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Tiny travelogue
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The world has changed a lot since the last time I published a travelogue.
The previous trip I wrote far too many words about was 10+ days long and involved airplanes and foreign languages.
In comparison, this was just a one-night trip by bus and light rail and train, less than half a day’s journey. The kind of jaunt I made regularly to see a band and/or visit a friend/boy, in the before times.
I find travel more challenging now, personally and interpersonally. The world has become manifestly more hostile to those who don’t conform, which of necessity includes me, one of very few passengers wearing a mask as others coughed and sneezed freely into mass transit shared air at up to 1497 ppm CO2.
I felt my vulnerability strongly this week, carrying most of my essential belongings in a backpack and suitcase, alone and unsure where I was going. Looking, maybe, like the most obvious gazelle on the plain.
A lion and a cougar got on the O-Train at the same downtown stop as me. The lion made a big gallant show of moving out of the way so I could embark: a sly performance of respect for a delicate creature traveling alone, so encumbered.
I nodded back politely and moved inside the car warily. I stood ready stance over my suitcase and observed the lion and the cougar suddenly pretend not to know each other.
Close to the next stop (not mine), the lion clocked my awareness and also spotted a magnificent muscled zebra, heavily adorned in gold. (That last part’s not a metaphor.)
The lion now made a big gallant show of getting out of the zebra’s way so she could disembark. The cougar didn’t budge from his seat. The zebra got off and strode powerfully away, the lion went to sit down, near but not with the cougar, and both turned to their phones. I continued to stand guard.
My stop, obviously, was the train station, which I noticed on approach looked dark and nearly empty. As the cougar and the lion disembarked together but still pretending to be separate, I had a vision of all my belongings being torn away, of becoming paralyzed trying to decide whether to chase my backpack or my suitcase, a too-slow analysis of which items were the most desperate to fight for, which predator I had better odds against.
So I stayed on the train one more stop. I had time. As the train and I pulled away, I saw the lion and cougar abandon the pretence of being strangers, halfway up the dark stairs a gazelle was not also on. An unsuccessful hunt.
They were gone by the time I made my way back to the train station, and that was by far the worst thing that happened on these particular travels.
Highlights from the train down included cheerful, helpful, trilingual staff (I hope they’re paid well); a toddler just learning to walk who found me fascinating; and large warehouse graffiti: Grow Good Together.

Through my mask, the new train smelled like childhood motel.
I was picked up at the station by my old mentor, the indefatigable and kind Graham Stewart. He and his equally spirited wife Deb had agreed to host me overnight in the warm and welcoming home they share with their expressive dog Molly and, at times, up to 21 family members.
Graham was recently back from a trip to Northern Ireland with his son, with the goal of investigating Stewart family history based on internet research and old local records that weren’t always primarily motivated by accuracy. The behavioural aspects of that interest me, especially the detective work of most plausible explanations based on known facts and our understanding of human nature.
We theorized, for example, about why an ancestor’s age was inaccurately low on a wedding certificate after impregnating the daughter of a well-off local businessman, and further what could be gleaned from the son-in-law’s subsequent success as a merchant.
We talked about a mother’s grief for a child who died young from disease and was unremembered decades later by anyone else. We talked about an ancestor’s wartime diary that was more about pie than war. One day, one sentence announcing the death of her husband. A testament to the human need to keep records and keep going, and to the impossibility, sometimes, of words.
We talked about the nature of family, the practice of acceptance, the challenge of growth. I cried twice, which is my standard response to unexpected kindness.
The return trip the next day was fine except for train delay and managing to injure myself with my suitcase (resulting in a 3-inch blue and purple bruise on my calf).
All told this trip took about 34 hours, and what I’m taking away is a feeling of support and encouragement and acceptance, genuine appreciation for who I am. A confirmation of the importance of telling stories and collecting data and documenting existence. A lesson about the need to make efforts to connect, even though there’s risk. A reminder about patience and empathy and love, and a lifelong belief, maybe, in the possibility of redemption.
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Petitioning the court
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I developed a neat trick for my healing work, which is to convene a courtroom in my head.
It starts with noticing that I’m doing something I don’t want to be doing. One low-shame example is sitting in a way that causes back pain.
The prosecutor addresses the court: this way of sitting is causing pain and should stop immediately.
The defence has no direct reply to this but may ask for five more minutes of internet.
The prosecutor shoots that down easily: it’s irrelevant to back pain, and in all probability that was more than enough internet for now anyway.
Sometimes the prosecutor tags on evidence that food and water are required. It is a compelling case.
But sometimes the judge isn’t listening. (The judge also likes the internet.) Then the prosecutor has to point out to the judge that nothing can happen without a bit of executive function.
Sometimes the judge is cranky and the prosecutor has to push the court. The situation will worsen without action. The main obstacle to improvement is practice. No one else can fix this.
That last point usually wins the day.
It helps solve the immediate problem and also sets a precedent for next time. I might not need to go through the entire argument again, since I’ve already built the path from noticing to fixing. Sometimes the prosecutor can just wearily say “Your Honour…” and the necessary order issues.
Over time a new habit is created. Not flawless, but better.
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The future I’m building
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I’ve been trying to write for days but I’m all over the place in content and tone.
What I keep coming back to is what I believe: that kindness and community are the only way through this mess.
It’s hard to believe in a future you can’t see, and I’ve been allowing myself to imagine alternatives to a daily life of individualism and conformity.
Idealistically, I imagine:
- My own private space but also communal space (kitchen, entertainment area, library, gym, music room, garden);
- My own private stuff but also shared stuff (appliances, bikes, skis, solar panels and batteries);
- Respect for boundaries and needs and authenticity; commitment to understanding and growth;
- A good chance of finding someone to watch a movie or play a board game with;
- Shared labour and mutual aid.
I know I’m not the only one yearning for a less isolated and wasteful life. I also personally believe “together” is the only way to mitigate against climate disaster and supply chain disruption and authoritarianism. There is a safety component to community.
The eternal question is how to get from theory to practice.
Talking about what I want seems like a good preliminary step. I’m also listening to experts on intentional community, empathy, and liberation. These are the voices I want to take up space in my brain.
I’ve started researching and networking. I have plenty to contribute.
I have some time to figure it out.
Maybe there could be a shared dog. Maybe there would be chickens.
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A successful minor campaign?
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In 2009, according to transaction records, I became interested in an organization called Kiva, which “uses crowdfunded microloans as a force for good, creating a space where people can have one-to-one impact, and together, expand financial access for all.”
The way it works is a bunch of strangers put in some amount, minimum $25 each, and lend it to someone somewhere in the world who needs a small loan, for example to buy inventory or equipment or whatever. The goal is the borrower gets a bit ahead and pays the loan back, and then that same money can be lent again.
It seems like excellent community to me, the idea of microloans from crowds of non-corporate lenders to borrowers without other options for survival. Money should actually circulate and help.
But at a certain point I found Kiva’s auto-generated emails upsettingly aggressive. If I remember correctly, they involved red (capital?) letters that repayments had been made in the past two days and were sitting unused in my account, subtext: shame on me.
I wrote to ask them to reconsider their tone. The red yelling was the first notification about repayments and account balance; why not start with a green FYI instead? “You are ready to lend” before “WHY HAVEN’T YOU LENT YET.”
This relatively low-cost, low-effort suggestion, made to a kindness org asking them to please be kind, was somehow not immediately successful.
I don’t know when this particular campaign of mine started, but it was long enough ago that in 2022 I wrote “I have repeatedly asked you to stop sending me emails chastising me.” Somehow – astonishingly to me – Kiva seemed more willing to help a regular lender close their account than to adopt a softer tone. (I could withdraw to Paypal in $25 increments as repayments trickled in.)
In September of this year, as my last loans concluded, I tried one more time to ask if the scolding emails could stop. “I was told the alternative was to close my account, which is obviously not my preference.”
And finally, I think, they were listening? Sara, Community Success Manager, seemed genuinely “sorry to hear that some of our emails have come across as having a scolding tone. We never want lenders to feel scolded or pushed into anything.” I’m used to customer service agents saying “I’ll pass your message along to marketing” but I think Sara actually did, and persuasively at that.
Today I got an informative email, red-less: “Did you know that your Kiva account has been inactive for 1 months and you have $26.30 sitting in your account waiting to be used?”
So instead of closing my account I joined a new loan. And I sent Kiva yet another email, this time thanking them for their tone. Campaign concluded.
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Happy union AGM day.
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I had a private comment in response to my post on Friday about questions members could put to federal labour unions, say at an AGM today. It included counter-arguments others might have in mind, so I decided to respond publicly.
I know it makes sense, historically, that centralized employees were responsible for the travel part of the labour contract. I presume the presumption started in the context of factories, where the employer provided the expensive machinery required to do the job, and when it was inconceivable that employees could do the work from home. Each side contributed something necessary to the bargain: fair enough. That’s not the case here.
What the union says was learned from the first few years of COVID is that productivity was actually improved when employees worked from home: there is no labour-related reason to require employees to commute regularly to central locations. Working from home even has all sorts of additional benefits for things the employer and current government purport to care about, like the environment, public health, and substantive equality.
To hear the union tell it, the workplace is now Orwellian and dystopian, not to mention non-compliant with the requirements the employer thought were reasonable to impose on employee home offices at the beginning of the pandemic. But then in practice the union asks employees to be patient as the employer exploits and mistreats them and official processes run slowly. For a legal presumption that, quite arguably, no longer makes sense.
For the record, here was my crude math:
Crude math (6 hours x 48 weeks) puts that at 288 hours of commuting per year. Assuming a 7.5 hour day, that is 38.4 work days. Phrased differently, that is 7.68 work weeks per year confiscated from each employee, just to go to the internet from a different room. That’s certainly more than they offer in vacation time. Even with only a half-hour commute, it’s still about 4 full work weeks per year of your free time.
I invite fact-checking. I would be genuinely interested to hear the union’s numbers on how much time this policy has already cost members, and how much their patient approach is expected to cost employees as a class before it gets resolved in court or Parliament. But I haven’t heard that the union is fired up enough about the value of members’ time to even be collecting this information for future use.
It cannot be that radical for a union to take the position that, while employees will comply with the pointless and harmful new policy the employer saw fit to impose, it will be at the employer’s cost. If this commute is, in the employer’s view, essential contractual work, it must be presumed to come from the hours the employer has contracted for. This argument is consistent with some lofty legal principles some judges care about (and also, I suspect, with the principle behind per diems and mileage: that the employer is financially responsible when it forces employees to incur costs through otherwise unnecessary travel).
If the employer is the one bearing the cost of this policy instead of employees — if commute time shortens the contract time available to employees for actual work that needs to be done to serve Canadians — then the employer will have incentive to reconsider. From what I’ve seen, nothing the union is currently doing is giving the employer incentive to reconsider.
I’d enjoy watching representatives of the federal government appear in court to argue the opposite presumption: that it has a legal right to waste employee time and compromise their health without even offering them additional pay. That not only does an employer have a legal right to unilaterally impose extra, non-productive hours without justification, but that employees should bear the costs of those hours while official processes slowly unroll. These arguments are, in my opinion, less consistent with important constitutional and contractual principles.
I’ve heard the argument that deducting commute time from contract time would make employees fight amongst themselves: “it’s not fair, my colleague’s commute is longer, therefore I do not support this policy.” I would suggest this is the wrong battle. I would hope a union that believes in solidarity would be skilled at keeping employees focused on the matter of an employer who demonstrably does not care about employee time or health instead of fighting amongst themselves.
I get that there’s a perception that office workers are spoiled, and complaining about this could seem out of touch. And yeah, their conditions and pay are better than many / most workers, undoubtedly. But what if what is actually out of touch is to not realize that it’s all the same fight against being exploited and mistreated? What if federal government workers, skilled and actually essential, are literally best situated to push back against where this is going, alongside less privileged others already in the fight? I believe that’s a lesson we’re supposed to have learned from history.
If even labour unions for skilled federal employees are this passive and uncreative about collective action under the world’s extremely bad and getting worse circumstances, we are truly fucked.
So, I argue again for a world where unions match their action to their rhetoric by taking the position that under these circumstances, for these reasons, commute time will be presumed to come from the weekly hours the employer has contracted to pay for.
Is it malicious compliance? Maybe. Is it likely to get the government’s attention considerably faster than any other idea unions have implemented to date in response? I think so. Would a judge refuse to uphold harmful and pointless government policies that exploit workers for no productivity benefit and at significant risk to their mental and physical health? I truly, truly hope so.
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About the author
CKirkby
- earned degrees in language / literature and law (but is not currently a lawyer or a journalist);
- worked for over a decade on Parliament Hill;
- misses writing; and
- appreciates thoughtful comments, en anglais ou en français. (Email addresses are not published.)
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