B.C. families need to fight for group homes

I remember the exact moment I started to look at people with mental handicaps in a completely different way.
It was 1985, not long after the province had closed the huge institution for “retarded” people at Tranquille, an old tuberculosis sanatorium outside Kamloops. I was working at a Kamloops newspaper at the time and the closure was big news, so I’d been part of documenting the hope, fear, anger and anticipation that the closure had sparked.
Families had been working for long, long lifetimes by then to move things forward for their mentally handicapped children, who were all ages. They had few choices in those years when it came to finding services or schooling for their children in their own home towns, and often had no option but to send their children hundreds of kilometres away to institutions such as Tranquille, Woodlands and Glendale.
The families were mostly over the moon at the thought that Tranquille’s closure would allow them to bring their children home to get all the support they needed in their own communities, which is what the government was promising. But they were terrified, too, because it’s very hard to give up a sure thing for a promise when it’s your child’s life at stake.
As for how I felt personally about the closure of Tranquille - well, I hadn’t really wondered to ask myself about that.
But then came the day when I happened to be stopped on a Kamloops street waiting for a young mentally handicapped boy to cross at the crosswalk. He appeared to be on his way home from school, walking along in the sunshine with a schoolmate and swinging his lunch kit in that big-armed way that every kid in the world is probably familiar with.
And it was all so normal. A 30-second scene, yet it clarified for me in an instant why we had to put the days of giant institutions behind us. Normal is a pretty nice place to be.
All these years on, much has changed for people with mental handicaps. They have the right to go to school. To live a real life in a real community, near to friends and family. To be paid a fair wage for a job well done. To have some say over their own lives. Those are meaningful achievements.
As for the families - well, let’s just say it’s been an interesting 25 years.
Their children’s basic needs haven’t changed in that time, because a mental handicap is forever. But everything about the way the government operates its services has been in a near-constant state of flux. Sometimes that was due to shifting philosophies or new research, but more often it was because somebody in government thought there were savings to be had by doing things differently.
The language changed: mental handicaps became developmental disabilities, and the associations and programs serving that population took to referring to their services as “community living.” When the government created Community Living BC in 2005, a new governance authority that would give families more say over services, many of those families felt they were realizing a dream.
But it’s the year of broken dreams. CLBC is now preparing to shut down group homes - the four- and five-bedroom staffed homes that people were moved into after the institutions closed. The move has been portrayed as being about choice for families, but it’s mostly about saving $22 million a year.
Many families have lobbied hard to give their adult children more housing options beyond just moving into a group home. Independent living is one more step toward normal, and I’m all for it, too.
But everything changes when the primary goal is cost savings. If families aren’t yet alarmed by what they’re hearing from CLBC, they might want to ponder what it would really mean to eliminate the only designated housing supports in B.C. for people with developmental disabilities.
Once all the group homes are gone, families will be left to fight it out with everybody else for low-income housing for their adult children. The support to help people find and keep housing will be there initially, because government needs to make the changes palatable. But for how long? And then what?
This government in particular has a history of being deceptive, ruthlessly ideological and dangerously ill-informed around social spending. CLBC may have honourable intentions, but it’s a good soldier. It’s no more likely than the health authorities to challenge government demands for cuts.
Families, you’ve been here before. It’s wrong that they’re coming for you again, but so it goes in this often unjust world. Fight.

Lessons from BP tragedy: Trust is not an option

As barrel after barrel of oil pours into the Gulf of Mexico, poisoning every living creature that comes in contact with it, I feel again a creeping dread at how little we know about the things we say yes to.
I know almost nothing about deep-sea oil drilling. And I see now that I have made a terrible error in not knowing more, because one of the greatest environmental disasters of our time is unfolding and all I can do is stand here bewildered at how this can possibly be happening.
As with all things I don’t know enough about, I just thought somebody was taking care of things. I thought people with a lot more smarts than me were considering everything carefully and proceeding with the utmost caution, because it’s in nobody’s interest to kill off our oceans.
I presumed - and isn’t that just the saddest word? - that a company drilling an oil well reaching 17,000 feet below the surface of the ocean would have had a backup plan for every eventuality. And that certainly would have included what to do in the event of an explosion tearing the drilling equipment away from the underwater wellhead, as happened April 20 in the gulf.
We know the horrible truth of that all too well now. But it’s just a little late. As always, we are learning the hard way what we never thought to wonder about up until things suddenly blew up.
In the case of the oil spill, perhaps the most disturbing revelation is that neither the company nor any of the regulatory bodies has any idea of how to cap the ruptured well.
Think about that. BP Global has been spending $1 million a day for the last nine years to drill for what it hopes will be three billion barrels of oil deep in the sea, but it doesn’t have a workable contingency plan for capping the hole it has made in the ocean floor. It’s working in water more than a kilometre and a half deep to drill a well that will reach a further four kilometres into the seabed, but it had no tested strategy for turning that massive gusher off in the event of equipment failure.
BP spokesmen are now saying it will probably be August before it gets the spill under control.
In the meantime, the oil pours into the gulf, at a rate of 5,000 barrels a day. An estimated 80 to 170 million litres of oil have poured into the gulf to date, dwarfing the 42 million litres spilled in the Valdez accident. By August, the gulf will be awash in 10 times the amount of oil spilled by the Valdez, and that’s presuming that BP is even successful in stopping it then.
How could this have happened? Point the finger in a dozen different directions. Like the sub-prime mortgage crisis that has ended up devastating the world economy, there are many reasons why.
The U.S. pundits and bloggers paint a picture of a compromised federal government, and an industry used to getting its own way. The inspection process was obviously flawed as well, seeing as the Deepwater Horizon passed every one of its monthly safety inspections this year right up until it blew up in April.
What’s scary about both the mortgage crisis and the oil spill is that they were years in the making, yet no one behind all the fateful policy decisions and bad choices foresaw the disaster being wrought.
Until hundreds of thousands of Americans started losing their homes in the sub-prime mortgage crisis, we all thought somebody was tending to things like that. Until it exploded, the oil rig Deepwater Horizon barely got a mention in the U.S. press, and the world slept well at night in the naive belief that somebody would know what to do were the worst to happen.
We know better now. But what’s to be done about it?
One thing seems obvious: No more presuming that anyone has your back. If you want your children and grandchildren to enjoy a lifetime on this Earth that’s at least as good as the one you’re having, let go of the comforting fallacy that government is tending to all the big stuff.
A rich country. Thousands of brilliant minds. A thick stack of long-standing environmental regulations. And none of it can stop the oil pouring into the Gulf of Mexico.
That’s a lesson we can’t let ourselves forget.

Link to the live feed from one of the remote operating vehicles near the wellhead.

Can Trackside Gallery be reborn?
(Here's a link to a Barry Barr photo of Trackside art)

Not so long ago, Esquimalt’s Trackside Art Gallery was being feted far and wide as an extraordinary achievement.
A dark and crime-filled little lane transformed into an urban art gallery that was turning around young, troubled lives - well, that was a story that everybody wanted to tell. There were raves all round for Tom Woods and the non-profit Rock Solid Foundation when the outdoor gallery launched in 2001.
But that was then.
Today, painting graffiti on the warehouse walls in the 800-block of Hereward Road is once again prohibited, and volunteers with an unlimited amount of beige spray paint work very, very diligently to keep it that way. The ever-changing art that adorned the walls in years past is long gone, as is the dream of an artsy public space where young graffiti artists and the community could happily co-exist.
All that remains of the bold experiment are the 48 large murals that were painted in the first three years of the project and hung up high on the walls at Trackside, named for the E&N railway that runs alongside it.
The colourful and transient art that once dotted the lower wall has been painted over. The street lights in the area are off now that Rock Solid’s no longer paying the hydro bill. The youth who Woods envisaged a brighter future for have scattered around the region, along with their tagging.
Woods has been so wounded by three years of skirmishes with Esquimalt municipality that Rock Solid has now removed itself from the Trackside project. A new group of supporters under local businessman Jason Guille has taken shape, but they’ll be against a determined group of residents that doesn’t want to see graffiti return to the area.
Woods knew it was time to let go of Trackside the day an angry resident dumped a garbage bag filled with used spray-paint cans on the steps of the Rock Solid office. “Rock Solid had suddenly turned into the one being blamed for the problem,” he says in bewilderment.
Few people feel neutral about graffiti. Some appreciate it as a vehicle for artistic and teenage self- expression. Others see it as an offensive, unwanted and costly blight on the urban landscape. Both Woods and Guille respect the arguments of those who hate the stuff, but they also see much potential in having a spot where young outdoor artists can cut loose.
“Boundary creep” is a big problem for anyone making an argument for a legitimate graffiti space. Give youth a designated place to express themselves with a can of spray paint, and the next thing you know some of them are expressing themselves on all the nearby buildings for six blocks around.
More challenging still is the fact that flouting authority is part of graffiti-art culture. So it’s not like you can just lecture everybody about sticking to the rules and that’s that. Guille was reminded of that while talking to a young artist about the need for a firm graffiti boundary at Trackside. “He told me, ‘You don’t understand - I’m against all private property.’”
Guile came to the Trackside revival project through his Herald Street art and music space, the Sunset Room. He wasn’t familiar with Trackside, but artists exhibiting and selling at Sunset always seemed to be mentioning it.
“It kept coming up, mostly as, ‘I sure miss that place,’” recalls Guille. “So we brought together everyone who was interested to see if we could find a solution.”
Municipal staff didn’t respond to my requests for an interview, but Guille confirms he has met with the head of facilities operations, Mike Reed. What’s clear is that nothing’s going to happen on the lower wall without a management plan establishing responsibility, says Guille. “That’s the question. How is it sustained? Who controls it?”
Guille wants a solution that keeps everybody happy. He tosses out some ideas: A twice-yearly urban arts festival in which artists volunteered to do a general cleanup of the surrounding neighbourhoods in exchange for the right to paint the wall. A SWAT team of young volunteers tasked with cleaning up any graffiti outside the zone.
Or maybe the artists’ group just pays Esquimalt every year to cover the costs of graffiti removal - “like carbon offsetting,” says Guille. He’s got calls in to Mayor Barb Desjardins to talk further.
“The dream from my artistic side is to have a free wall again. From my community side, it’s to have one without much cost,” he says.
“It’s not going to be easy. But we’ve got some good people involved. We’ve got people who understand the difference between vandalism and art.”

Living dark in a white world

It’s a weird feeling to be travelling in countries where virtually every face is dark-skinned, yet all the images on billboards and TV advertising are resolutely white.
Even the storefront mannequins and baby dolls are blond-haired and blue-eyed in Vietnam, where I recently travelled. If dolls are the way a little girl begins to imagine the adult world, what does it mean to an Asian child when no doll looks anything like her?
In Hoi An, on the central coast of Vietnam, many of the young women now cover themselves from head to toe to prevent the sun from darkening their skin. Wearing jazzed-up face masks that have become a fashion staple in the country, the girls sweat it out in 35-degree heat wearing jeans, long-sleeved jackets, winter gloves and masks to shield their skin.
“It’s very hot!” one young woman told me from behind her flannel face mask. She was working the tourist beach at Hoi An on a scorcher of a day, running out onto the sand every few minutes to try to convince sun-seeking foreigners to rent beach chairs from her for the day (a highly competitive business, as it turns out).
“But I don’t want to get dark,” she added. “In Vietnam, we think it’s more beautiful to have white skin.”
Hey, we’ve all got our dreams. Vanity, thy name is woman.
But there’s a reason for being brown. Darker skin is less susceptible to sunburn, which is why people native to hot countries like Vietnam are generally darker than those from cold countries like Sweden. The basic biology of skin colour has little to do with the cruel realities of racism, but count it as a very disturbing development when any race learns to hate its own skin colour.
Women the world over have long engaged in acts of self-hatred in their quest for “beauty,” of course; nothing new about that. But for a whole nation of young women to have defined beauty as a skin colour that isn’t theirs - that’s just plain sad.
Go into the cosmetics section of any Vietnamese store and you’ll find row upon row of skin-whitening products for women. The bigger stores have whole sections devoted to “anti-melanin” creams and lotions, each promising whiter, brighter skin.
Pond’s, L’Oreal, Clinique, Nivea - all the big names in global cosmetics are selling extensive lines of whitening products in Vietnam. Here in Canada, the dream marketed in our cosmetics aisles is of eternal youth, but in Vietnam it’s all about being whiter.
More brilliant minds than mine have dissected the issues of power, race, sexism, colonialism and all those other heavy hitters that you’d probably find at the root of all this. No doubt the series of events leading to the phenomenon of the modern-day Vietnamese cosmetics counter were decades in the making, and complex in their origins.
But some of it is easy enough to understand, even for us average thinkers.
Maybe the reason that all the dolls and mannequins are Caucasian is simply because that’s what the big Vietnamese factories are manufacturing for export to the developed world, so that’s what’s most affordable to sell locally. Maybe the truth is that almost all the dolls and mannequins being manufactured anywhere in the world are white ones.
The giant store billboards in places like Ho Chi Minh City, with their ubiquitous images of languid white-European models looking great in clothes - they’re the identical ads we see over here. What motivation is there for a big fashion company to change its models to better suit a Vietnamese market, when everywhere else in the world accepts those same white-centric images without question?
That’s ultimately the grand revelation, I suppose: That we’re all being sold an ideal of white skin.
It’s more noticeable in a place like Vietnam, because the contrast between the ads overhead and the people on the street is just too ludicrous to go unnoticed.
Then again, try to recall ever seeing an Asian or aboriginal face in a major fashion campaign in Canada. Or a dark-skinned doll in a toy store that didn’t just look like a token brown-plastic version of a white doll. And that’s right here in Canada, where almost a third of the population isn’t white.
If I ever decide to launch a campaign for the right of every little girl to have an alternative to blonde-haired, blue-eyed dolls, at least I’ll be able to start close to home.

Vietnam pictures on Facebook

Hi, Blog visitors. I've uploaded my photos from a recent trip to Vietnam onto my Facebook site, if you're interested in taking a look. They're available for anyone to see as long as they're on Facebook. Find them here.