The will to blog

The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear.
From Exposed by Emily Gould New York Times

My life has become a big blog post that never ends and never gets written. After all I have been my own audience all my life. My diatribes only mattered to me, or so I thought. Then I discovered blogs. I commented on them for months. After finding myself re-inventing my self once again I decided to document my life in Canada as a Guatemalan. Toronto somewhat in the backdrop. My incorrect English and my stumbling Spanish helped me weave the thread of a well-intentioned search for identity. I have found the opposite reality of phrases like Homo homini lupus est and L'enfer, c'est les autres because diametrically opposed to this existential catch phrases (or should I say slogans) I have found the kindness in strangers. And thus I have borrowed, translated, stolen, re-crafted, re-cycled whatever I can find and whatever I have encountered throughout my life to write my postings.

When life became personal I failed to narrate it. And now, with a red-wine headache and my big YorkU mug full of freshed brew coffee on this sunny Saturday morning, sitting at my computer on my relatively dark and fresh basement apartment, I am thinking about pulling the plug on this quest of mine. Today I might go and buy a new camera. My cellphone not being appropriate for indoor or night pictures. That could become a transformation of elToronteco into something similar to LAGPD (the mother of all blogs if you ask me), although not as consistent or as well crafted as my friend Rudy does. I really cannot tell. It's not the same anymore. Also, my free time, though I spend some of it in self-reflection, is now being willingly and delightfully offered to Love.

So I must confess, I will keep blogging to myself, just not to you guys (the half a dozen or so of my readers). I have not switched to facebook, in which I still keep a profile as a fifth e-mail address and to do some of my student organization duties and some of my activism. I will keep smiling at the fact that some of the titles in my postings have captured unsuspected google searches into this fly trap. For now is a see you later. Google reader will keep me in touch with the blogs that I frequent and I will still make my sporadic comment.

For now, this has been Manolo Romero Escobar, for elToronteco, Toronto.

Recoding

I have lately been expressing my feelings out loud with a higher frequency. The verb for expressing in French is "exprimer", which always reminds me of the Spanish exprimir which means "to squeeze". As Canucka has blogged about, there are certain words in our L2s (L2 is language research slang for "second language") that just stick with us and we like to use. Most of them are swear words, I guess, because they don't carry as a strong feeling or meaning than to native speakers. However, I was talking to Gabrielle about how English has become my main language for expressing positive feelings. I *feel* in English, and that is not to say that I don't feel when I used words expressions like mi cielo or preciosa, I DO mean them. However, I have re-coded my life experiences into English.

Just last week I finished a five month individual counselling process with the Counselling and Development Centre(CDC) at YorkU. It is not my first time in my life in which I have sought help, nor the first time that I have attended the CDC to get help. In the half dozen or so opportunities I have been seeing a mental health professional this is one of the best experiences I have had. To begin with, I was driven completely by my own motivation to change and to explore my behaviour patterns, thought processes, and emotional responses to life. This sounds so dry and contrived, but really, that is all it is to experience life: how we act, how we think and how we feel. And I was (and still am) on a period of my life in which I needed to tame my wild introspection and finally make it work to my advantage.

Even though it was more a "here and now" kind of process, where every week I was able to reflect on the events of previous days, there was always the presence of the past. A reframing of my life and of the image I have had of myself throughout my life was at the centre of the growth I experienced in the past five or so months. My counsellor was not only the perfect squash court to bounce back ideas, but a very impartial voice of advice at the right time. The counselling stopped at this point because she was only doing an internship at the CDC. I've been asked if I would've continued going to counselling and yes, I would have. However this is a good point to transition into being my own voice of reason and will keep the hour a week to myself. I have decided to start going to play squash once a week, alone, to give me the appropriate time and space to review my week and continue the path I am taking.

All of this to say that I believe that among many many things, this process not only reinforced the recoding of my life into English, but also helped me integrate and accept all the different parts that form me, like a stained glass window or a 3D puzzle. My different identities can come out every now and then and I can let them be. I have been given the chance now to explore even further a new part of my cultural experience. As I start to get to know Gabrielle I get to see myself through her eyes. Moreover, being French her first language, it has given me a chance to understand and share this ESL experience, and also to push myself into using a third language (every now and then at least) to squeeze meaning out of this life. Just a couple of weeks ago, as I was trying to describe a Guatemalan enchilada to her, due to my lack of vocabulary in French, I wasn't able to come up with the word "betterave", but more interestingly both the words "beet" and "remolacha" (what betterave means in English and Español) were completely blocked. I was aware that I knew them and I had the image of such vegetable but I couldn't even do the "switch coding" and interject English into my very primitive French conversation. Oh, the mind and its games.

Note on frequency of postings/comments
As you may have noticed there was almost a month in between my previous post and this one. I confess I have been doing some living lately and thus have neglected elToronteco. I still read the postings on my favourite blogs and every now and then I drop a line as a comment. I also appreciate the comments on any posting I have written and I get a laugh at seeing the google searches that result in unexpected visits. I make no promises of future postings, but I am not riding towards the sunset just yet. After all, besides squash, blogging will become part of my self reflection exercise on a more consistent way now that counselling has ended. So, stayed tuned.

Mis amantes

Durante mi programa de licenciatura en la UVG hace ya tres lustros solía decir (usualmente a mí mismo) que estaba comprometido con la Psicología, pero que tenía una amiga que era la Matemática y una amante que era la Antropología. El catedrático de mi curso de Matemática me dió dos años en "esa tu carrera". Era evidente que mi fidelidad a la psicología estaba en peligro y hasta llegué a hacer trueque entre mi práctica de investigación y un trabajo de campo en antropología. Eventualmente me licencié en psicología y trabajé como tal por un par de años antes de venirme a Canadá. Lo irónico fue que el casarme con una psicóloga produjo mi divorcio de la psicología y que sólo al divorciarme de la psicóloga que pude reconciliarme con mi primera prometida.

Más de cinco años luego de mi divorcio (el de la psicóloga) estoy bien avanzado en volverme a "casarme" con las ciencias del comportamiento. He retomado el camino que inició en el Liceo Guatemala, aprendiendo sobre desarrollo cognoscitivo y preguntándome por qué el aprendizaje es fácil para unos y difícil para otros. La Matemática me presentó a su prima la Estadística con la cual he estado saliendo de vez en cuando. Aun sueño con la Antropología, pero he encontrado que la Psicología puede ofrecerme parte de los encantos de la primera. Una perspectiva cultural, basada en el contexto en el que el individuo se desarrolla es una fusión ideal de Psicología y estudios culturales. Al menos eso creo yo.

En los próximos meses tendré que elegir tema de disertación doctoral. Como mi amiga Ale me recuerda, uno se "casa" con su tesis. Otra amiga bloguera, Stephanie Falla, hasta ha utilizado este medio para "rebotar" algunas ideas sobre como elegir tema de tesis. Aunque aun no estoy listo para "comprometerme" a ninguna idea, mi pasado, mi presente y mi futuro se reunen de vez en vez a platicar conmigo y, aunque nunca llegamos a nada, estamos conscientes que esta es una de esas encrucijadas en las que puedo tomar varios caminos. A veces me desilusiona la Psicología, especialmente el poco alcance que la investigación pura tiene en "el mundo real". La Estadística me ofrece una solución aun más "escapista"... un mundo de ideas y de números y de mundos simulados, y al mismo tiempo un arte y un potencial en cuanto a carrera profesional mucho más emocionante y amplio que la investigación psicológica.

¿Será que podré reconciliarme una vez más con la Psicología? ¿Terminaré cayendo en los brazos de la Estadística y para siempre teniendo una relación de semi-infidelidad hacia mi "primer amor" académico? ¿Hay alguna salvación para este pobre hombre entre dos tierras?
¿Escapismo o fidelidad?, que piensan Uds...

Everything I learned about blogging...

Recently a dear friend pull the plug or better off "signed off" on her blog. I have since started to write this post that I hope to publish soon. It is an idea I have had from the get-go when I decided to create elToronteco. It is a huge tribute to the blogs that showed me the power of this new media. Then I realized, What do I know about blogging? Not much, I guess. But what I do know is that these blogs and their authors have influenced more than my "extra-curricular" activity of blogging but the way I see and live life. The very first blog I consistently read was:

Bitácora de Mauricio Romero http://romerogt.delaermita.com/ [Español]
Nepotism-shmepotism... I believe that the melange of personal notes, rants about open source technology, the occasional political diatribe, reiki and other spiritual and material matters really describes the person with whom I share most of my genetic configuration. RomeroGT is my older brother but more than that is a great friend and a real traveling companion. Space separates us, but distance is not measured in Kms. I've been reading this blog since 2004 and I believe I started by commenting via e-mail and then I figured out how to post my comments. This blog changes its css every now and then, always looking for different layouts. On one of those layouts had a widget with recent posts from other "Blogs chapines" (chapín is slang for a person from Guatemala) and through those links I was able to discover other blogs, particularly, in October of 2006 I stumble upon this blog:

Hello from Here http://hellofromhere.blogspot.com
LD is a Canadian journalist who was living at the time in Quetzaltenango or Xela as it is also known, the second largest city in Guatemala after The Capital. The personal touch of her postings and the struggle she was having with integration of her experience in Guatemala, which was in many different levels quite deep, with her Canadian identity caught my attention. Then there was a personal link because a friend here in Toronto actually have met her a couple of Summers before while visiting Xela. One important think I learn from HFH was to always keep it personal. Not just report the news (which in LD's case is her actual job), but find something that you cannot deliver in any other way. HFH could be seen as an Ex-Pat blog, one of those transition from the "dreaded mass e-mail" to the public posting of the author's adventures in the foreign land. On the posts of HFH you can find a human side of Guatemala and the transition from being an outsider to becoming part of that reality... because Guatemala, as Francisco Goldman describes in The Long Night of the White Chickens, is a country you don't live in but you live with. And LD also showed this on a post called "Ni de aquí ni de allá" just before returning to Canada.

LD decided to pull the plug on HFH recently. She's been back on Canadian soil for more than a year and the "novelty" of living in Toronto is not really inspiring. Believe me, I know, and you can see my own sparseness in posting as such. One last lesson from HFH is that sometimes you need to live in order to blog. It has to mean something to you. It took me a year to come across a situation that merited starting a blog. In the meantime, through the Web of relationships the Internet is I was able to find two of my best friends' blogs: From Ronald Flores, well www.ronaldflores.com [Es], and from Ale her two blogs Congo Days [En] and Desde Kinshasa [Es].

From Ronald's blog I have learned that I don't have to fear to elevate the level of the conversation. From both of Ale's blogs I have rediscovered that kindred spirit I met back in Guatemala and also to dare to write in both languages. I took the single blog two languages approach whereas she keeps two separate yet equally important blogs. These two friends of mine make me proud of being a Guatemalan blogger.

The last blog I would like to mention as part of my formative time as a budding blogger is La Antigua Guatemala Daily Photo (http://antiguadailyphoto.com) whose author, Rudy is one of the first great friends I have never met (although I will try again to correct this later in the year). LAGDP has given me the opportunity to craft my commenting skills (as HFH and RomeroGT did as well). It is also "concerned" with design as RomeroGT. However, one of the key lessons is the beauty of using pictures to tell a story.

I must mention two good friends (and their blogs) that I made since I started elToronteco. Carmencita, a Guatemalan woman living in California, where she grew up, is another two languages/two blogs kinda person with the recently renamed "Un viaje a las raices" (http://carmendebizet.blogspot.com/) and with her personal Xanga blog http://www.xanga.com/CarmenDeBizet/ , which heading reads "Given enough coffee I could rule the world". Carmencita is a wonderful story-teller with a good sense of humour and also with a complex identity (which is a common denominator on the whole bunch described here, me included). The other amiga is Cancun Canuck (http://www.cancuncanuck.com/) or Canucka as I call her in the blogosphere. A former Toronto resident now transplanted into that Caribbean tourist hot-spot of Cancún where she is living a life among the nativ.. I mean locals. Her insights are great, her stories are funny and human, and (I must mention it) her 3-year-old son is just the cutest MexiCanadian ever (there is something to be said about mixing the races ;-) ).

So, I might not know much about blogging. But my journey started by lurking and commenting, particularly on the blogs mentioned here. To all you guys, a YouTube dedication:

Contigo Aprendí by Armando Manzanero
Interpreted by Costa Rica's Trio Azul Kristal

Hallazgos Arqueológicos

Desde ya me estoy disfrutando la cantidad de visitantes que el título de esta mi entrada dominical creará. La verdad se refiere a un descubrimiento que hice mientras estaba buscando unas notas que tomé sobre El Principito de Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Aunque no las encontré lo que si pude "escarbar" fueron una serie de poemas, algunos inéditos y algunos de verdaderos poetas copiados a mano o en la computadora durante la década de los 90. Anteriormente había hecho mención y había compartido un par de poemas de este "Folder Español" HISPASA de pasta azul que tengo por acá en mi tierra madrina. Es divertido leer las babosadas que uno ha escrito en su pasado. Pero lo que es realmente interesante es (1)tratar de recordar/entender/relatar el origen de estos poemas y (2) encontrar cierta afinidad con el tiempo presente.

Con toda discreción me pregunto ¿será que no he crecido emocionalmente en estos 10 o 15 años? ¿será que la historia, mi historia, es circular? ¿por qué es que no puedo escribir palabras tan "apasionadas" en estos días (en los que no sale el sol sino tu rostro)? ¿será que estoy viendo "micos aparejados" (lo cual realmente es una imagen grotesca y perturbadora)?

Bueno, les dejo unos cuantos poemitas para que uds. juzguen si el patojo que le gustaba gastar tinta tenía algún futuro como escribidor o si al menos iba a tener suerte con las patojas. ¡Ay si uno pudiera re-escribir la historia! Hago una vez más el énfasis que estas líneas fueron escritas circa 1994 (a principios de la U pues).
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Las palabras se posan
sobre tu cabello,
sin embargo,
sigues indiferente
a su vuelo de cortejo
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
En tus ojos
una noche
soñé que sumergía
mis labios
en busca de ti
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
El mundo y tu sonrisa
tan pequeños
y aun así tan inmensos
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ama la noche a sus estrellas
Aman los árboles a sus nidos
Aman los ríos a los peces
y sus orillas a las serpientes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inútil,
la distancia,
rellena las cavidades,
de mi corazón palpitante
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Estas allí,
con tus ojos de siempre
y tu mirada de "nunca"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Llené mi alma
con tu mirada
y no la he querido vaciar
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoy me levanté con la impresión
de haber conocido al amor de mi vida...
...otra vez
______________________________________________________________________

The importance of being discrete

La Vie s'en va...
Una mujer, con su mirada,
Me dice: - "Vívela"
La Vida a gritos,
-"Sigue a esa mujer"
From Poem #10 of "Luna Park" by Luis Cardoza y Aragón

Have you ever been asked "How life is treating you?" I get it once in a while and I always try to be witty and answer "At least she is still treating me". Probably this exchange takes place more commonly in Spanish, thus the gender of La Vida. Now that is one way of putting it... life, my dearest dear is still talking to me, and like to Cardoza it is yelling at me. I sometimes feel to be holding on dear life... making this super human effort just to keep my head afloat.
Lately, though, the feeling has changed, or at least is not that frequent. I have a feeling of accomplishment. Back in the academic year 2004/2005 I was given a task to reproduce some results published by my co-supervisor JPL and one of his former students back in the mid-90s where they used a data analysis technique called Latent Class Analysis (or LCA among friends) to classify the responses and the respondents of a study using one of the experimental tasks we used quite often in our lab. It was a long long year... not my brightest or my best moment, but not my dullest or worst either. I kept hitting my head against the wall (alas! only figuratively this time) over and over again, at school, at home, in my head and in my heart. Needless to say I survived with just a few scratches on my academic self. Well, fast forward to April Fool's day 2008 and there I was, presenting on the last class of the last course requirement for my degree and I was able to slip right into my presentation (which was about other type of data analysis) my first ever working LCA. No reworking someone else's results or even ideas. The data came from a larger project we are conducting in my lab, but the conceptualization of my variable, the recoding, interest, motivation, and final "measurement" was mine.

If you are still reading this quite boring post you may wonder what does this has to do with being discrete... or saying to yourself "huh?" or even "WTF? Manolo". Oh well, I will keep some details to myself because I am being discrete... but in any case, discrete is used to describe those characteristics (we call them "variables" in psych. lingo) that "classify" or "order" people (we call them "participants" or a more general "sample" or when we feel really almighty "population"). For example, city or country of origin, that is a discrete variable. The place in which you get to the finish line, which is a rank, is also a discrete variable. The difference between first and second might or might not be the same between second and third, it just "orders" the runners. That is what LCA does, it creates classes, it puts people into statistical boxes that then we can play with.

Psychologists have this inferiority complex (it is not just me, trust me) and we are always defensive against "hard sciences" and try to come up with this "scientific" explanations to things and we would like to believe that as gravity was once explained by supernatural forces and now it is an undeniable physical law, one day our little "ideas" about the world will also be one day recognized by means of neuro-this or gentico-that as "real". Personally I believe reality is a construction, but that is another topic. The point being that in our quest for "hard evidence" and for "hard cash" from science councils' grants we tend to pump up our explanations of things. We measure everything and we create scales (read questionnaires, surveys, etc.) for everything. We test them, we calibrate them, we "factor-analyse" them. We make them prim and proper for the stage of academia. And that stage of academia requires them to look nice and usually to "behave" like speed or gravity or luminosity or whatever it is "scientists-out-there" study. And because for the physicist or the astronomer or even the engineer it is not enough to say that well, the object falls faster on Earth than in the Moon but it has to say how faster we assume that to be part of the science club psychology needs also to say how much of anxiety or intelligence or social desirability or racism this or that person has. Yes and no are not enough. Discrete answers are not enough.

This is the beginning of a rant I have about being discrete. About the good qualities of being able to put things and people into boxes. Not of labeling in itself. But of accepting the limits of behavioural sciences in trying to understand the most fascinating organism on the face of Gaea. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes "une pipe, n'est-ce pas un pipe". They don't have to have less than 12 points on the BDI or gain 10 IQ points just by looking at them. Sometimes, just sometimes, a "yes-or-no" answer is enough. And sometimes it is not about getting to the finish line first, but to know how to get to the finish line.

Photo: "Homage to M.C. Escher" by the author. Taken on Niagara Falls Park on June 2007.

Primavera

(...)porque en tales días obtuvieron los judíos paz contra sus enemigos,
y en este mes la aflicción se trocó en alegría y el llanto en festividad;
que los convirtieran en días de alegres festines y mutuos regalos,
y de donaciones a los pobres (Ester 9:22; Nueva Biblia de Jerusalén-NBJ)

La primavera ha iniciado con un nuevo día (o Norouz) y mientras en Toronto esperamos que finalmente el verde empiece a crecer y los árboles se re-vistan con sus hojas y sus flores. Este año tres celebraciones se han conjugado en esta semana primaveral: El año nuevo Persa(cómo me lo recordó este año la entrada en [daily dose of imagery] ver también el enlace sobre Norouz) que inicia el primer día de primavera o sea en el equinoccio de primavera. Este año, junto con el primer día de la primavera, los judíos celebran la fiesta de los Purim, siguiendo el relato del libro de Ester en el cual gracias a la intervención de la bella reina, el pueblo judío fue salvado del exterminio mientras estaban exiliados en Babilonia bajo el mando Persa (coincidentemente). La historia es una de aquellas sangrientas historias del antiguo testamento en las que se exageran los números de muertes de enemigos del pueblo elegido, sin embargo no es una historia solamente de venganza, sino de acción de gracias y de cómo los oprimidos, gracias a la intervención divina, salen victoriosos frente a la aflicción y el terror. Personalmente Purim me recuerda el haber compartido el año pasado unas galletas de forma triangular que dicen representar (depende de quien se le pregunte) la oreja o el sombrero de Amán, el enemigo del pueblo judío que pretendía hacer que el rey Asuero decretara la muerte de ese "pueblo disperso y diseminado entre los pueblos de todas las provincias (del) reino, con sus leyes, distintas de las de todas las naciones, y que no cumplen las leyes reales" (Ester 3:8, NBJ). Gracias al encanto y los banquetes y la oración de la reina Ester, el rey Asuero entra en razón y la balanza cambia de lado y los judíos terminan "exterminando" a sus enemigos ayudados de un nuevo decreto real. Mi buena amiga que me convidó sus galletas y su cultura anda de viaje por Nueva Zelanda en estas fechas. Así que le mandaré electrónicamente de alguna manera un saludo de Purim.

Por otro lado el año nuevo Persa es personificado en mi mitología personal por otra buena amiga, la cual le debo el haber empezado este camino de búsqueda de identidad. De origen Persa, pero con afinidad a la cultura latinoamericana, SM hizo un viaje a Guatemala en el verano del 2005 y previo a su viaje le pude compartir lo que yo "sabía" sobre mi amada matria. El convertirme en un "informate nativo" y poder reflejar mis opiniones y añoranzas despertó en mí esa "chapinidad" que al día de hoy escapa definición para mí. Así que sin saber mucho de la cultura Persa, esta amistad me hace respetar y apreciar esta celebración del primer día de la primavera que antecede al cristianismo.

La celebración que es quizás más conocida para quienes lean esta entrada es la Semana Santa. Anoche la luna llena me recordó la conmemoración de la última cena y la visita a sagrarios que al menos un par de veces hice con mi abuelita materna. No puedo decir que he dejado de ser cristiano, ni siquiera que he dejado de ser Cristiano o Católico, pues esa formación es la que me ha forjado como el ser humano que soy. Sin embargo, no atiendo a ninguna comunidad y no he pisado el interior de una iglesia si no es con una cámara y cómo turista en mucho mucho tiempo. El fervor de Semana Santa que magistralmente es pintado en LAGDP permea mi ser. Acá en mi tierra madrina se celebra bajo el nombre de "Easter" con colores pastel, una comida familiar, chocolate, conejos, y un fin de semana largo. Más allá, pero sin ser necesariamente opuesto o excluido, del rito y connotación cristiana la celebración de Easter es la celebración de la renovación. Tema que se siente en el ambiente cuando se habla de la primavera. Se pueden ver o rebuscar las raíces cristianas en este festival del sinergismo, en este experimento de multiculturalidad que es Toronto y Canadá en general. En las iglesias se verá y se hablará acerca de la resurrección de Cristo por la cual la salvación de las naciones fue consumada.

En mi reflexión personal he podido conjugar todas estas ideas en un saludo y un deseo de primavera: Qué la renovación toque a tu puerta y que la invites a pasar dentro de tu casa

Fotos: Passiflora caerulea (Pasionaria), arriba tomada en la casa de mis abuelos en la zona 6 de la ciudad de Guatemala, la de abajo tomada en Montreal en las afueras del Oratoire St-Joseph

Overdue | Pride

On my shared items I have added a note from elPeriódico, the Guatemalan newspaper I use almost exclusively to keep connected and informed about what's up in my motherland. This is my interpretation and reaction of the news as a self-exiled middle-class Toronteco. The news headline reads as follows (my own translation from Spanish):

Presidents vetoes restitution of death penalty

Executive affirms that the decision is based in the fact that the decree violates six articles of the Constitution and because it would freeze relations with supportive countries

A couple of notes: (1) How hard it is to translate a headline from the beautiful Spanish language into the practical English language. (2) The "executive" refers to the section of the government headed by the president and conformed by the different ministries in charge of the actual functioning (execution) of the government, as opposed to the "legislative" (in charge of spitting out laws) and the "judicial"(in charge of enforcing the laws through the different courts).

I honestly have to say that I have not followed this issue closely. Apparently, the previous Guatemalan government left the death penalty "in the air" and it was up to the new government to figure out what to do with it. It seems that the "legislative", that is the Congress, approved the restitution of the death penalty. Both the current "executive" and the "legislative" are dominated by the same party, thus it is interesting that the president vetoes something approved by his own party. However, that is his prerogative and I simply can applaud any sign he can give of being "in power".

During my quarter of a century growing up in Guatemala the death penalty was a non-issue. It existed, it was enforced every now and then, it was even broadcast on the news at noon. I learned compassion, thought, through the eyes of my Tía Luz who served somewhat as our nanny and to whom I am in debt for who I am almost as much as my parents. Her reaction to anyone being incarcerated or taking in by police, or worse, anyone who was in death row was Pobrecito ("poor little guy"). Compassion for a criminal is something that is not often seen, particularly in Guatemala where the sole mention of the "Human Rights" in relation to common criminals provokes the outcry of the general public as a way of letting people get away with their wrongdoings. Now that I think about it to put it in black and white pixels Human Rights have so many different meanings in Guatemala. On one side we have the issue of the genocide of those who were fighting against the government (blowing up the extremely necessary and scarce infrastructure of the country, I must say to echo my "maternal" point of view); those who are seen by the international community as criminals against humanity, the masterminds and executors of the massacres during the civil war and even after the peace accords of 1996. And then we have the Human Rights of the common criminal (or even the organized one) which are completely disregarded by the common public. Linchamientos ("lynching") was (is?) a usual way of the people of taking the law into their own hands, as democratic as an open town hall. Out of frustration, the general public chased the criminal (be it someone who was stealing a pair of sunglasses or someone being suspected or trying to kidnap a baby), beat him/her up almost to death, until "the authorities" arrive. Is in this context that Human Rights are looked down by Guatemalans, not in the context of the massacres.

Thus, this double standard (death people have Human Rights, but criminals barely alive don't) permeates the discussion of the death penalty in my dear motherland. The compassion instilled by my Tía Luz and encouraged by this country I live in now (my brother calls it my "godmother"-land) have created a very clear position about the death penalty: It is NEVER justified. To give anyone (the people, the judges, the government, the church) the power to decide over someone else life is to give them absolute power, and you know what the saying says, human nature will tend to be corrupted by this power. The death penalty is there along the proliferation of nuclear weapons, is better not to have them regardless of their appeal and potential "usefulness". Revenge is usually the motor behind those who cry for the death penalty, not justice and neither it is the welfare of the many (even though "getting rid" of a few bad apples might seem "good" for society).

In a couple of occasions I have been reminded in Canada that my country of origin still practices the death penalty and thus it is placed within the box of "medieval" justice systems (along with our big partner to the South). And that is why today I feel pride to share the news that come from my motherland. A president, regardless of the public opinion and the political cost, is saying that the death penalty has no place in a modern civilized society, it is unconstitutional (although so it is abortion, but that is a horse of a different colour) and in order to be part of the global village Guatemala has to find real solutions to its problems with violence and crime. Violence cannot fight violence. Today I am proud of this overdue position.

What do you think about the death penalty? Is it still applied where you live? Isn't it just a short-term lazy measure to combat criminality? Who has the moral solvency to decide over the life of someone else?

Sequía

¿Qué es poesía? dices mientras clavas
en mi pupila tu pupila azul.
¿Qué es poesía? ¿Y tú me lo preguntas?
Poesía... eres tú.
De "Rimas y Leyendas" por Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Pues luego de cinco meses de haberme mudado a mi barrio y eventualmente haber iniciado este blog cómo que me he quedado sin baterías. Asi que he decidido poner tres poemas que fueron escritos durante estos meses. Tres poemas, tres estados de ánimo, tres irrealidades, tres idiomas...
_________________________________________________
Four-O-one

A nervous wreck
Driving in the car
Trepidation and expectation
Sobbing full of joy
On a cold December day

Trucks and buses
Barns and trees
Exit ramps and service centres
Frozen rivers and cold warehouses
The open road in front of me
Distance left behind
The radio signal fading
Tells me I am close to be
Finally back inside your eyes

_________________________________________________
El Atentado

Me moría por saber
Y cuál terrorista suicida
Mártir de causas perdidas
Envolví mi pecho con las cargas
Que había preparado...
...me acerqué en público
Con un plan y una sonrisa
Sin elemento sorpresa
Pero presa del pánico

Tú tenías otro plan
Y tu propia sonrisa
No pude detonar
Todas las palabras
Empacadas con pólvora

Me muero por saber
En dónde estás ahora
Mientras aún estoy
Recogiendo los chayes
Incrustados en mi pecho
Dentro de la única víctima del atentado
_________________________________________________
Le lac et la rivière
ai miei amici

Je pars vers la mer
Vers l’immensité bleue
Loin de toi, loin, loin,
Loin de tes yeux

Tu reste là avec ta profondeur
Tu es calme et en silence
Tu es arrivé déjà a ton
Dernier destination

Je viens de toi...
Au fond de toi je suis née
Mais… il fallait que je sois partie
Je devais partir vers
L’inconnu à travers
Des villes et des villages
Sur les collines
Et sous le soleil et les nuages
Le même ciel que tu reflets
Comme un miroir d’eau
...calme ... sage ...

Et moi… je ne peux pas rester
... je dois partir...
Dois continuer mon chemin
Autour les ports et des autres lacs
Et finalement, un jour, ou une nuit
Arriver à la mer...
Et fait partie des orages
Et retourner à toi
...avec la pluie torrentielle

Identity Pt. 2

| 1 0 0 |
| 0 1 0 |
| 0 0 1 |

I somewhat left my series on finding identity aside for a while. On this post I want to talk about another aspect of identity, personal identity. As you may know, or recall from your school years, any number multiplied by 1 remains the same. For example, four times one is still four, ten thousand times one is ten thousand. In linear algebra, the matrices that have this property are called identity matrices. A matrix is nothing more than a set of values (numbers, whatever) set in rows and columns. Now, not all matrices can be "multiplied" by the identity matrix, you have to be a special matrix and to conform (the actual technical term) with the identity matrix in order to be "multipliable" (my term). For me, everything is a metaphor of something else, and when I learned this properties of matrices a million ideas came to my mind. The most striking one was that because there is no such thing as division among matrices, in order to get to the identity matrix you have to multiplied by a very special matrix which is your "inverse". No, it is not yourself, is your "inverse" you need to result in the identity matrix.

What a trip, isn't it? Who, or what, or where is this inverse matrix? Why is so important to become one or to become "identity". What is the relationship between conformity and identity? Conform is quite the verb... is tossed around in an Orwellian manner almost as a joke sometimes. Or is rejected as loosing part of one's identity. But to conform might be just to have some common characteristic with the other. You don't have to be identical, you just need some shared interest, or background, or point of view. I am starting to believe that without conformity there cannot be a relationship. And without conformity there would be chaos. Moreover, human beings are designed to conform. And you need to conform to find identity.

I keep transforming myself, rearranging the different aspects that make me unique, trying to fit, first within my own skin, then with my environment. I am after all one of the most difficult persons I know. It is impossible to please me. And thus I seek to please others. I don't know the other, what I know about the other is quite limited, particularly compared with what I know about myself. And there is a very high probability that whatever I know about you will match, at least in a minimal way, one of the aspects of my self. Let's take music, for example.

I grew up listening to music in English and in Spanish, with some French tossed for flavour. There was also instrumental music which I learned (to listen, never to play properly) in school. In family gatherings and parties there was sometimes a live conjunto, a musical band, which sometimes had a marimba, and sometimes it was only a marimba. I used to hear hard rock and new age, but I did dance to tropical music (merengue and salsa in the beginning, but eventually also reggae) and to "dance" music. When grunge came I was all over it. My first CD I ever bought was from Enya, the Celtic New Age singer, but the first CD that I put on my mom's brand new CD player was from Juan Luis Guerra. I fell in love with Nueva Trova in university as many university students do, but that is a love I have kept throughout the years. I have discovered French pop from Quebec, and I have heard so many different rhythms from around the world I can move my feet (because I am a lousy dancer) or bop my head to. In regards to instrumental music I don't like what is properly called "classic", preferring the slightly older (everything is relative) baroque and more recent impressionism. Recently I have had a reggaeton phase and right now I am going through a "nueva cumbia" phase. There is something to be said for CanCon regulations which have promoted Canadian songwriters, which have me in awe for their lyrics and their compositions. Yep, I have an eclectic taste indeed.

All of this just to say how easy is for me to "conform"... to take any of these or the many many more threads that make me who I am and match one of yours. And I will keep transforming myself, trying to find that inverse matrix that eventually will be multiplied by me and will result in identity.

Don't even get me started with angles...

Bienagradecido

Vivo en un país libre/ cual solamente puede ser libre
en esta tierra, en este instante,/y soy feliz, porque soy gigante
De "Pequeña Serenata Diurna", Silvio Rodríguez

Soy feliz, soy un hombre feliz... entre tanto frío, penas, tristezas, desencantos, puedo darme cuenta de lo afortunado que soy. Se me olvida, es cierto, caigo en estados melancólicos, a veces hasta lloro sin por qué. Pero la vida, mi mejor querida, se empeña en recordarme lo maravillosa que es. No, no ha pasado nada "especial" para que haga tal declaración de felicidad. Es cierto que recientemente me recordaron esta canción tan bella de la cual tomo los primeros versos para mi epígrafo. Tal vez, esto ha sucitado que venga a reflexionar sobre esta vida que no me pide nada, o casi nada... que no es lo mismo, pero es igual.

Y hay tantas cosas por las cuales estar agradecido. Mi familia, que me ama que me recuerda con cariño, que me dió alas y me dió raices. Mis amistades a lo largo de este trayecto. Mi educación, tanto formal/institucional como la que se aprende caminando y cayéndose y levantándose. Mi salud, física y a la medida de lo posible mental. Tener un techo, un trabajo, abrigo en días tan fríos y comida suficiente. Tengo acceso a recursos y a información a través del Internet y siempre he vivido "conectado" a bibliotecas. Tengo momentos de ocio y recreación. Tengo, vamos a ver, la oportunidad de vivir en una cultura relativamente justa y egalitaria. No perfecta, pero perfectible. En donde llamo a mis "superiores" por su primer nombre y en donde la gente es gentil y a veces hasta amable.

Muchas cosas pueden decirse de este país libre en donde vivo, muchas críticas constructivas y destructivas. Lo mismo se puede decir de mi país de origen. Estoy agradecido de haber nacido en Guatemala, mi matria. En haberme llenado los ojos de volcanes, de montañas, de ríos, de lagos. De haber crecido con el siseo del acento chapín y el cantadito que mezcla los orígenes diversos de la gente que puebla mi matria mesoamericana. De ser heredero del trono de amor y de la revolución primaveral. Agradezco ser parte de una población tan especial y también de ser parte de la diáspora guatemalteca. Creo no merecerlo, a veces.

Otro mes termina mañana con un día extra este año. En esta oportunidad que me da el año bisiesto quiero proponerme ser más agradecido. Gracias a mis lectores, a mis progenitores, a mis amores y a mis detractores. Gracias por mis manos y mis ojos, por mi risa y por mi llanto. Y, como dicen aquellos suecos, por las canciones que transmiten emociones.

Muchas gracias y feliz 29 de febrero.

Under the rug

It's Sunday afternoon, just came back from the laundromat, my place is in desperate need of cleaning, I started yesterday, not done yet. And instead I am writing a post on my blog. Typical guy who lives alone. Somewhere I read or heard a complaint of someone about men not noticing dust... I notice it alright, I just (1) don't care enough (2) cannot deal with it right now. Anyway, I always have the feeling that no matter how much I sweep and mop and spray and scrub filth will always come back, almost immediately. Cleaning is one of those mundane(yet necessary) activities that makes me feel like the Sisyphus. Is not the only one, but is the one I have in front of me right now.

Well, continuing with my search for identity (which will help me procrastinate and avoid cleaning) and with my crusade to understand and share my "culture of origin" I thought about writing about second last names. In Guatemala, and in most Latin America I believe, the tradition is to have two last names. The "first" last name is the first last name of the person's father and the second last name is the first last name of the mother. This creates the illusion that there is some sort of value on the woman's family name. Think about it, the mother's first last name is actually her father's last name.

I am always intrigued by the importance of names and family names. Is a colonialist criollo mentality I guess. From very young I was inquiring about the origin of both my family names and the people behind them. It seems my great grandfather from my father's father side (i.e. from my "first last name" side)moved from La Antigua Guatemala and pretty much lost ties with his relatives back there (a mere 41 km from Guatemala City, but with treacherous roads and lack of means of transportation it used to be a day's travel back then I guess). My second last name, the one I take from my mother and which I have fought to keep in Canada defying local tradition and other immigrants practices is Escobar. There is an interesting way how my mother, and therefore myself, end up with this last name. There is a more "parental" than biological connection with the last name. My mother being the second child out of three children and only daughter of my grandmother received the last name of her second husband, even though it was understood and known to everyone that she was the daughter of my grandmother's first husband. Thus I have cousins with different last names. My grandfather Escobar was, besides all his flaws, my mother's father.... real father, as they say.

In any case, I grew up proud of both my families and thus of both my last names (the criollo mentality once again). At some point in the transition from Guatemala to Canada I thought that hyphenation was the only choice I had to "save" the Escobar. I started using the hyphen and up to this day there are versions of my name hyphenated at YorkU. Don't get me started with the fact that I use my middle name as my call name. Two first names and two last names make for quite a bit of confusion and I find endearing when someone calls me Mr. Escobar. At some point in my life I thought about making my father's name a "middle name" and adopting my mother's last name as my own. I outgrew those tantrums that would have caused unnecessary and potentially costly headaches, without mention an outright split from one part of my family heritage. So I have learned to embrace my different familiar origins and in my colonialist mentality I even designed a coat of arms for my two last names combined (see above). I am no expert in heraldic elements so I cannot explain or defend my coat of arms. For purposes of this convoluted post let me just say this: Escobar, means literally "to broom", not "to sweep", but "to broom". Thus the brooms in my coat of arms. So it would have been ironic that I just sweep my second last name under the rug and even potentially forgetting that once I was called Manolo just to please North American standards of one name and one last name. Moreover, and coming full circle on today's lesson is the fact that cleaning is waiting for me and I'll be using the instrument that is representing half of my family heritage in my made up coat of arms.

But the story doesn't end here... Next month I'll be taking a three day course on curling, a somewhat obscure and/or archaic Winter sport in which teams compete over solid water throwing stones towards a "target" and in which they use (wait for it) brooms to "curl" the ice in front of the stone to give the throw both impulse and direction. This can be the begining of a beautiful friendship between a Spanish last name and a Scottish sport popular in Canada. It can end in the Olympics, why not dream big. After all, the oldest Olympic medalist is a Canadian curler. Definitely not the ones in Vancouver in 2010, but probably the ones in Sochi in 2014, which coincidentally were awarded to the Russian city in Guatemala just last year. Coincidence... I think not.

Now back to cleaning... a toilet bowl awaits.

Familiaridad

Gracias a una promesa electoral bien intencionada mañana la provincia de Ontario celebrará el primer Día de la Familia. Algunos verán con escepticismo esta iniciativa populista y otros agradecerán el tener un fin de semana largo luego de la cantidad de nieve que ha caído por estos lares en lo que va del mes. Febrero es realmente el peor mes en cuanto a clima y estado de ánimo del pueblo canadiense. Tengo que confesar que aunque por años he negado el efecto que el invierno tirano tiene en mí este año he decidido ser honesto y confesar que estoy cansado de ver todo cubierto de nieve. Es bello... es cierto... pero creo que cierta familiaridad con las estaciones me da el derecho de sentirme de bajón de cuando en vez durante los meses (que parecen ser eternos) de invierno.
Inicié esta entrada con la intención de reflexionar sobre el concepto de familia. Acabo de colgar luego de hablar con mis padres y de intercambiar unas cuantas (siempre insuficientes) palabras con mi hermana. Hay un decir que uno no escoge a sus familiares, pero creo que yo, si pudiera, escogería a los que tengo. Esta es la primera idea de familia, la familia de origen de donde vengo... a donde voy cuando la cosa se pone difícil, a quien acudo para contar mis babosadas y quienes a veces me cuentan las de ellos. Por casi un cuarto de siglo me vieron crecer entre ellos y en lo que va del presente siglo me han extrañado y han sido extrañados mientras sigo creciendo en esta nueva tierra. Es algo delicado mencionar o tratar de nombrar (en el sentido numérico) quienes son mi familia de origen. Cuando la familia se ha dividido y multiplicado, cuando han habido adiciones y sustracciones, a pesar de la unidad el cariño no siempre es igualmente distribuido. Alrededor de mi familia de origen esta mi familia extendida, los tíos, abuelos, primos, sobrinos y demás familiares... el compartir un apellido o un ancestro común es, en mi experiencia, una garantía de afecto recíproco. Han habido veces en las que las muestras de amor que he recibido de mi familia extendida me han sorprendido. La sangre es mas espesa que el agua.

En dos ocasiones en mi vida he creado, junto a mis respectivas parejas, otro tipo de familia. A pesar de no tener hijos, puedo decir con seguridad y con todo mi corazón que he experimentado el gozo de ser la mitad de una familia. En ambas ocasiones mi vida cambió radicalmente (es decir desde sus raíces) gracias a estas experiencias. Por motivos que no vienen al caso ambas familias llegaron a su fin. En la más reciente de mis relaciones aun mantengo el contacto y la comunicación, lo que a veces puede parecer extraño y a veces parece no recomendable. Sin embargo, honestamente veo a esta relación como una relación familiar. Creo que ella es una de las personas que más me conoce (aunque no me entienda) y a la cual me gustaría ver crecer. No puedo caracterizar la relación de otra manera. Por el momento, en este sentido, soy una familia de uno y hay veces que es más que suficiente.

Otra "familia" a la que pertenezco es la de mi laboratorio en YorkU. Mi supervisora y su esposo son co-directores del grupo de investigación al cual pertenezco. Su complementaria relación han creado un ambiente orgánico el cual fomenta una relación personal que va más allá de lo académico y profesional. Desconozco si esto es común en otros laboratorios, especialmente cuando son dirigidos por una pareja. Definitivamente tiene sus ventajas y desventajas. Quisiera celebrar, en el día de la familia, las ventajas. Una de las cuales, en mi caso, es el tener una experiencia de "hijo adulto" la cual trunqué de alguna manera al decidir emigrar. Dentro de el papel de mentores, los co-directores de mi laboratorio me han visto crecer como persona mientras hago mis tanes en este mundo académico que a veces puede ser salvaje o frustrante. Me han aconsejado y escuchado, no sólo en cuanto a mi trabajo y profesión, sino en mi vida personal. No sé si por esta imagen parental, pero a mis colegas de laboratorio los he llegado a ver como una especie de hermanas y hermanos. Algunos con más experiencia y edad que yo (no necesariamente van juntas), pero todos con un mismo objetivo, terminar la U lo más pronto posible. Venimos de muchos orígenes y de diversas familias, y sin embargo hablamos un lenguaje común y nos echamos la mano cuando podemos. Como en cualquier familia pueden haber desacuerdos pero siempre estamos allí compartiendo penas y alegrías.

Para finalizar, aunque no por ello menos importante, tengo otro tipo de familiares, amistades a las cuales respeto y aprecio y en las que confío y comparto mi vida. Amigos y conocidos tengo muchos... pero estas otras amistades han venido creciendo con el tiempo o surgieron instantáneamente para luego solidificarse. Son mis hermanas y hermanos "anexados" a mi círculo familiar. Este fin de semana largo me ha dado la oportunidad de darme cuenta y de reconocer en mi vida a estas personas que amo de una manera que solo puede compararse con ese vínculo que me une con mi familia de sangre. Espero poder crear la misma impresión en sus vidas y mantenerlos cerca por el resto de la mía.

¿Qué es familia? ¿Quiénes forman parte de sus familias? ¿Es compartir material genético necesario? ¿o suficiente?

It's De-Lovely

cariño.
(Etim. disc.; cf. lat. carere, carecer, arag. cariño, nostalgia).
1. m. Inclinación de amor o buen afecto que se siente hacia alguien o algo.
2. m. Manifestación de dicho sentimiento. U. m. en pl.
3. m. Añoranza, nostalgia.
4. m. Esmero, afición con que se hace una labor o se trata una cosa.
5. m. Regalo, obsequio.
From Diccionario de la Lengua Española - Real Academia Española

Years ago, when I was working on a call centre for a travel assistance/insurance company I started to send e-mails to co-workers with little "Spanish lessons" which I signed "El Profe" (the "prof"). I have kept that character hidden for a long time, regretfully and probably creating some resentment in the meantime. I think this could be a good time to either "resuscitate" elProfe or to make an exception and let him give a short lecture. And why is this a good time? Because today in Canada we celebrate Valentine's Day and in Guatemala is celebrated something similar which has a different connotation rooted on language semantics. February 14th in Guatemala is "el día del cariño y la amistad"; the last part is straight forward and already gives one of the big differences in the celebrations: Amistad=Friendship. Thus, Guatemalans are not only celebrating your "significant other" or romantic love, but really any meaningful relationship.

The first part, the cariño part takes a bit more of explaining. According to the Dictionary of the Royal Spanish Academy (see definition in Spanish in the epigraph) "cariño" is not only love, but "good affection" and the expression of such feelings. Its etymology is even more interesting, cariño has common ancestors with "to lack". Infinite letters and postings can derive from this little fact... (sigh). In any case, what I want to relate cariño with is the Spanish expression te quiero, which literally means "I want you", but it doesn't mean that, you dirty English-speaking minds. It means, as I feel it, "I care for you"... "I have these feelings for you and you are important to me". Some people can get away with never say te amo ("I love you") to their partners by always expressing their "love" with te quiero. On the other hand, it can be seen as a watered down or even "innocent" or "inoffensive" way of telling a friend that you feel the relationship to be an important one.

In my search for consolidation of my multiple identities and the role that language plays on this endevour I have not figured out this following issue: I am not sure which society is more "sensitive" or "picky" in using the word LOVE. As I explained above, in Guate couples can live without saying "I love you" by the artifice that te quiero produces. However, is within the North American context that I have felt the importance of saying "I love you". You just don't go around saying this or that person loves this or that other person. How appropriate (or not) is to say you love a friend? I certainly have friends that I can say I love, both male and female friends that I truly love. It is not a romantic love, although it can be confused that way (both by the other person and/or by my own silly self).

Trying to figure out this issue I am reminded (was reminded a few months ago actually) of two types of love: Eros and Agape. Eros is that passionate, romantic, usually physical love. Agape, as I understand it, is more like cariño, but with more commitment. It makes me think of the phrase "I would give my life for...". Which brings to my mind that idea that it is easier to die for than to live with someone. No, agape is giving yourself in, giving yourself up, your time, your self, your everything. I don't believe there is a hierarchy, both types of love are important and should be celebrated. Ideally we could have someone (hopefully the same person) to whom we can give both kinds of love and to whom we are the object of both kinds of love. At least that is something to aspire to.

Before leaving you with more questions I wanted to share at least a few verses of that lovely Cole Porter song, which Ella Fitzgerald sings beautifully and that gave the title to this post:

The night is young, the skies are clear
And if you want to go walkin', dear
It's delightful, it's delicious, it's de-lovely

I understand the reason why
You're sentimental, 'cause so am I
It's delightful, it's delicious, it's de-lovely

You can tell at a glance what a swell night this is for romance
You can hear, dear Mother Nature murmuring low "Let yourself go"

What is love to you? What do you think is celebrated on February 14th? What should be celebrated this date?

Falta de confianza

Los tambores de guerra se escuchan ya resonar desde la colina en la que se encuentra el Parlamento federal de Canadá. La semana pasada el gobierno conservador (minoritario) liderado por Stephen Harper anunció que pondrá sobre la mesa una propuesta de la extensión de la misión de las fuerzas armadas canadienses en Afganistán y que dicha propuesta sera objeto de un "voto de confianza"(ver noticia en CBC [en]). En esta democracia parlamentaria donde cada movimiento, cada alocución en la casa de los comunes, cada declaración a la prensa representa una jugada en el tablero de ajedrez político, un "voto de confianza" puede desencadenar elecciones generales. Y es que un gobierno minoritario, como el actual, realmente no debería de haber durado tanto como este que acaba de cumplir dos años.

La opinión pública usualmente no quiere elecciones. Que porque son costosas, que porque no cambian nada, que porque no hay candidatos con verdadero liderazgo. Ese es el sentimiento de la población canadiense respecto a las inminentes elecciones. Como reciente y elocuentemente el comediante canadiense Rick Mercer describió en su diatriba semanal (ver Rick Mercer Report[en] - Rick's Rant - 8 de febrero 2008) al sur de la frontera se esta dando una lucha electoral histórica, en donde un hombre de color y una mujer tienen posibilidades de llegar a ocupar la presidencia de nuestro poderoso vecino. Mientras tanto, en Canadá que se las lleva de progresista, los líderes de los partidos federales son hombres blancos de mediana edad que representan más de lo mismo, la clase política fosilizada en su máxima expresión. Sin embargo, la falta de "celebridades" no quiere decir que no hayan puntos claves en el panorama político en Ottawa.

La oposición oficial, representada por el partido Liberal, ha estado calificando enfáticamente al partido conservador de ser vindicativo, deshonesto, e incapaz. Palabras fuertes, palabras de guerra. Mi posisión personal de ciudadano particular sin vinculación ni afiliación política esta de acuerdo con esta evaluación del presente gobierno basado en eventos de los últimos meses que han sido presentados en los medios de comunicación nacionales.

Vindicativo por sistematicamente remover a funcionarios eficientes y competentes cuyo único pecado es haber sido asignados por el anterior gobierno liberal. Una búsqueda de noticias sobre el affair del reactor nuclear localizado en la población de Chalk River, Ontario, puede dar uno de los más relevantes ejemplos. En este mismo caso, la incapacidad del gobierno fue evidenciada al exponer a la gente que habita en las cercanías de dicho reactor a un riesgo inaceptable de un accidente nuclear (probabilidad de 1 en 1,000, cuando los estándares internacionales requieren que sea un riesgo máximo de 1 en 1,000,000) al ordernar la reactivación de tan delicado mamotreto. Cómo confiar en un gobierno que reacciona con el hígado cuando existe una situación de seguridad interna.

El partido oficial se ha quejado en repetidas ocasiones de ser presentados de una manera negativa por los medios de comunicación, particularmente por la CBC que es la corporación de noticias pública y por lo tanto financiada 100% por el gobierno federal. Bueno, realmente es financiada por los impuestos que todos pagamos y afortunadamente se mantiene objetivamente imparcial y en el mejor de los casos de lado de los ciudadanos que queremos que se nos presente la información como es y no como al gobierno se le antoje. El gobierno conservador mantiene a sus ministros y hasta a entidades federales de investigación científica con una semi-mordaza en cuanto a declaraciones a la prensa. Asi que si no se tiene una versión oficial confiable, se cae en el problema relativo de tener que interpretar el silencio como aceptación de culpabilidad. El que calla otorga.

Pero la deshonestidad está caracterizada por una situación que se dió a finales del año que recientemente nos dejó. Las fuerzas armadas canadienses asignadas por la OTAN a enforzar y mantener la paz en la provincia de Kandajar en Afganistán, decidieron dejar de transferir elementos enemigos capturados (i.e. soldados bajo las órdenes o al menos afines al Talibán) a las fuerzad de seguridad afganas. Esto se dio, luego de varios reportes de tortura por parte de las autoridades locales (i.e. afganas) que violaban la convención de Viena sobre la tortura. Hasta acá, ningún problema. Que tanto el ejército como el gobierno no quisieron difundir esta información alegando seguridad militar o que se yo, perfecto. Pero cuando esta situación llegó a saberse el gobierno cambió sus declaraciones varias veces, hasta llegando a afirmar desconocer de dicho cambio en la política militar en la misión "de paz". Y, lo que más me asusta, es que no fue claro en dónde han estado detenidos dichos combatientes enemigos. Siendo originario de un país con tradición de jueces anónimos mandan a acusados a cárceles fantasmas y objetando sin reserva el tratamiento que el gigante al sur de la frontera hace de sus prisioneros de guerra en la base de Guantánamo, la idea de que mi idealizada nueva tierra tenga la tentación de promover dichas injusticias judiciales me da escalofrío.

La guerra (pues eso es lo que dicha "misión" es) es siempre sucia. Es algo deplorable y triste. Alargar la estadía de las fuerzas armadas en Afganistán es inaceptable. Por lo tanto espero que mi representate al parlamento, Mario Silva (Distrito electoral Davenport - Partido Liberal de Canadá) rechace la jugarreta política del gobierno conservador y le de un voto de falta de confianza sobre el asunto de extender dicha "misión". Y ahi nos veremos en las urnas...

The tour guide and the (winter) city

For the third time in the last 12 months I had the opportunity of being a tour guide of Toronto. It is really a pleasure to show the city you live in to someone who is seeing it for the first time. Last June I started this honourary job with my Dad, then in the Fall I wandered around downtown with my dear Italian friend RBT a couple of times. Yesterday it was with a new friend, a young guy from Colombia who is trying to adapt to living in Canada after life threw a slider at him and his family. Mr. Ch. is being integrated into my lab at YorkU as an undergraduate research assistant, while trying to have his university back in Colombia to take this experience as the last credits he need to finish his degree in Psychology.

We met to talk and I was able (hopefully) to give him a glance into life in Canada and in Toronto. The backdrop of a slushy Spadina Avenue after a "snow storm" that surprisingly brought the city to its knees seemed to be effective to describe the contrasts this city has to offer. Here are some photos I took from one of my favourite intersections College and Spadina:

What I like about this intersection is that is the North limit of China Town and to the South-West of the intersection you can find Kengsinton Market. Kengsinton Market is one of the most hip places (obviously this is my personal opinion) in Toronto. You can find vintage clothing stores, international food products, fresh produce, knick-knack stores, and even an authentic Taco joint (El Trompo) and a Chilean Empanada place (Jumbo Empanadas, where we had lunch). There are several Latin American grocery stores, so if I ever feel home sick and long for those Ducal refried beans, or if I run out of chocolate (the beverage) or suddenly decided the heck with sodium content let's make some Pepián out of a box (Mahler brand) I am sure I will find these and other products there if I don't find them in the little stores on mi barrio. Thus I try to show this neighborhood to visitors from abroad. In this case is to a future Canadian resident, but I guess it is a good introduction to the multi-culturality of Toronto (did I mentioned the Middle Eastern, Portuguese, Jamaican, and many many other stores in the area? and the fact that is just besides China Town?) and at the same time give him a potential life line if there is something from Colombia he might end up craving once he realizes is not easily found in wherever he ends up living in this wide, although relatively uninhabited city. Here is a shot of Augusta Ave., on of the main roads of Kengsinton Market.

It looks like any other street covered with snow. So I might make a future posting on this interesting piece of Toronto's mosaic when Spring finally arrives. Which according to the Canadian Groundhogs will be after six more weeks of these (dreary) weather. In the meantime I made Mr. Ch. walk down University Avenue (where I give my speech about the Canada Life beacon, does anyone know what is so special about it?) all the way to the Harbourfront Centre (which I had previously showcased), passing by Union Station, and the foot of the CN tower and the Rogers Centre (formerly known as the Skydome). Then we walked North via Bay Street, the home of the Toronto Stock Exchange (TSX) and then East on Queen St. East, where he is staying on a place beyond Sherbourne. Mr. Ch. apparently is "wintercity-ed out" so I didn't ask him to join me while I went to Nathan Phillps Square to experience an interpretation of Alice in Wonderland by a theatre group from the Netherlands called Gajes. I took some pictures, but lighting (and having a hot-dog and fries on one hand) doesn't help my poor camera phone, which otherwise takes excellent outdoor shots. Here are some of the most decent ones of the performance:

After the presentation I hang around to see the lightning of some fire sculptures created by a French artist or artists. It is fascinating how a cold Winter evening can make our primeval attraction towards fire more evident. Here are some pictures of a couple of these "sculptures", don't get too close:

So, this chapín tour guide from Toronto shared a talk with a Colombian friend over some Chilean empanadas, gave him a tour of downtown, and then he toured on his own to a festival where artists from the Netherlands and France presented their crafts. Just another weekend in Toronto. And, an appropriate way to commemorate the 32nd anniversary of an event in Guatemala, which produced an overwhelming response from the international community towards my motherland. Growing up we used to call February 4th the Day of International Friendship, but I don't know if it caught up. Does anyone know what happened in Guatemala on 4 February 1976?

Identidad Pt.1

"Sabemos que la raza, por sí misma, no hace historia:
no es factor que determina nada de importancia en el proceso social"
Severo Martínez Peláez (La Patria del Criollo, p. 25)

Me propuse escribir hoy sobre un tema que me ha estado rodeando la cabeza, probablemente toda mi vida, pero con mucha más insistencia en los pasados dos años. Inicio esta mini-serie con una cita de La Patria del Criollo: Ensayo de Interpretación de la Realidad Colonial Guatemalteca el cual creo debería ser lectura obligatoria para estudiantes de nivel diversificado en Guatemala. Originalmente publicado en los 70s (el siglo pasado) y siendo una obra sobre la era colonial, sigue siendo tan relevante hoy como lo ha sido desde su primera edición. La Asociación Americana de Antropología [EN] en una declaración de 1998 enfáticamente critica el concepto de "raza" como puramente colonial y sin fundamento biológico. La diversidad genética "dentro" de los llamados grupos raciales es mayor que la diferencia entre individuos "a través de" o de todas las razas. Este hecho y denuncia apoya el argumento de Martínez Peláez. Clasificar grupos humanos generalmente tiene como meta la objetivación del "otro".

Actualmente en Toronto, el distrito escolar de Toronto (TDSB p.s.s.e.i.) acaba de aprobar la creación de una escuela "afro-céntrica" que abriría sus puertas en septiembre del 2009. Como he comentado en otras partes (Miss HTP [EN]) la comunidad negra en Canadá, o al menos en Toronto, es simplemente mejor organizada o tal vez tenga mucho más "empuje" en cuanto a influenciar cambios. Hace tres años un reporte del TDSB arrojó datos en los cuales la deserción escolar en distintos grupos étnicos fue analizada. Los estudiantes de origen hispano fueron quienes tenían la taza de deserción más acelerada. Es decir, con el paso del tiempo hay más estudiantes de origen hispano en Toronto que no terminan la escuela. De esta situación nació la Spanish Speaking Education Network, pero nunca se habló de una escuela hispano-céntrica. Afortunadamente. ¿Por qué afortunadamente? Porque uno de los retos de la comunidad hispano-hablante es la integración de sus miembros. Es cierto que hay peligro de perder el idioma materno y puede existir problemas de conflicto de identidad inter-generacional. Sin embargo, es mi criterio, que una sana integración de los valores traidos del extranjero con los valores locales es la clave para el éxito de cualquier individuo y/o comunidad.

Ahora bien, tengo la impresión que hemos sustituido (aunque no al ciento por ciento) el término "raza" por "grupo étnico" o aun peor "etnia". ¿No se habla acaso en Guatemala de "etnias mayas"? No basta ser politicamente correcto, sino de crear una actitud crítica frente al problema de clasificación. En mi carrera académica este es un punto importante y esencial. Me estoy embarcando en la etapa de análisis de datos de una parte de un estudio longitudinal que se esta llevando a cabo por parte de mi laboratorio en YorkU. Dejando a un lado el objectivo final del proyecto, una de las preguntas que se quieren resolver es comprobar que las pruebas de habilidades cognoscitivas (específicamente de capacidad de atención mental) que utilizamos y que han sido desarrolladas dentro de la Teoría de Operadores Constructivos (TCO p.s.s.e.i.), son inmunes o al menos menos afectadas por los efectos del sesgo cultural que padecen las pruebas estandarizadas utilizadas generalmente.

Dentro de la información demográfica que voy a usar en mis análisis el "país de origen", tanto de los estudiantes como de los padres, es de los más relevantes para evaluar las hipótesis vagamente descritas arriba. Y aquí dejo esta entrada, para continuar con mi búsqueda, interior y exterior, académica y personal, en la literatura y en la calle, de argumentos para apoyar o desacreditar el por qué "país de origen" nos puede dar alguna pista a lo que podemos llamar "cultura" o "identidad" o "herencia memética". Así que no pierdan la sintonía durante las próximas semanas y/o meses mientras continúo este monólogo (¿manólogo?) con vistas a poder terminar mi programa académico.

Tale of two brews

Ok Rudy, I'll bite, or should I say drink? The man behind LAGDP has been mentioning over and over again the Canadian Classic Film "Strange Brew": The adventures of Bob and Doug McKenzie. Fellow blogger CancunCanuck posted in December the brothers McKenzie version of the 12 Days of Christmas, which is really really funny. But I won't talk about these Canadian icons, but of their (our) beloved beer. Or should I say beers? Well, I will focus on one beer in particular, the one I call "the pride of Toronto": Steam Whistle. Last June I had the pleasure of hosting my father in his first trip to Canada. He came for my convocation ("acto de graducación" pues) from my MA. My father worked for some years as an accountant at Cervecería Centroamericana, the producers of Gallo Nuestra Cerveza. So I thought it would be nice to take him to a micro-brewery here in Toronto. It happens that Steam Whistle Brewery is located at the foot of the most emblematic construction of Toronto, the CN tower. These are some photos taken from and at the brewery.

In the tour, which included a taste of their beer, we were told that this brewery only "craft" one product, the pilsner Steam Whistle, which is made only with four ingredients: Spring water, malted barley, hops and yeast. Their motto is "make one thing and make it good". This "micro-brewery" is located on an old train station, thus the name Steam Whistle. It is actually quite "hoppy" and it might be an acquired taste, but maybe less so than other types of beers produced in Toronto, like Mill Street Brewery Coffee Porter. But is not my intention to either describe every single beer and ale brewed in Toronto, not it is to create a beer blog. I am just replying to Rudy's insisting question of "what kind of strange brew" are we drinking up here, usually aimed to LD and to my person. LD, as far as I know, is not even a beer drinker. Me, on the other hand, have discovered that the suds I used to drink as a young child actually come from a very tasty beverage. I was not particularly fond of Gallo, and when I visit my family I try to drink Moza whenever I can(a bock type of beer, also produced by Cervecería Centroamericana S.A.). Beer is a serious business both in my motherland and in my newland. But it was in these latitudes that I discover that there is no such thing as one beer or one type of beer, and I finally understood what the hell is an ale (and I am not talking about Canada Dry Ginger Ale).

There are many more micro-breweries in Canada and some of the best that I know (well maybe because are the ones that have products more easily accessible) are in Ontario. You can check the website of the Ontario Craft Brewers for an extensive list of these local entrepreneurs and their beloved products. When I first came to Canada, I lived in Kitchener-Waterloo (K-W), two intertwined cities located about 2 hours South-West of Toronto, for three years and a half. I even worked conveniently across from The Brick Brewery in uptown Waterloo. In those times I developed a taste for Honey Brown beer, regardless of the brand. Here in Toronto when I am in the mood I usually have a Sleeman's Honey Brown, brewed in Guelph, a city between Toronto and K-W. Lately, though, I have preferred the best selling import in Canada: Stella Artois, brewed in Leuven, Belgium since 1366 (no it is not a typo, since the mid 14th century and by the same family!). Even though I was not able to visit the brewery, I did spent a couple of days in the city of Leuven this past Summer.

Belgium, among other things, is well known for its beer. Now that I think about it, it is an officially bilingual country, with a parliamentary democracy and a monarchy, with an interesting mixed of immigrants, somewhat crappy weather, that is proud of its beer. Hmmm... sounds familiar, doesn't it? In any case, I took some pictures around town and particularly of the area where InBev, the brewery that produces Stella Artois is. Here they are:

The Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (KUL)is the alma mater of a Chilean friend who recently defended his doctoral dissertation and it is the current casa de estudios of my old friend Ale, another fellow blogger behind Desde Kinshasa and Congo Days. KUL buildings are all over town, but one of the most iconic ones is the Library and the monument located in the plaza in front of it:

In the Wikipedia entry for KUL it mentions how KUL, the flemish university split from L'Université de Louvain in the last quarter of the 20th century. It states that the library was divided alphabetically "in a typical Belgian fashion" between KUL and Louvain, whose campus was relocated to a town created on the Wallon (French speaking) side of the country called Louvain-la-Neuf (literally the new Leuven). Here are more pictures of the streets of Leuven (the original one):

The last one is a picture of the psychologists' pub called Pavlov, which unfortunately I didn't visit. Maybe when I am doing my nest next trip across the pond I'll have time to hang out and taste more of the great beers produced in Belgium. There is actually an interesting blog I stumble upon which tries to count the different types of beers produced in Belgium. They are almost reaching the 200th beer and I don't think they are counting the more commercial ones like Morte Subite, Leffe, Hoegaarden, or even Stella Artois. Here is me enjoying a glass of Morte Subite at El Metekko in Brussels:

Thus it ends my tale of two brews or of many many brews and the countries that proudly brew them. It seems that not only have I betrayed my motherland by not being a fanatic of Gallo, but I already moved on from the local "strange brews" to prefer the taste of a refreshing import. So, whenever I write a post or a comment that seems more skewed than normally you can blame it on Stella... STELLA!!

En solidaridad

Vivir en un país con tendencias socialistas (aunque con un gobierno Conservador por el momento), me he ido acostumbrando a las amenzas de huelga por todos lados. Si no son los trenes, son los maestros, o los policías, o los trabajadores de los cementerios (como el año pasado hicieron en Montreal por meses). A finales de este año se vence nuestro pacto colectivo en YorkU y ya me voy preparando mental y emocionalmente a mostrar solidaridad con mi sindicato (CUPE - 3903: Canadian Union of Public Employees, Local 3903) y a votar para darle al equipo de negociación el arma de llamar a huelga si el empleador se muestra intransigente con nuestras "demandas". He aprendido conceptos en inglés que no puedo traducir sin tener que explicar, como "work-to-rule", que se refiere a una acción sindical en la cual uno se niega a realizar labores o tareas que uno hace usualmente pero que no son parte del contrato o del pacto colectivo. El otro es "lock-out", el cual es lo opuesto a una huelga. En una huelga los empleados son los que dejan de trabajar, en el "lock-out" el empleador le echa llave (a veces literalmente) al lugar de labores y no deja que los trabajadores entren. En ambos casos existe una situación de contención laboral.

Escribo esta entrada como respuesta a un tema reciente en la Bitácora de RomeroGT sobre las amenazas de huelga que el magisterio en Guatemala (el sindicato de maestros y maestras de escuelas públicas) esta haciendo para resistir la profesionalización de dicha carrera. Hay varios puntos que quise hacer en un comentario, pero creo que me pasé del número de palabras permitidas y mis elocuentes palabras fueron perdidas en el ciber-espacio. Ni modo. Pues aquí les van mis saetas social-demócratas:

No creo que sea apropiado o realista que un sindicato utilice la amenaza de huelga para modificar algo como el pensum de estudios. Esta es una situación técnica del "negocio" del empleador. Los empleados en la planta de la General Motors no le dicen a GM cómo fabricar carros, pero si les están cortando las horas de trabajo (y por ende el salario devengado) una amenaza de huelga o la huelga en sí puede ser una forma de crear presión para mantener los derechos ganados con anterioridad. Algo que no sabía hasta hace poco es que, al menos por estos lares, el sindicato no nos puede llamar a huelga mientras exista un pacto colectivo vigente. Pero siempre dejan (tanto sindicato como empleador) que el contrato se termine para empezar negociaciones. Es un juego de ver quien guiña primero, o aquel juego de "un serio" en el cual quien sonríe primero pierde.

Por otro lado es triste que una organización representando a trabajadores del estado esté en contra de la profesionalización de su campo. Una mejor capacitación puede consituir mejores oportunidades de trabajo. El problema sería si este cambio pone en peligro empleos ganados honestamente y trabajados arduamente. No existe nada inherentemente malo en tener un sindicato magisterial fuerte e influyente. El problema es la falta de respeto por las leyes y las reglas del juego. Qué los más afectados son los padres y los alumnos, pues ni modo. Esa es el arma que los maestros tienen para reclamar condiciones laborales justas. Otro defecto del sistema es que los dirigentes sindicales utilizan a las bases como un ejército en contra de un gobierno electo democráticamente para tratar de mangonearlo. Espero que en este "pulsito" el gobierno central se ponga los pantalones para marcar la actitud de poder para el resto de los cuatro años que apenas comienzan.

Y ese es "otro rollo", ¿por qué debe ser un total trauma para la población el cambio de gobierno? ¿Por qué no existen (más) entidades estatales semi-autónomas que puedan continuar con su trabajo diario y no son afectadas por el cambio de guardia? Creo que la idea de superintendencias llenas de personal capacitado y tecnócratas es una de las mejores soluciones a este problema. Además pueden ayudar a la descentralización de las funciones del estado.

Para finalizar quisiera relatar una de mis experiencias sindicales en el Canadá. En los últimos meses del 2007 CUPE 3903 llamó a una campaña de "work-to-rule" para reclamar dos "injusticias" que sus miembros han sufrido. Una era un cambio en la forma en que los departamentos de post-grado (una de las "unidades" de CUPE 3903 somos estudiantes de maestría o doctorado que trabajamos como auxiliares de cátedra) iban a imponer los límites en terminar nuestros programas académicos. Esta situación ya estaba siendo solucionado antes del comienzo de la campaña. La segunda causa de esta campaña es que YorkU dejó de darnos una de las becas (ayuda financiera) que eran asignadas de acuerdo a necesidad financiera. Esta situación no se ha solucionado, pero creo que la campaña ha perdido momentum. Por mi parte me desilusioné al reflexionar que la primera razón no sólo ya estaba siendo negociada, sino que no tiene nada que ver con nuestro papel como empleados de YorkU y más en nuestra relación como estudiantes. No es el lugar del sindicato en protestar esta cambio, sino el de la asociación de estudiantes (si, también soy parte de la "Graduate Students Asociation" por default, uno no tiene alternativa). Y ¿qué constituye esta campaña de "work-to-rule"? Pues simplemente se nos pidió que no contestarmos los correos electrónicos de los estudiantes o de los catedráticos sobre cuestiones referentes a las clases. Durante el otoño mantuve la campaña, pero ahora en el invierno me parece demasiado y no siento la presión del sindicato o el apoyo del resto de auxiliares (al menos en mi departmento).

El sistema de sindicatos y empleadores no es perfecto. Pero teniendo reglas claras puede resultar altamente positivo para los empleados al mismo tiempo que se garantiza el mantenimiento del servicio o producción que es la base del negocio del empleador.