 3000 pounds of steel.

My partner Deb and I started out on Terry Francois Street at the southern end on an overcast, drizzly late morning. This first stretch was really nice, because with the cars gone and the main attractions waiting further north, it was great to just coast and enjoy the uninterrupted flow. As we rode past the Bay View Boat Club and China Basin along the Giants ballpark it felt a bit like we were participants in the Tour de France, only a bit smaller…

When we got to the Bay Bridge, “traffic” started to pick up a bit…

As I was looking around me, I was noticing a demographic trend.

There were little people in all sizes…

at all levels…

with all kinds of different modes of non-motorized transportation…

You know, it seems so simple: if we want to have cities that are made for people (which I assume to be the purpose of a city) then all we have to do is make them usable for kids. Children are people, and if they’re happy and safe, then all of us are. We keep saying how everything we do, we do for our children. So the first logical step is to make the streets available to our youngest residents, and invariably the rest of us will start to have a really good time!

Think about it, adults are simply children who’ve forgotten how to play.

Give ‘em an open street…

and they’ll come up with the most creative…

and geeky ways to put the fun back into functionality …

Streets are for lovers…

and for patriots!

Speaking of fun, what’s a city street without music?!?!?!

Don’t try this with cars in the street…

You know, the whole children-in-the-street thing may sound kind of naive, because we’ve become so used to ceding all our street space to cars and have come to accept the deadly hazards they present, but it’s important to remind ourselves how recent the introduction of automobiles into city streets really was. For most of human history parents didn’t have to teach their children to stay out of the street and pray that they wouldn’t forget.

Considering that pedestrian and bicycle projects receive less than 2 percent of federal transportation dollars, it’s no surprise that children playing in streets have become an endangered species. This is where events like Sunday Streets are so important in reminding people that not all streets have to automatically belong to cars and that the world doesn’t end because we can’t drive everywhere.

The opposite, it feels like the world really only begins once we meet again in the street. But to get there, we have to break the cycle of fear and fortification that has turned our streets into battle fields. It’s like we’re having to relearn the lost art of street life, and who better to start with than our youngest citizens?

Just past the Ferry Building, the SF Bike Coalition had their Freedom from Training Wheels course set up.

Future fearless street citizen!

After a delicious lunch sandwich and coffee at the Ferry Building, Deb and I decided to head back southward. We didn’t get far, because right around the Bay Bridge a crowd had gathered around some super funkin’ groovin’ sounds by Andre Thierry & Zydeco Magic.

Next thing we knew, a group of young ballerinas came dancing onto the scene, and to everyone’s (including the band’s) surprise we had ourselves an impromptu Bay Bridge Zydeco ballet performance.

It was quite surreal, beautiful, and a testament to the spontaneous magic of human beings coming together in the street.

We stayed till the last note was played and then followed along the bay to the sounds of SF streets legend Amandeep Jawa and his boombox bike.

That’s also where I caught this guy in the acrobatic act…

before witnessing some more acrobatics…

What? Me?

All in all, just an amazing day. While riding a bike in the city usually is a very guarded, boxed in, and tense experience, both Deb and I were relaxed and ecstatic. Having so much territory blocked off from cars and being able to cover so much city ground on bike felt amazingly liberating. When we got to the barricades at Mariposa Street, neither one of us wanted to leave, so we just turned around and rode back to the ballpark.

It really is that good when little people take over big streets!

what there is
may not be there
and what may come
has always been

what is a rock
is tomorrow’s sand
your deepest wish
buried in your hand

the seed you sow
may not become
the plant envisioned
but it will find its way
if you water it

change eats
from the bowl of the past
slowly emptying
the reservoir of certainty
with each spoonful of dwindling prospects
remember
you’re being nourished

also posted on A World of Words

On a recent reunion trip to Schroon Lake in Northern New York, my friends and I took a day hike along the northern end of the lake toward Pharaoh Lake. I don’t know if it was just that time of year or if the moist post-hurricane Irene setting had anything to do with it, but within just a few hundred yards from the road we found ourselves in a sea of mushrooms, the likes of which I had never seen before.

Amanita mushroom near Schroon Lake in Northern New York.

Now I’m not a biologist, botanist, or mycologist, and my first inclination when I’m out in the woods is to just marvel at the beauty of the great web of life rather than trying to name and explain individual inhabitants. But I do admit that with each additional weird and wonderful fungal specimen I was wishing I had a little Paul Stamets in my pocket, whispering exotic Latin botanical names in my ear to guide me on this journey through wonderland.

Trunk Buttons.

Being a dreamer and generally teetering toward the poetic side of life I have no problem making up names for these mystical creatures along the path, like characters in a story. If nothing else, it’ll give everyone a chance to pitch in and identify these mushrooms by their proper name.

Leopard Dome.

For those of us whose main contact with mushrooms occurs at the grocery store it may come as quite the revelation that there are approximately 14000 described species of mushrooms in the world. When we think of mushrooms we generally envision something that looks like this specimen…

Fat Umbrella Family.

or this one…

Safeway, Aisle 7.

However, beneath the most common button-types dwells a mysterious realm of shapes, colors and consistencies that tickle the senses with juicy delight…

Luscious Oyster.

sublime depth…

Purple Shnurple.

or utter surprise…

Deep Ink.

They come in white…

White Roulette.

black…

Hello, I’m Your Friendly Forest Cookie Monster.

or black & white…

I’m a Man.

Without so much as touching any of these creatures, this was one of the trippiest places I’ve ever been. Whether it was from afar…

Heeellllooooo!.

or up close…

Spores Galore.

it was like we had traveled to a distant fairyland located somewhere between heaven and the imagination.

Whether we looked up…

Tree’s Up.

or down…

Tree’s Down.

we were immersed in an ecosystem all of its own design.

Tree’s a Crowd.

Like an ancient culture rich in diversity, information and mystery, these fungal spawns are like fertile landscapes within landscapes…

Tickle Me Shroom.

habitats unto themselves…

Snailed It.

that seem like perfect motifs on God’s great canvas…

Butterfly Airport.

And speaking of God, as someone who has extensively pondered the origin of that great big concert hall in the sky, I’ve always found the imagery of the old man with the white beard rather limiting and disappointing, much too literal. But upon seeing this specimen I had to rethink and re-imagine….

Old Man with a White Beard.

What if God is a mushroom?

I’m not suggesting that divine creation would pick one little mushroom as its exclusive costume. So how about, what if God is Mushroom? Now, of course we all know that since God is too big for just one country, just one religion, just one planet, this all-encompassing energy of boundless and unconditional love and truth is also too big for just one species. But I like the idea of these beautiful, primordial and little-understood forest creatures as manifestations or metaphors for something as large and omnipresent as divine inspiration.

Let’s try this one on.

God is big…

I’m Up for It.

and God is small…

Little Red Riding Hood.

God is mysterious…

Pass the Conch.

and climbing a wall…

Gemini.

God shines a light…

Solar Energy.

and humbly blends in…

Pine Cone Protection Program .

she’s got a million touches…

Coral Candy.

and to be found by looking at everything…

I’m not an Owl.

Come on in, the ground is soft and the water refreshing!

Wash it all Clean.

o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o

all photos by Sven Eberlein

Memorable words from one of Canada’s top officials on hearing that the Canadian Embassy in Croatia had offered support for Franke’s art show.

From Dear Prime Minister, by Franke James

Well, you’d think the government of a major western democracy would have better things to do than to sabotage and try to silence their most creative people, but, oh well, think again. Mind you, we’re not talking about any dark or satanic scribbles, but some of the most witty and self-reflective series of visual environmental commentary I’ve ever seen. And yes, Franke is one of the most delightful human beings ever, not just because I’ve had inspiring email exchanges with her, but because she does truly uplifting things like having dinner with a stranger. Check out any of her amazing visual essays, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

So what’s going on? Well, the Canadian Government, led by Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s Conservative Party, has been actively working to shut down Franke’s solo European art exhibition, which was set to tour 20 cities in Europe. I say “was” because the latest update is that Franke’s show got canceled after the government persuaded her corporate sponsor to cancel their $75,000 sponsorship, and the Croatian NGO who was organizing Franke’s “What can one person do?” art show to raise environmental awareness with youth and inspire teens to make their own climate change art was pulled into the crossfires of Canadian politics when they discovered that Franke was on the Canadian Government’s blacklist.

Blacklist??? WTF? What is this, 1953?

Check out the whole story, it reads like a cold war spy movie, but it basically comes down to this:

But apparently, I’ve ignited the Harper Government’s fury by telling the truth about Canada’s footdragging on climate action. And having the audacity to advocate pollution taxes and tougher environmental policies on Alberta’s Tar Sands!

But as so often when the bully tries to overplay his hand, he risks shooting himself in the foot. See United breaks Guitars by another Canadian compatriot.

Silenced in Europe, Franke Gets Loud in Ottawa!

So now it’s time for Franke to push back, not only to expose the bully, but to expose the truth about the Canadian government’s extensive efforts in Europe to kill climate change legislation targeting the Alberta tar sands. She’s teamed up with a really cool organization, loudsauce.com, who is helping to send her “banned” artwork to Ottawa, and launch a poster campaign on the city’s public billboards and bus shelters. We can help fund the campaign, and/or spread the word.

Let’s make sure Franke goes to Ottawa!