SWEPT
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Content News & opinion
local lit Memoirs of a martyr
Grasping Graffiti: Rob Ford’s war on Graffiti
By: J.P. . . . 9
By: Dona Boulos . . . 6
fairytale without an ending
Trudeau’s position on pot: bona fide or bunk?
By: Rebecca Tanton . . . 20
By: Alex Lambert . . . 10
what makes syria so different?
Dilettante
By: Neil McKenzie-Sutter . . . 21
By: Magda Wolak . . . 25
are you really helping anyone? a look at international volunteer work
the sky is not falling By: Greg Loon . . . 41
By: Julienne Bay . . . 23
imago By: Sofia Cutler . . . 45
More than words a trip to wonderland - q&a with a steam punk photographer Photos by Chloe Barcelou, Interview by Nicholas Camilleri . . . 13
riding the rails of India By: Savvy Gulia . . . 28
Feature story Highway of the homeless By: Nicholas Camilleri . . . 42
A look at the life of homeless individuals who dwell along a highway connecting Brampton to the rest of the gta. In part one of three, nicholas camilleri speaks with a 50-year-old homeless man, chris cunnane, about living beside a highway ramp. A short doc will be released this fall. sweptmedia.ca 3
THis whole new media thing... By Nicholas Camilleri
Entering J-school, I was so sold on the whole reporter bit. Notepads, cold-calls, awkward interviews - the lifestyle. About halfway into my journey at Humber College, I learned while I did love telling stories and communicating with others, I certainly didn’t love reporting the news. I mean - I love consuming the robot news about city politics. In fact, I’m actually a pretty big fan of news-talk radio. But somewhere along the line it kind of got old, boring, and dare I say it, repetitive. It wasn’t too long ago I remember thinking to myself ‘I am more than just a journalist,’ - a thought I never thought would have entered my mindset. I mean, I pride myself on being a journalist and part of this thing we call free press, but over time I’ve come to understand why some people look down on journalists. And looking at the way Toronto politics has been covered, especially since Rob Ford took office, makes me never want to work for a daily, regardless of the beat I’d get stuck with. When starting this whole Swept thing, the idea of a having a monthly magazine really wasn’t part of what I envisioned. It was purely a web thing. But after my final year of college, I realizedhere at Swept, we actually can pull it off. We aren’t a big organization. We didn’t resort to crowd sourcing (let’s be honest - it wouldn’t work anyway), we didn’t take out a loan. We just sort of did it.
Photo by Chloe Barcelou
Would the extra starting funds have been nice? You bet. Did I ever want to crack sometimes and just give up on the publication? I would be lying if I said no.
masthead
But, I always take the time to remember why I started Swept, which was to build a publishing space where it isn’t about an agenda, it isn’t about which political party you slant toward, it isn’t about the hits on the site and advertising potential (though that is pretty important). Swept’s not about any of those things - it’s about telling good genuine stories (both fiction and non-fiction) and to showcasing awesome creative individuals work regardless of niche.
Nicholas camilleri Founding Editor and Art Director
Jen alvarez Managing Editor - News and Content
If you aren’t building your own dreams, you are helping build someone else’s.
alex lambert Managing Editor - Copy and Research
I use this phrase all too often, but it is truly a fundamental part of the foundation of Swept. Not just for us on the editorial team who get to have fun and chase stories and produce content that we prefer, but also for those who contribute to Swept, as we offer a relatively easy way to get published and noticed.
neil mckenzie-sutter Local Lit Editor
magda wolak Content Resourcing
dona boulos Feature Reporter
colton gilson Cartoonist and Illustrator
In the end we aren’t this big entity. We don’t have an office in the core of Toronto where the coffee is brewing. We are relatively unknown and all of this is okay. As I was told many times by many of my profs, “news isn’t happening in the newsroom - it’s happening everywhere else.” And just like news, Swept is everywhere but in one spot. Good stories will always be out there and Swept will always be ready to find them. Would you look at that? The U.S. government just shut down... Looks like there’s a new column topic.
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‘the red herring’ sweptmedia.ca 5
By Colton Gilson
grasping graffiti By Dona Boulos
since elected only a few years ago, toronto’s mayor rob ford has promised a lot of things. one of those things is the eradication of graffiti and street art from the endless canvas that is Toronto.
There’s just one flaw in Ford’s master plan: street artists will never be eradicated. The moment Ford joyfully removes one mural, another artist will be painting a newer, brighter, and larger one. It seems like mission impossible. Will police catch and arrest every criminal? Will doctors cure every patient? Will street artists ever stop painting? Simply, no. During the mayor’s conference, he encouraged Torontonians to call 9-1-1 and “take a picture” of anyone committing this act. It’s sketchy, but those are the mayor’s requests. A Toronto artist, who goes by the name Mark13 and who began his street art career in 1998 between Miami and Santiago, Chile, says “vigilante work” could potentially put people in harm’s way.
Despite his alleged crack-smoking, his media-hating, and his often absurd comments, the mayor has been consistent on one thing (other than subways and defeating the “gravy train”). Since elected in 2010, Mayor Ford has made it his personal mission to erase, delete and, depending on which perspective you look at, destroy all “No one likes someone getting into their business,” he said. “You graffiti in the city. never know the type of people that are out there.” Even with his sympathy for Ford, Mark13 says his murals have been erased many On July 30, the mayor held a conference at West Deane Park on times before. Martin Grove Road vowing to erase all graffiti from “any and all city property,” starting on Aug. 1. This time Mayor Ford announced his new partnership with Goodbye Graffiti, a Toronto-based company whose mission is also to rid the city of all street art. The company will be offering a 15 per cent discount for services related to private property, the mayor added. Goodbye Graffiti was not available for comment.
Besides having their work removed, street artists also have to deal with fines. According to the Toronto Municipal Code, under chapter 485 for graffiti, “a person convicted of [this] offence… is liable to a fine of not more than $5,000.”
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But the danger of being a graffiti artist is deeper than vigilante work or massive fines. The artists themselves are consistently in potential danger. Mark13 says while working in Chile he was held in a cell and even held at gun point on a different occasion. Although the artist did not go into details, something tells me graffiti work is more than what it seems. Are the life-threatening and financial risks worth the free work?
Mayor Ford “is pushing through someone else’s political agenda by distracting the public with rhetoric and useless discussions about heated topics, like graffiti, while the real political vandalism goes under the radar. This is a typical political smokescreen used by all politicians,” says Mark13.
Mark13, who has been in the graffiti scene for quite some time, says he was initially inspired by South America’s “tags, murals and political statements that people were posting on the streets”. So, despite the mayor’s efforts to remove graffiti from Toronto, he may have now unintentionally formed himself to be the inspiration to countless artists. Irony at its finest. The mayor may get away with a lot of bullshit, but this is one war he may never win.
Mark13 says even if he does most of his work for free, “not all forms of payment can be measured by monetary means”.
Sometimes he even forms good relationships with building owners once they see the colours and life his art can bring to their workplace. He has never been fined before, and says the mayor is just doing his job.
Many Toronto graffiti artists have even themed and dedicated their artwork to Ford himself, painting his round, rosy and smirked face on communities’ walls, some posting “Remove Me” beside their pieces. Their art shows to be humorous, artistic and clever all at once.
Some people may wonder how effective the mayor’s anti-graffiti campaign has been, considering it’s been three years with very little work to show for it (and Toronto’s streets are brighter and more beautiful than ever). But graffiti culture is inspired by many factors, some which play a leading role in why graffiti will never go extinct, says Mark13.
“
The graffiti trend is growing more colourful internationally. For instance, Egypt five years ago barely saw any graffiti because very few people were inspired to voice and express their opinions through art. Today, the Egyptian (and I’m sure all Middle Eastern nations) streets are filled with political postings.
As long as we are being bombarded with images from advertisements and lifestyle promotion, people will always feel the need to fill all available visual space, whether it is with graffiti or something else.
The graffiti culture is one that is growing and spreading around the world - a culture and art that provides its bypassers and viewers power, understanding, and a sense of a unified world. Although graffiti is in fact illegal, it also adds style and colour to our city. It promotes freedom of speech and expression. But most importantly, graffiti culture showcases our city’s hidden talents, something Toronto and its mayor should be proud of.
- Mark13, Toronto Street Artist
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Memoirs of a martyr By J.P.
Before you finally understand that there is nothing left,
find me in the darkness, through destruction I will lead you into a new beginning. Within the darkness I have understood,
so within it I shall leave something behind. Search within it when simple survival alone does not suffice.
The ancient wisdom is available to all, truth is available to all. Though none care to listen, I hardly care to speak.
The burden of knowledge is only for knowledge to know, understanding is free of burden.
Free from burden we are lead to a place where confusion is merely a ripple in the waters of simplicity, those are the waters in which I bathe.
The more graceful my entrance to the other side; the less ripples I leave behind. Take from me what you want. If all I desire is to be needed,
I will need nothing you want.
Take from me what you need, I want nothing you desire.
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trudeau’s position on pot:
Bona fide or bunk?
Words and photos by Alex Lambert
It’s undeniable that Justin Trudeau’s newest stance on cannabis speaks to the leanings of the majority of Canadians, but whether his current position on pot is authentic, logical policy or deceptive vote grabbing is still very much up for debate. To his credit, the talking points from Trudeau regarding his stance on marijuana are pragmatic, and have been pretty damn consistent since he began trumpeting support for legalization. To paraphrase: basically, his current position is that the war on drugs is costly and ineffective, and since dealers don’t ask for ID, the best way to keep cannabis out of the hands of kids (where it can do the most damage) is for the government to legalize it. But despite how hard he’s been pushing this as of late, and regardless of the fact that he’s admitted to smoking pot after being elected as an MP, when it comes to his position on marijuana, Trudeau has certainly earned his badge in flip-flopping over the last few years. Back in 2010, even as the Liberal Party was for decriminalization, Trudeau was against the notion, stating “It’s not your mother’s pot,” and “We need all our brain cells to deal with our problems.”
Then in 2012, while being interviewed at the Liberal convention, he said while he understands some of the arguments against pot prohibition, he still thinks cannabis use “disconnects you a little bit from the world”, and said he’s not sure that legalization is “entirely consistent with the kind of society we’re trying to build.” He then stated that he was “excited to see that we’re discussing it because it’s a kind of thing that is on a lot of people’s minds”.
Trudeau’s next U-turn came in late 2012. Shortly after announcing his Liberal leadership campaign, Trudeau proclaimed that he was “a big fan of decriminalization”, despite quipping that pot is “not exactly a health group supplement” and clarifying that he wants to be careful in terms of what kind of message this stance conveys. More recently, at the end of July, the Liberal leader remained consistent with his latest position, saying “the current approach on drugs is not working” and “if we actually control it and regulate it, then we actually have a better way of making sure that anyone who does purchase it in a regulated environment is of age to make that decision.” He also stated that this is “an easier way to keep it out of the hands of our kids, where pot does the most harm.” In addition to Trudeau’s wobbly stance on cannabis, let’s not forget the incredibly vague statement on cannabis policy found on the Liberal Party’s website, which does much more to criticize the Conservatives’ stance on pot than discuss that of the Liberals, with the only real explanation of the party’s position on cannabis being that “Liberals understand the need to consider ending the prohibition of marijuana and addressing the root causes of crime to see real results.”
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Key words here: “consider ending the prohibition of marijuana”. That’s right – consider ending pot prohibition. That doesn’t sound like a commitment to me. Furthermore, I can’t say I’ve read or heard Trudeau make any guarantee or promise that the Liberals would work to end pot prohibition should he become the next prime minister, nor has he given any details as to how he or his party would prefer cannabis to be regulated, taxed and sold. He’s only made it clear that right now, he agrees that these policy options are logical, evidence-based positions, which, ostensibly, he supports.
And on top of all of this, way back in 2009, Trudeau voted for bill C-15, which is responsible for the introduction of mandatory minimum sentences for people found guilty of growing pot for the purpose of trafficking, and for doubling the maximum sentence for growing marijuana for the purpose of trafficking from seven to 14 years. Still, despite all his doublespeak, hypocrisy and oneeighties, Trudeau’s new found stance will undoubtedly win him many backers, including both pot users and those who may or may not use cannabis, but either way are just tired of the status quo on marijuana. Hell, even Canada’s own “Prince of Pot”, Marc Emery, who’s still in prison for seed distribution, put his support behind Trudeau last year for his then stance on decriminalizing cannabis in a phone interview on the Roy Green Show. That’s a pretty heavy endorsement in the cannabis community.
But for me, since reviewing Trudeau’s evolving stance on this over the last few years, it’s been hard to retain any sense of clarity as to what his position really is, or what concrete policies will be derived from that position, and Liberal Party policy isn’t providing any insight into that either. What’s easy to see is that in recent years, Trudeau has catered to nearly every flavour of opinion on the cannabis debate, from the status quo to outright legalization.
Some, like Emery, choose to view Trudeau’s changes of heart on cannabis in a positive light, as if Trudeau has become enlightened. As he said during that interview with Roy Green, “Justin Trudeau is an evolving person.” And if you look at what he was saying just a few years ago, there’s undoubtedly great significance in Emery’s newfound support for Trudeau.
But I’m afraid I have to side with pessimism on this one. I view his changing position on this issue as suspect.
Don’t get me wrong. What Trudeau’s saying about pot prohibition makes a lot of sense and it’s what many, many people have said for
a very long time.
In terms of Trudeau’s stance that it’s most important to keep pot out of the hands of children and teenagers because that’s where it does the most damage, it’s well known that psychoactive substances with negative side effects can do significant damage when they interact with the developing mind of a child. With all the information freely available today, that should be common sense. But there are more specific examples of how cannabis can negatively affect the developing brain. In an article from Harvard Medical School, it explains that teens who smoke pot are at greater risk for developing schizophrenia or psychosis.
It’s also obvious that dealers don’t check for ID, so pot is readily available to teenagers. If the government was trying to maintain a monopoly on marijuana, it would certainly cause pot pushers a struggle, might cause them to go out of business, or, more realistically, persuade them to move on to selling a more lucrative drug instead. So this is common sense as well – after legalization, pot would be somewhat harder for kids to get, because there would be fewer dealers, and the pot that would be readily available would require ID for purchase. When it comes to Trudeau’s position regarding the war on drugs, this viewpoint has found its way much further into the mainstream in recent years, and the statistics don’t lie. According to a report from Statistics Canada looking at drug offences in Canada between 1977 and 2007, the majority of offences listed were for possession, and easily outnumber all trafficking, producing, importing and exporting charges combined.
If you look at the drug offences reported by Statistics Canada for 2012, the numbers haven’t changed much. They’re still indicative of how much of a failure the war on drugs has been and how little benefit, if any, it has provided society.
Out of a total of more than 109,000 drug offences, possession charges make up the majority. Apparently, the war on drugs has been great at punishing the people it supposedly set out to protect from the substances in question, but not so great at punishing those who are providing the drugs.
If you isolate the cannabis offences from the 2012 numbers, it shows that the drug war in Canada is at its absolute lowest efficacy when it comes to policing cannabis. In 2012, there were more than 57,000 offences for cannabis possession, but only 15,674 for trafficking, production or distribution of cannabis.
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And in addition to all the money the war on drugs wastes policing primarily the people who use these substances, Corrections Canada reported last year that Canadians pay an average of more than $113,000 per year to house each inmate. So yes, it’s expensive, and I know most Canadians would agree it’s not worth the expense to be locking people up for petty drug crimes. The cherry on top of this colossal, steaming mountain of waste is the fact that by keeping these substances illegal, you’re helping to maintain a market and monopoly on them for the only people who are going to supply them – criminals. This props up the very gangs that law enforcement is supposed to be fighting in this drug war. So yes, Trudeau’s newest stance is evidence-based. This is clear. He’s also well on the side of public opinion. A 2012 Angus Reid poll found two thirds of respondents from both Canada and the U.S. believe the war on drugs is a failure, and the majority of respondents from both countries support the legalization of marijuana. Even Canadian police chiefs are now against criminally charging people for small amounts of cannabis, suggesting that tickets should be issued instead.
I would even argue that legalization is what’s best right now for Canada as a whole – it will begin to end the trend of pothead policing and incarceration, it will help to funnel money away from organized crime, and it’s something that can realistically be accomplished at this point in time. But now that I’ve established what he’s saying makes sense and is in line with public opinion and even what I think is best for the country, I should explain why I don’t believe much of what he’s said about his new stance on marijuana and why I perceive his many stances on pot as vote grabbing tactics.
The first thing that made me suspicious was Trudeau’s comment from 2010 about us needing our brain cells. Studies concluding that cannabis use kills brain cells were discredited long ago, though, sadly, to this day they’re still cited as fact. The short of it is that the effects on test animals’ brains in those studies can be attributed to lack of oxygen, not marijuana use. Take a trip to Jack Herer’s website, NORML’s website, or check out The Union on YouTube if you’re not familiar with this information. Even more discrediting is that in 2005, research from the University of Saskatchewan found that marijuana might actually promote brain cell growth.
So, at least in 2010, Trudeau was either playing dumb or was deplorably uneducated when it came to cannabis. It’s just a bit odd that the same guy who’s now talking about logical, evidence-based policy for marijuana legalization was, as little as three years ago, spouting the same propaganda that’s reigned as fact for decades. Secondly, as I said above, Trudeau’s blatant flip-flopping smells quite rancid. Outside of those who blindly support the status quo, there’s still something for everyone to identify with when it comes to Trudeau’s changing, nuanced and varied opinions on marijuana. I don’t view this simply as Trudeau’s evolution into enlightenment on the topic of pot prohibition. What he’s doing is trying to cater to every possible viewpoint on cannabis, in an attempt to gain as much support as he can from multiple sides of this issue, while at the same time not really committing to anything.
Finally, when it comes to both medicinal and recreational pot users, this is one demographic to which Trudeau is neglecting to cater (though I’m not sure if he’s aware of this). Sure, legalization would make pot a bit less of a hassle for cannabis users to obtain, and they wouldn’t have to worry about being charged with possession, but outside of these perks, due to taxation and regulation (mainly, the government controlling the level of THC in legal cannabis), respectively, the price of pot will explode and its quality will go straight down the shitter. Users will have to pay more for a less effective substance.
What’s more, Trudeau’s stance, like the majority of positions taken by politicians on this issue, completely fails to address the lack of personal liberty for Canadian citizens to grow a plant and consume it in the way they deem fit, which is something that appears to be widely assumed will never be up for debate – because it’s rarely discussed. Pot users, at least in my experience, tend to be the kind of people who don’t support liberties being legislated away to the point where we either just accept or are in favour of being told what we can grow and consume by ourselves on our own property, what substances we should be allowed to consume in general, how much active ingredient can be present within these substances, if we should be able to buy them at all, how we should go about purchasing them and how much we need to be taxed for consuming these substances.
As Canada’s “Prince of Pot” said in the Roy Green interview I referenced above, “No one should have to go to jail for their personal choices that don’t harm others.”
This is a big issue for cannabis consumers, both recreational and medicinal. Marijuana users generally want to see fewer laws altogether, and more enhancement of personal liberties. And whether pot users consider the substance medicine or a habit, they sure as hell don’t want to have to pay for it if there’s an alternative, even if it’s just to supplement what they buy. I’m sure the majority of cannabis users would be much more favorable to the idea of legalization if they knew they could grow at least some of their own pot at home in addition to being able to buy retail pot, and not have to worry about being charged as a contraband producer or trafficker when they’re just trying to grow their own supply. So while Trudeau’s latest stance on cannabis might be alluring to naïve teens who view him as the hipster, blunt-toking party leader, and may appeal to many rational, logical, progressive Canadians, I doubt this new position will help secure many votes from experienced cannabis users.
The prospect of higher prices, a lower quality product, and Trudeau’s failure to even acknowledge how personal liberty relates to this issue should be enough to deter most potheads, who’d prefer to get better, cheaper bud, or grow it themselves. Other than his flip-flopping, this is the main reason I don’t take him very seriously on this. He doesn’t seem to understand the issue from the perspective of cannabis users. Apparently, he thinks they’re content to buy low potency product at inflated prices and still likely be barred from growing anything at home. More importantly, his vague, disingenuous, fickle posturing on the pot issue makes him hard to predict and even harder to trust. In short, what Trudeau claims is his current position on pot – just like the legal pot that Canadians might one day be smoking – is nothing more than bunk.
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a trip to wonderland New Hampshire artist Chloe Barcelou brings us into her world with a more than wonderful photo gallery. She even answered a few questions for Swept.
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A Q&A with Chloe Barcelou So Chloe, where are you from, where did you grow up, and where are you now? “I was born in California, I was raised in Philadelphia and I currently reside in New Hampshire.”
When did you first become interested in photography?
“I think I’ve always been interested in photography. My grandfather was a fairly well-known filmmaker and my parents are very creative, surrounding me in the artistic lifestyle from early on. My earliest memories of admiring photography and art, was when I was tearing out pages of magazines at about seven. I started taking self-portraits at about 14 and begun to seriously practice the art about two years ago.”
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What do you like about steam punk photography? “Well, I love steam punk fashion!”
Can you tell me a bit about the Alice in Wonderland set? What went into making such a neat album? Where was it shot?
“The Alice in Wonderland series has been a project I’ve been working on for about a year, shooting the various scenes as they inspire me. I’ve completed four of the scenes so far and have about four more to do, with a coffee table book as the final outcome. Each scene requires models, hair and makeup, costumes, props, hand crafted sets and a lot of planning. I start to plan my shoots about a month before they’re set to happen that way, I’m organized and I’ve given myself enough time to create the setting in which my characters come to life. Each
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set has been shot at a different location with different models and costumes, each tailored to fit into Wonderland fashionably.”
people… I see myself as more of an artist. From start to finish every detail has emerged from some kind of vision I’ve dreamt up - that I want to bring to life in my photos. I build and tailor the sets myself and style the clothing. My photography is part of my imagination, start to finish.”
You aren’t just a photographer, you’re also a stylist and a set designer. Out of these three jobs, which do you love the What sort of photography do you most or is it more like these three comenvision yourself doing in the future? bined are what you truly love to do?
I’ve actually started to lean more “To be honest, I don’t think I’m actually towards fashion design in the future. very good at photography, without the Photography is something I can never design I’ve placed behind it… I really stop doing, but I’m excited to create don’t even like to call myself a photogra- wardrobe, sets and other design aspects pher anymore, because I think it confuses behind the lens.
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Who are some of your inspirations? I am in love with Tim Walker and his set designer Rhea Thierstein. I want to live in their world. Pinterest and Tumblr never fail, either. Chloe Barcelou can be reached at facebook.com/ChloeBarcelouPhotography‎
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fairytale without an ending By Rebecca Tanton
Once I built a house. I knew every frame and beam the lights were all on, the curtains drawn back [ I had a house Once ]
I had a king he rang the bell and I let him in Ben Frisch – “il01” he smiled at my house and made it a home he gave me a foundation, a structure he locked the door and closed the curtains and we slipped into a beautiful world that was all ours. and we were like lovers of the ages he was my captain, my king, my conqueror all of my strength and solidity, the wind rushing through my wings with a single [ touch/glance/word/thought ] he set me on fire he made my blood sing, my heart speak in a language no one had ever known [ I had a home
Once. ] the walls have fallen away now. the foundation cracked and melted the roof was blown from the walls and all the lights went out. my parameters are gone/ruined/disheveled/beyond repair I am beyond repair
I am groping for walls for the door to escape from my shattered remains I am the queen of an empty womb, an empty body of a faltering pulse, a crumbling sensibility, a fragile sanity of dead maybe-memories collected like freckles on my untouched skin [ I had a home
Once... ] I could have been so many great things.
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what makes syria so different?
By Neil McKenzie-Sutter
So it seems as though World War III has been avoided, the apocalypse is not happening after all. If you’ve been watching Russia Today you should know that the humanitarian president there, Vladimir Putin, after a stunning gaffe/non-gaffe by U.S. Defense Secretary John Kerry, appears to have reached a deal in which the Syrian government hands over its chemical weapons stockpiles to Russian and international authority, thus diffusing the need for U.S. missile strikes.
Just no - Syria is absolutely not going to be the next Iraq. For as long as this Syria thing has been a thing the U.S. government has only talked about Tomahawk missile strikes, which is a lot less than what NATO did in Libya just two years ago and I don’t remember the intervention there even being a question. I don’t even want to get into why people think this because it’s so caught up in the dialogue of conspiracy theory culture that you need wings to stay above the bullshit.
So let’s just finish this. Syria absolutely is not, and was never going to be the next Iraq. If it was going to happen, it would’ve happened like in Libya with no questions asked and with an actual ground force.
Fantastic, job well done everybody, but first let me say there are more than a few things that have irritated me about this news cycle. First up: the non-interventionist point of view.
I’ve heard this said in the social media and news: “It’s going to be the next Iraq.” I want to make clear that I have absolutely no love or preference for military strikes. Killing is almost always unnecessary, but when it comes to this latest Syria thing I think it’s important to point out that the non-interventionist side has been the more manipulative.
Two: people, you’re losing track of the bigger picture.
Don’t forget that while all this peaceful, negotiating sounding stuff is happening, the Assad government in Syria is going to continue massacring the Syrian people, as it has been for the last two years.
This is something that’s talked about in the mainstream, but I think it’s important.
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I
don’t think people - and I’m talking about the regular voting public here - have much more moral high ground over ‘the government’ on this issue, just because you or someone you know prefers not having an intervention. Given this latest news of reduced risk of U.S. involvement in Syria, I know some people are clapping their hands with joy, but this joy may not be earned for the right reasons. If I understand the mentality at all, the reason for the opposition to the Syria strikes is oftentimes linked to the Ron/Rand Paul, Libertarian philosophy that the federal government should be impotent, have no standing army, and essentially return to 1913 when federal income tax was zero per cent. In theory at least, the idea is interesting to think about: a return to the Wild West would seemingly solve many of our modern problems. While not perfect, the Wild West is often thought of as better, or more perfect than today because it is remembered as a time when individual grit and ingenuity mattered. It is an almost Edenlike period In American history (at least for white people). And Ron Paul is correct. The period From the 1860s to basically the early 1940s was also defined by American isolationism. It was an era when Americans minded their own business.
Also, the coverage of the massacres happening in Turkey and Egypt, both major military and trade partners with Western countries, has gone almost totally silent since the Syria chemical weapons attack. Isn’t that interesting.
And isn’t it nice that president Vladimir Putin, the great statesman, whose country will be hosting the Olympics this coming winter, gets to act the friend of the international community and gay people world wide… Oh wait, I don’t think that second part’s right. Everything works out for the best I suppose.
What changed so significantly? Well, something called Pearl Harbor happened, and from that American society learned that just staying out of world affairs is not necessarily an assurance of safety. They also learned you can’t sell weapons to bad guys and expect them not to use them on you at some point… But they’re still working on that one I think.
What America learned from Pearl Harbor was that sometimes you should hit the bad guys first. Now, again, I was never in favour of the Iraq war and I’m not interested in this long drawn out war in Afghanistan either: becoming the bullying is not the same thing as a solution. But what I’m saying is this: this Assad guy, he’s a bad dude. Up to this point he’s murdered 100,000 of his own people and there are likely more to come.
So I know what you’re saying: this gas attack thing has been blown out of proportion to warrant an attack on Syria (seriously, what’s 1,500 people in all this?), but so what?
“
If next week Obama is talking about an imminent strike on Bolivia, or Venezuela or Uruguay, then I’m with you. But seriously though: if you actually feel so passionately about this Syria thing where the fuck were you people on Libya?
Writing this I’ve almost talked myself into the interventionists point of view just because the other guys irritate me so much, I really have no opinion on any kind of intervention though. But I guess this is a column, so let’s just go with that.
Three: while this Syria thing is taking up airtime, other arguably more important issues have fallen out of notice.
In the U.S., the NSA spying scandal is still unresolved, Britain’s dispute over Gibraltar with Spain is still raging and here in Canada the Senate scandals are still a thing as far as I know. All of these things, while they are still talked about somewhat, are being dwarfed by Syria coverage.
Illustration by Chris Garolfi
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are you really
helping anyone? By Julienne Bay
I remember my first time in South America. I was amused by how colourful it was: mini-statues of various saints on taxi dashboards, textiles, festivals, the list goes on. After spending months in South America, however, I found myself no longer marvelling at the mini-statues, colonial buildings or craft markets. Sometimes though, I did stand in front of churches and examine them from different angles. But I became so used to this vibrant backdrop that I started failing to notice certain things that are unique to Latin America. It had become my daily life. For many of you who understand the stereotypical Generation Yer: I’m the poster Generation Y girl. I’ve never had plans on settling down early, the way my parents did. And after leaving a job I was dissatisfied with, I did my share of wandering around the world with a backpack. But eventually, I wanted something more; I wanted a real opportunity to mingle with the local residents, instead of meeting other North Americans similar to myself. And I figured volunteering would be one of the best ways to experience local life and culture, while making a difference.
I decided to spend six months volunteering overseas, so I started researching various organizations, to see which program would fit my ideal, as well as benefit the community for which I’m volunteering.
To start off, I looked at some of the well-known organizations, such as World Vision and Red Cross. There are also large numbers of overseas volunteer organization agencies, such as Projects Abroad, CADIP (Canadian Alliance for Development Initiatives and Projects), Cross-Cultural Solutions and United Planet. These agencies offer gap-year volunteering/travel opportunities (for those taking a year off between studies), overseas internship opportunities, as well as other short-term and long-term volunteer opportunities. The problem is, however, that these programs cost money. And they’re not cheap.
For example, according to Projects Abroad’s website, it costs $2,895 to volunteer with children in Peru for one month. This does not include airfare, which is approximately $1,000. It includes: accommodation, food, airport pick up, travel/medical insurance, in-country introduction upon arrival and other staff support. Is that a joke? $2,895 is a lot of money in Peru. And I mean, A LOT of money.
Peru’s minimum wage in 2012 was approximately $285 USD per month. According to the United Nations Statistics Division, Peru’s GDP per capita in 2010 was $5,411 USD. Compare that to Canada’s GDP per capita in 2010, which was $46,361 USD.
Photo by Julienne Bay Those numbers don’t even fully illustrate the financial condition and reality of the impoverished underclass; illiterates, the disabled, and/or those who only speak indigenous languages, instead of the official language, which is Spanish. While I was in Peru, I was told by a local resident that some families get by with just $50 USD per month.
To go back to the story of my own volunteer experience, I ended up finding a local after-school program for unprivileged children in Cuzco, Peru. I spent 6 months in Cuzco, doing my own thing during the day and volunteering in the evening. There were no program costs/fees. I simply covered my own living expenses, which were around $350 per month. That $350 per month included my own room, full cable, shared bathroom/kitchen, as well as eating out often. My travel insurance, obtained through my bank, cost $99. Clearly, there’s an obvious disparity between my actual living costs and what the program fee requires. In that case, why should anyone pay large sums of money to volunteer abroad? Where is this money going? And why should I pay such large sums to volunteer for such a short time? So that I have something to fill my resume with?
Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad that global consciousness has become “cool”. This is not undermining the goodwill and ambitions of those who join these programs. And of course, these trips can definitely help those involved to change the way they view our world. But that doesn’t change the fact that these volunteer agencies and organizations have made a profitable business out of our generation. The “gypsy syndrome” has been sweeping today’s young adults for a while; it’s a concept that the older generation simply cannot grasp. It’s our unwillingness to settle down in one place, as many
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of our parents did, and our desire to always experience something new and exciting. And to be honest, there’s no need for travel in this digital age – YouTube and Google provide more than enough information on any place in the world. But somehow, that’s not enough for many of us. Younger generations want to experience things first-hand.
“Gap year” is also becoming increasingly popular, due to the fact that post-secondary education has become practically mandatory for our generation, though it’s still hard for anyone at age 17 or 18 to decide which studies to undertake. And so these organizations have created programs that fit certain “needs” for each individual. There are unpaid internship programs, in various fields, for those who want to boost their resumes, and there are volunteer programs for various causes, including archeological, ecological and social ventures.
But let’s be honest: are we really helping anyone by attending these “volunteer trips” for two to four weeks? I stayed in Cuzco, Peru for six months and I’d like to think that I made some difference – but it wasn’t without a solid commitment. I had learned Spanish before I got there. I knew what my limits were when it came to working with children. I knew I’d be able to help them with reading levels, basic math, or other homework, but I also understood that I was not qualified to offer counselling or other advice, had I encountered any serious problems regarding these children or their families.
I can’t say I didn’t experience my own ethical dilemmas while I was in Peru. As much as I loved being with those children, was I imposing my First World views on them? Who was I to say that their school system wasn’t good enough and that they needed extra help from foreigners? Who was I to say that learning English would offer more future opportunities, to kids that’ll likely never leave their hometown? And do we not, without realizing it, enforce boundaries between First World and Third World?
For example, if a volunteer works with a religious-affiliated organization, is he/she not enforcing the idea that others’ traditional customs and beliefs somehow do not fit in with the modern world? These are just some of the things to think about and be aware of in terms of these overseas volunteer programs.
“
Photo by Julienne Bay
The point is without proper training or qualification, a volunteer’s roles and responsibilities can be very limited.
According to World Vision’s website, there’s an upcoming eleven-day volunteer trip to India for $2,200 plus airfare. The listed volunteer activities include painting, planting trees, helping to build a school, and more.
It’s obvious how organizations such as World Vision benefit from these volunteers. The volunteers would tell others back in their home countries about the way World Vision uses their donations, and this would help create a positive image of World Vision and enable them to obtain more donations. On the other hand, if a volunteer who has no previous experience or training in painting, planting or working at building sites is helping out with these tasks, then wouldn’t it be better to offer that job to a skilled local? This brings us to another question: ethics.
It’s important to understand that although intentions may be good, certain seemingly benevolent actions can negatively affect communities that these groups are trying to help.
In the end, there is no definite solution to any of the problems regarding the ethics of these programs. But one thing is for sure: the organizations that require fees have made a profitable industry out of people who just want to give up their time to help others. And although they may tell you how volunteering can positively change your life, obviously, they don’t highlight the negative sides of paid volunteering.
If you do decide to volunteer, find an organization that doesn’t require large payment. And if you decide to pay, do your research. Is this a legit organization? Who is running this organization and does it fit your principles? What are you ultimately contributing to the community you’re working for?
Remember that changes start with small things – you don’t necessarily have to fly to the other side of the world to help others. For example, stop throwing out your clothes from the last season and donate them to the local shelter instead. You can also volunteer locally, at a soup kitchen nearby, or with a youth organization. If only I’d gotten this advice before I was affected by the “gypsy syndrome”.
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A short story by Magda Wolak
Dilettante
So much time together, and it seemed to Allie they were still strangers. Hours of reading aloud in his overgrown backyard — soliloquies watered down to fizzing alcohol mumbles and taking turns painting horizons in her studio. These tasks did nothing to bring them closer, only each other’s voices and the contents of their respective refrigerators were better learned. He knew the sound of her step and she that of his shuffling stumble.
reason he caught her attention in the first place. He was pale; pale hair, pale skin and pale, grey eyes. Not handsome - just striking in his bigness. When she first saw him, it took longer than usual to travel up and down the reclining burly body, semi curled up on a picnic table to the right side of her chosen and by then, customary lunch spot – the park gazebo. Her unusual lunch hour, about two thirty in the afternoon, allowed her the pleasure of the less amplified Kew Gardens.
She could describe him in one word, big. It was what he was. When her friend and store co-owner grilled her for information after seeing him drop in a couple of times, Allie could only shrug. There wasn’t much Marion and she talked about. It would be strange to talk more about him than to him. She couldn’t explain it to herself, this pull. It wasn’t about his looks for her, but it was about something and this something kept happening over and over. Juggling stealthy looks belonged to the realm of first encounters, yet there they were, six months in, peeking at each other’s backs like schoolchildren. Sometimes Allie though it was endearing, most times it was exasperating. She caught him once — smiling slightly at her back and while her stomach somersaulted, she found unastonished, that her return smile was forced. His quiet existence in her life was both irritating and soothing. Marion was a different species of giant from the usual lumberjack sort, working the construction site nearby her store. It was the
Photo by Andrew Capra
Allie had made the gazebo her personal place about a week after she and Ann opened up shop. While strolling and enjoying a view of the slice of beach, visible between the tastefully cut shrubbery and thick maple trees (which, she mused, had to be at least a hundred years old to have earned the girth and voluptuous texture of their bark), she’d come from the back and toward the street and there, in a slight dip in the grounds, hugging a reserved patch of wild looking forest of about twenty by twenty meters spanning, sat the oversized green pavilion. There she sat herself every day, weather permitting, and between bites of homemade sandwiches, she would idly doodle away at whatever caught the light on an interesting enough angle.
The day they collided, the remnants of her unwanted food were scattered below her dangling feet, a horde of eager pigeons boxing for every scrap. Even one brave squirrel peeked out from the dense bushes nearby and hopped over. She noticed the thing limping, dragging its back paw, but otherwise lively and just as eager to eat. The ginger colour of its fur drew her in, unusual for downtown Toronto. She took to quickly etching out its outlines, noting the
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brush-like tufts on the tips of its ears.
later that day and introduced himself awkwardly, asking her over sometime, to visit the squirrel which was in a small cardboard box tucked under one beefy arm. Leaving a little note by her cash register, he bowed himself out and it was after her chores that she sat behind the counter and took it up, finally interested — He had
He rushed past her like a lumbering rhinoceros. She hadn’t caught him looking, but he’d seen the squirrel and went for it. His size tripled in her eyes as he tried to keep up with the zigzagging frightened animal. She jumped up, not sure whether interfering was a wise decision. Allie just grabbed her things and galloped after them, stuffing her sketchpad and ziplock bag into her bag as she ran. By the time she’d caught up, he’d stopped. He had caught it, she knew, even before he turned to face her. The animal’s screeching shouts were alarming His turnabout revealed eyes that were wide and frightened. It was clear that he didn’t know what to do next. He held the squirrel between both hands – big as loafs of bread. The squirrel dangled between his spliced fingers, now biting furiously. “It needs help.” He pushed the thing under her nose for inspection. His chest heaved - he was out of breath and the critter had succeeded in drawing blood, small rivulets of it running down his hands. He didn’t notice, watching her face for help. In truth, now that she knew the squirrel wasn’t in danger, she had little interest in him. She needed to get back to her store and didn’t like the idea of running around with this barging man, squealing squirrel in tow, through a busy street. Wondering what to do for very selfish reasons, she took off her scarf and awkwardly wrapped it around the squirrel and his hands both.
“Do you know any vets round here?” he asked. She did, there was a vet a few doors down from her. She nodded, herding them off the lawn, spearheading their ridiculous procession. He didn’t talk, only glanced at her from time to time, smiling awkwardly into his chest. His shoulders were hunched and her head barely reached them.
Illustration by Sam Carlo
Theo, cheerful and sporting an oily overcombed balding patch and an endlessly overjoyed expression, hid his surprise well. He didn’t look interested to see them squeeze in, taking up most of the space in the tiny front lobby. They each received an equally bright hello and after taking a peek at the problem, he maneuvered them into one of the equally tiny waiting rooms where he and the big guy set about to help. They blocked her view of everything and feeling useless Allie quietly slipped out, giving a little wave goodbye to Theo as she went. The light of the noon sun was blinding as she felt her way back and anger suddenly erupted in her at the whole trifling escapade. She felt that helping others wasted her time. Already in her head she was assembling boxes and opening crates and once actually there, time quickly slipped out of her mind. She was busy unwrapping some glass acorns out of bubble wrap when he walked in, brandishing her scarf and smiling. That was the beginning of that. He appeared in her shop some time
beautiful handwriting, small and delicate, easy to understand. She imagined his handwriting reflected his personality and came over that very evening with a bag of baby carrots. The fall into pattern was painless. They visited each other, squirrel staying either at his house or hers. It became their shared responsibility and the store mascot. On weekends they drank on his back porch and this was pleasant, she liked that no matter how much he drank he never turned red and when he pulled out a volume of some poetry she couldn’t remember the name of and started reading aloud, it didn’t seem strange to hear.
They were miserable at her house because her interests: drawing and the store, were entirely wrong for a relationship and it was disheartening—he was disheartening. Marion liked to draw her but didn’t like to be drawn himself and unfortunately, she shared his dislike with a similar, if not greater intensity. When he ventured into the kitchen in search of the bar, she scurried after him and
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slammed it shut, almost catching his hands, mumbling “No no no.” They barely touched, rarely talked and never kissed.
When she’s alone she watches too much TV. Every channel flaunts at least one show she religiously follows with a sufficiently cheesy enough plot to make it easier for her to slip into the role of the heroine who’s romantically complicated thirty to sixty minutes a day. It’s not healthy, she knows, because every man should have gray eyes and hair. Every man is too lanky or scrawny, not tall enough. She breaks for the kitchen during commercials, slipping on the floor at sharp turns, running on tiptoes to the cupboard. She whips up hot chocolate all the while nervously peeking at the flickering colours visible in the reflection of the flower shaped hall mirror. Hoping she’s in time to catch that lingering hand shot as Lucy and Brian part for the better good of humanity until next Thursday. Allie runs back, holding a burning mug in one hand and a box of mini marshmallows in the other. She ends up gorging on the sweet nibblets, chocolate forgotten on her coffee table. He is surprised when he answers her “hey.” She had been crying. Spontaneous tears leaking out of her as the credits roll on the ending to episode 67. She wonders if he’ll notice her breaking voice. It’s why she called him. “I was just watching that show you know, there was a sad part… I’m sad that’s all.” He hesitates, “Well, don’t watch the show then, if it makes you sad.” She huffs and rolls over on her couch, pushing a pillow off with her foot. “I like the show, I like that it makes me feel like that.” She hears a sigh, “I don’t see what the problem is then… You like that it makes you sad?” She nods, “Yes.” “So why’d you call me?” She has no idea and tells him so, apologizes and hangs up.
She’s in the shower - standing right underneath scalding water. Eyes closed, smoothing back her hair, hating the ropy feel of it underneath her hands. The pipes somewhere above sound like running trains and just like that, she’s lonely. Placing her hand on the tiles, trying to feel the vibrations, feeling empty and dirty; as dirty as the bathtub that’s trying to swallow the clots of her hair tangling around her toes and she garbs a sponge to scrape herself and she sees the white hair on her clavicle and she trips on her way out slippery with soap her mind made up somewhere between dropping the soaking towel to the floor and trying to squirm a pair of underwear onto her wet and sticky skin she will see him now.
The night air, which smells of beer, is crisply fresh. They don’t live very far from each other and she wonders not for the first time why they see each other no more than twice a week. She’s pissed now, though before she used to think it was a good idea. That distance kept things interesting and because he was so overwhelming, it worked. She realizes it didn’t, that things between them were never interesting to begin with and she questions herself, questions him; his sincerity, his silence, his smiles. Why does she want to keep seeing him? When did getting drunk and drawing and he, become a necessary torment? He’s as stumped to see her as she is at standing there, middle of the night on his front porch. “Your hair’s dripping.” He says and steps out to her. It’s uncomfortable again: she’d broken their unspoken rhythm. “That’s not really the problem.” She mumbles, looking for any sign that he wants her there. He hadn’t invited her in, he’d come out instead and this infuriates her further. She seethes quietly as he actually, to her equal disbelief and horror, twiddles his thumbs. “Is there something wrong with you, that I should maybe know about?” She crosses her arms and half sits on the porch railing. “Anything you wanna tell me now?”
He crosses to the door and flips the light on, then sits on the stairs, looking up at her. “No” he says, but Allie doesn’t buy it, “So this shit is normal for you, this… not talking?” and he’s really surprised now, “We are talking, aren’t we?” Like it’s her that’s going crazy her throat burns and so she raises her voice. “No. We’re not, we never do. I talk, sometimes, but other than that you just sit there, anywhere we are you sit and listen and that’s it and how do you expect to get anywhere like that!?” She jumps off the railing and sits beside him, squirming. She can smell her own shampoo and her chest constricts. She wants to grab his hand, to squeeze it, but her pride doesn’t allow her to show him his crippling power over her. She thumbs a small hole that she finds in her shirt and tries to see it in the gloom.
This is where the boy grabs the girl and holds her, tells her it’s going to be okay and all that jazz... Marion does nothing, just looks to her for answers. She realizes she doesn’t have any. Realizes that she’s just as messed up as he clearly is. “I’m keeping the squirrel, (they never named it) it’s good for business, the locals like it.” He nods, gray eyes warily watching her and she doesn’t want to leave but forces her suddenly heavy body to move off his porch. There’s something in his eyes that she thinks can be saved, she can imagine him breaking. She wants to get him mad, as mad as she is— wants him to grab her, to show anything other than this quiet complacence, she won’t think fear. When she’s on the street, Allie turns around to face him, heat waves lapping at her head. One last chance. “You just going to let me walk away?” She feels stupid asking but she’s desperate to see him do something to keep her hopes up. He stands up and her stomach drops a few degrees – a flare of hope that quickly plummets back down as he takes a step toward his door. “If you want to, I won’t stop you.” She stomps her foot and screams, “I want you to stop me, stupid!” He’s a fool of a man now, quickly becoming unworthy in her eyes unworthy of her. She tries to tell herself that she’s so much better than this. “Then stay.”
She places her hand on the rusted railing of his front yard. It will keep her feet from going in again. “I’m better than this, than you. I don’t even know why I put up with you always ignoring what I want. Any man would love to have me, and I’m wasting my time with you! Brian would never…” She’s out of things to say now and looks at the street, wanting to finally be able to walk. He cocks his head to the side, “Who’s Brian?” She brainstorms for titles, “a friend.”
“You don’t have friends Allie.” She looks at him with indignation. “So who’s Brian?” She feels like her nose is trying to push itself into her face, her eyes are irritated and hot. She can’t ignore that steady, somber gaze. “The dude from that show.” She wants to say more, that Brian is ten times the man Marion is – caring, loyal, attached. Her thoughts are obliterated by Marion’s slow movement to his door, his white arm opening it, him standing by it; a wide, toothless cave of a door. “Are you coming in or what?” he asks. His voice is loud but nowhere near her high pitched roars from before. She shudders, “Did you not hear me?!” She’s not bothering keeping her voice down at all and he nods. “Yeah… but stay.” “Yeah…”
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Riding the rails:
India
Delhi photographer Savvy Gulia files an impressive photo gallery from her trips on the train system in India.
From one of our journeys together. We are three sisters and we make it a point that we travel together at least once in a year. This is my sister standing at the door of our compartment looking outside at picturesque landscapes.
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The view was full of beautiful green hills. The journey was like meditation for me. I enjoyed spending the whole time staring outside into nothingness. sweptmedia.ca 29
A top angle of the tracks amidst oak trees and green valleys.
This journey covers a little less than 100 kilometres in 5-6 hours to reach the romantic city of Shimla. The Kalka - Shimla toy train has been granted World Heritage status by UNESCO.
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This is from one of the stations in between the journey, called Barog. The station has its share of stories attached to it. As per the local people here, at the time of construction of the railway, a British engineer was designing the tunnel close to the railway station of Barog. However, due to a small flaw in his calculations, the tunnel couldn’t be built as designed. As a result, he was fined. To save himself from the embarrassment, the engineer committed suicide. His younger brother later finished the tunnel, which is now one of the longest tunnels on the line.
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This train passes through 102 tunnels, 87 bridges and takes about 900 curves. This was a long 5-6 hour journey, but it was all fun.
This journey is known for breathtaking views of the hills and surrounding villages.
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Be it newly weds, photography lovers or adventure seeking travelers, the journey echoes peace for everyone. This is of the track at Shimla station.
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This one is from the toy train that runs between Coonoor and Ooty. It is a short, picturesque journey of 45 minutes.
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The Kalka-Shimla train stops regularly en route so that passengers can hop off to loiter and enjoy tea and hot pakoras.
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Top view of Shimla station.
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People from Delhi often visit Shimla to escape the heat of Delhi. As Shimla approaches, one can see snow-capped mountains all around.
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No matter how unhygienic or crowded a train is, I have always enjoyed my train journeys more than flying. Air travel is more about the destination and adds no charm to the journey. As Ronald Mabbitt says, “I don’t mind going nowhere, as long as it’s an interesting path.” For me, train journeys bring back my memories of childhood and summer vacations and always give the feel of a holiday. They allow me to come to terms with the fact that my break is over. And most importantly, they allow me to stretch my legs.
Savvy Gulia is a Delhi-based photographer. She can be reached at @savvygulia
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the sky is not falling By Greg Loon
Turn black Turn grey but you always turn blue. You can change colors based on your moods like the sky. How do you feel today? Will the sky fall? But I don’t think it will. I am certain the sky is blue and there is nothing more to say. You can change colors based on your moods like the sky.
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Highway of the homeless
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Living next to an off-ramp Words and Photos by Nicholas Camilleri
It was late August when the perfect day arose to get my ass off the computer chair and meet one of these highway dwellers. I had the idea for the story months in advance, and during the time in between I made routine drives up and down the off-ramps to locate the hot-spots for these panhandlers who’d seemed to pop up over night. It was roughly 1 p.m. and Neil (Swept’s local lit editor) and I were already behind schedule. After having some lunch and a quick smoke break, Neil and I set out from my house to hit the 410 to locate one of these panhandlers and find a story.
less man collected money from three people in front of us. At the top of my lungs, I hollered at him to make sure we had made contact before the light had changed.
He made his way over to my beat-up SUV. With roughly $5 change ready in my hand, I basically explained to him that I was doing a project for my website and asked if he would like to be interviewed. I offered the money, stating, “I’ll give you the money either way man.” Though skeptical at first, he quickly changed his mind and agreed to meet us on the other side of the street, away from his pan handling spot and where it was a bit quieter - or so I thought.
It took us no longer than five minutes to find our man. My research (driving up and down the highway for months) determined that Queen and 410 off-ramps tend to be the most active. As we stopped for the light at the end of the southbound off-ramp at Queen Street (ironically a giant Goodwill sign is within plain site of the off-ramp), we watched as our prospective home-
The camera and tripod were set and our man was a bit quiet, but so was Neil. Originally I wanted him to ask the questions, but very quickly I realized he wasn’t ready for an interview like this. I quickly took over. At this point it wasn’t about the video - it was about his story. He could have found a new spot the next day, or even worse, ended up dead.
Within the first few minutes I came to the conclusion our new friend most likely had a drug problem. His smile void of his two front teeth, he introduced himself as Chris. He gave us a last name, but that’s irrelevant.
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In his scratchy voice, Chris told us that he lived between the off-ramp and the highway. He jokingly pointed to the city landscapers who were doing maintenence and said they do a great job, as if it was his property.
As a woman walked by and noticed we were filming all I could think was ‘man, this guy probably gets shouted at by strangers all the time.’ Chris says it’s just encouragement.
“People encourage me to work ya know, like ‘get a fucking a job, you fucking bum!’ And I say ‘thank you for the encouragement sir, have a nice day, you fuckin’ asshole!’ All the time, man.”
I asked him about the others that I see on the off-ramps, particularily the guy on the other side of the highway. He told us that he knew the guy we saw and that he wasn’t actually homeless. He just does it every now and then to make some extra cash.
“Never had that at my house,” he said.
All I could think was focus on the highway. That was my angle that was my story.
“He doesn’t really have any problems, just trying to get through another day,” he said, adding that he was probably just out trying to make some grocery money.
I asked him about why highways are hot-spots. “For a lot of reasons,” he said. “There’s money here. You’re going to get harrassed a lot more if you’re trying it (panhandling) in the city.”
Neil asked if he ever had any trouble with the cops. That’s when he brought up an interesting point - the jurisdiction of the highway. “They’re not too bad around here. When you first start, they want to know who you are and what you’re doing, right? You get a lot of tickets for soliciting. After they get to know ya they’re pretty good. You know they gotta do their jobs.” Pointing behind him in the direction of his spot on the side of the highway, he continued.
“See this is OPP, so realistically it’s their territory. See if it was here (where we were standing) it would be Peel Region police.”
Chris went on to tell us about how sometimes the police would bug him, and suggest that he take a break for a little while. “You gotta act proper. If you’re there harrassing people and being aggresive to get money you’re not going to get anywhere,” he said, adding that his smile is what works for him.
“
“You see this is good... at least to us - we’re not hurting people.” - Chris, Brampton Pan Handler
At this point, I interjected. I was wondering how a nice, wellmannered man like Chris ended up living in-between a provincial highway and an off-ramp. I asked if he had always been a Brampton resident. That’s when we started to learn a bit about his story.
He told us that he had formally been married and had moved here from Palgrave and had a house in the northeast end of the city. He went on to tell us that he grew up in the Thornhill area and came from a wealthy family. “Got divorced a few years ago... Started partying... Had a few problems,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ve been doing this for about a year now. I was on the streets... and that’s a lot harder. You end up boosting, car hopping, getting in lots of trouble, getting arrested.”
During what quickly turned into a conversation, I noticed that when he used the word problems, he was usually referring to drug addiction and mental health issues. Standing on Queen Street was a bit loud, and we eventually moved over to the plaza where it was a bit quieter. It was along our walk that Chris told us roughly how much he makes per week. He said on average he makes $700 a week. Now there is no real way to confirm this, but I sort of believe it considering how busy his panhandling spot is. He then told us that during a portion of the early summer, all the rain was getting to him - so he stayed at Brampton’s notorious Howard Johnson hotel (a.k.a. the Ho-Jo), a hotel with an ugly history, for a whole three weeks.
He wanted us to see his receipts, but I naturally took his word for it. I asked him if it was sort of like a vacation for him. He said he just couldn’t take the rain anymore and needed a break. So what does a guy like Chris do with all his money? Crack.
Chris told us that what money he doesn’t spend himself he spends on others. Now, again - I can’t verify his claims are facts, but a little part of me did feel as though at least a portion of what he was saying was the truth.
He says that often he would buy food for other homeless people in the community. In addition to buying comrades food he would also help out dope-sick friends of his. According to Chris, opiate addiction is a big reason why people end up on the streets, and anyone with even the slightest knowledge of opiate addiction (heroin, morphine, oxycodone addiction) understands how easily one can end up in such a shitty situation.
As for Chris, he made it clear - his drug of choice was crack. He said he would occasionally binge, but that his time on the side of the highway acted as therapy. The idea of returning to a normal working life is scary to him considering how comfortable he is. According to Chris, the only thing that makes him think he could return to a normal life is the chance of having his daughter in his life again. Now this is where things get sort of complicated. It’s also part of the reason that this feature is the first part in a series of three.
For now, Chris remains panhandling along the side of a Brampton highway off-ramp, collecting change and continuing his journey toward what this reporter hopes is a normal life.
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imago By Sofia Cutler
I’m Bored he says into the television’s animated eye. With her? I ask. He clicks the remote. In the extinguished bloated glass our faces are yellowed by the flush of the dying November sun across Palmerston Street where Huge Houses Throb steel light haloing electric hearts through the thick late afternoon rain. Autumn Thickens to winter as he coils his arms around me. sweptmedia.ca 45
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