Last Friday, caught up in afternoon foot traffic and not paying attention, I walked by.
  I had heard the banter on the morning show, earlier in the week, but, right then it did not register.
  It wasn’t until I went back for early morning coffee on Sunday that it hit me.
  There was a tent pitched next to the curb, nestled between the newspaper boxes and a trash bin, on one of the city’s busy downtown streets.
  Yes, I am aware of the plight of the homeless, and fully aware there are people living on the streets of this city beneath sleeping bags, blankets and cardboard, but this seemed so… so, permanent.
  This is what it has come to.
  This is how we live, at the close of a decade, in Toronto.
  Now I’ve seen, in the past, small tent cities under the Gardiner Expressway. I know people have chosen to camp out in out-of-the-way ravines, out of sight and out of mind of most city dwellers, but this is right out there, for everybody to see.
  I sat inside Starbucks, warm on the chilly morning, enjoying a cup of expensive coffee, and a slice of coffee cake. It was early; pigeons had only begun settling on the sidewalk and slowly people walked by the tent, not really paying attention to what is going on.
  Maybe we have become immune to the difficulties, and the pain, more and more people are experiencing each day in a city that has become increasingly less affordable?
  We all seem to have come to accept people living on the street as normal.
  We have become accustomed to homelessness.
  We walk by on the way to the office, or shopping, or on our way home to our cozy condos. We don’t acknowledge that this is all that some people have: a temporary slice of dirty cold concrete with little to protect them from the elements.
  Daily, as we walk the streets, we are approached by panhandlers, or some just sit and wait for coins to be dropped into their cups.
  Mostly we walk on by.
  I consider myself a charitable person; yet, rarely do I drop any change into the cups or open palms. I’m more inclined, now and then, to step into any of the three Salvation Army missions within the circumference of my common area and make a donation. Maybe this takes away some of my guilt, or maybe I just know the money will go towards a wholly meaningful charity and not end up wasted on the wasted. Drugs and addicts are a common sight in the city. There is a safe injection site I walk by more frequently than the missions. I, more often than a few times, have stepped by, or over, discarded needles on the street.
  I do see the homeless, but the tent on Queen Street hit me hard.
  Of all the streets of Toronto, Queen Street West is overly familiar to me. In 2015 – as I was getting to know my new home city – I spent much of a year photographing the sights, the people and places, at all times of the day, for a photo essay I was preparing.
  Yes, that year, I did come to know two regulars who slept, essentially, on the same corners (one of them is still there today), but I had never seen a tent on the street.
  The chatter on the radio last week, from both the morning show host — who rides his bike to work very early every morning — and some longtime Toronto residents also indicated they had never seem this before.
  I was stunned.
  The scene has affected me, and I don’t know what to do about it.
  We’ve just come out of a federal election where the word “affordable” was bandied about, but none of the parties offered any sort of platform to deal with social housing, even improvements or support to the shelter system. Hell, it’s hard to name an issue any of the parties actually introduced a platform on at all.
  And this is Ontario, where the ruthlessly ignorant Dog Ford government will surely continue to cut funding to social services and support to those who need it the most. The waiting list for affordable housing continues to grow, along with the demand.
  With about 7,000 shelter beds in Toronto, there is still not enough capacity to deal with this problem.
  Now, I don’t have the solution, not do I know what it’s like to camp out on a city street during the colder weather certain to come, but I know it’s not right.
  I know it’s not how I want to live. I don’t think anybody does.
  Still we walk on by.

“The measure of a society is found in how they
treat their weakest and most helpless citizens.”
                                                       -Jimmy Carter

Clocks set back, days ahead altered
as if time can be held, still
we cannot fool ourselves in believing.

The sun will still set.

We seldom lose hours as much as
we change our trajectory.
It will get darker, before you know.

The sun will still rise.

Between where and then, light will
strike any object in its path
as long as it is able. Faithfully, we watch.

The sun sets.

This autumn, this November,
carries a tone of melancholy.
Steadfast, I can only stare back.

The sun rises.

I know about fear, or fear what I know.
Remnants of the day,
routinely, have so much less to offer.

The sun will still set.

When all that you know becomes
all that you have, you are
unable to consider possibility.

The sun will still rise

We live and breathe, twenty-four hours
daily. Memory will serve us;
those uncertain, those unbroken.

© 2019   j.g. lewis

There was a substantial protest last night outside a downtown Toronto library demonstrating against an author speaking her views on gender identity.

The event went ahead as planned, following a great deal of media attention, weeks of protest, a hefty on-line petition in opposition, and ‘no place for hate’ signs liberally taped up through the city.

Vancouver writer Meghan Murphy unapologetically promotes her opinion not to recognize the rights of transgender people. Reportedly, about a hundred people attended the event. The number of people protesting outside was far more than twice that number.

While the event has broadened conversation on transgender rights, it has shone a light on the gap between diversity and inclusion. It has also opened up a wider debate on the role, and purpose, of a pubic library.

In any city or town, libraries are traditional civil institutions dedicated to culture, history, free thought, information, and ideas. The purpose of a library, as I was raised to understand, is to encourage and advance opinion. The library is a place of learning. I have long carried a library card.

The library as I know it, in any of the cities I have lived in, is also central to the community as it hosts neighbourhood meetings, presentations and exhibits for all ages. I attended a pen and stationery show last Sunday in this city. The pen show, while not offered by the Toronto Library system, used public space within the library.

Last night’s presentation was not sponsored by the Toronto Public Library, but took place in library space. The use of this space, above the topic of the presentation, has been questioned. The mayor has publicly voiced his displeasure over the contentious event in a city library. A local councilor has said she will present a motion to council directing the city manager and solicitor to review booking rules for all public spaces.

What last night’s event does is question the difference between free speech and hate speech, and with that there are further questions we must continually ask ourselves.

When does refusing a speaker, or book, constitute censorship? When do we take opinion at face value and when do we give it more gravity than it deserves.

I’ve not read anything by Murphy. I have not bothered clicking onto her Feminist Current website. This event is actually the first I’ve heard of the opposition to her views on gender identity and apparent anti-trans stance. Last night’s protest, then, may actually be giving the author more of a platform because of the anger aimed at the Toronto Public Library system.

I have heard concerns, through the media, over the past week that some authors will no longer appear at library events. I’ve read that performers will cancel their roles in popular children’s programming because of this event. I’ve also read that trans-women will no longer feel safe in a Toronto library. I am saddened and fearful when I hear all of these examples because a library should be a safe place for all individuals and families. This is how I have always known a library.

Efforts to reduce services or withdraw participation within the library will only further harm the Toronto Public Library system. When people do not visit, or books are not lent out, and when crowds no longer gather in these magnificent spaces, it will eventually lead to budget cuts.

But this is not as much about future funding as it is the future itself.

You have to ask one major question.

When they attempt to take away an author’s right to say, or write about what they think or feel, when will they next attempt to silence you?

© 2019 j.g. lewis

We got what we deserved.

Canada is — and has long been —  a country of regional differences; a nation divided and subdivided by issues, language, heritage and lifestyle. A peace-making nation, politely respected around the world, this country’s growth has been fostered by immigration and, often, hindered by partisan politics.

Monday’s federal election delivered a minority government that closely represents the current mood of the country: fractured, resilient, capable of change, but tired of what has been going on in the nation’s capital.

In 2015 we saw a wholesale change to the election map as the Liberals replaced the governing Conservatives. This back and forth between the two major parties happens every decade or so (and occasionally more often). It is predictable.

But never is it boring.

Monday night we saw the reining Liberals lose a lot of power, still maintain a minority, as they painted the vote-rich Toronto region red. We saw the west go true Blue as the Conservatives took back space they had let go astray. We saw the resurgence of the Bloq Quebecois, a separatist party, again take hold of its province with numbers that will definitely influence the country’s direction. We see the NDP coming back in certain areas (perhaps more than expected) and holding the balance of power, and the Green party taking up a little more space on the map.

The results do not represent the popular vote, but that is not how this country operates. Here we count bums in the seats, and for the foreseeable future that means the government is Liberal.

The net result shows a population so obviously divided that no one single party government could appease all provinces, regions, or nations.

We have a political makeup that will now require cooperation. We may even have a nation that will need a coalition government, because Canadians do not want to go to the polls again any time soon.

Canadians want a government that will try to accomplish something. Canadians have a list of issues they want resolved, or at least addressed. Canadians want opposition parties to look past their partisan wants and needs, and get something done for the good of this country.

What we have right now is the potential for honesty. The Liberals, under Justin Trudeau, will not be able to apply pressure and push its ideologies through the House of Commons. To pass any legislation or introduce much-needed programs, the government it will have to cooperate, seek support and opinion (perhaps even at the committee level) from the other political parties in the mix.

That’s a good thing, as far as I can see it. This system, for the foreseeable future, should allow members of parliament to vote with conscience and represent the constituents who put them into office. That very thing has not happened a lot lately; certainly not with the last government, or several before.

For too long, too many elected representatives have been silenced and forced to tow the party line. Now, or for the foreseeable future, there is no room for an ego-driven party leader. In fact, it might be, or can be, or should be, the preferred method of operation in these fractured times.

There is no one party who can control the vote, the legislation, or the way of life in this country.

That’s a good thing. Let’s hope we get what we deserve.

I wrote, right here, about a month back, about a letter-writing project I was, again, launching. A few years ago, a brave group of souls undertook a commitment to communicate with total strangers by handwritten letter.

The response to a new writing project, this time, was favourable, but in the process I received a nasty email, another message telling me this has been done before, and a comment from an editor indicating the project seemed too vague, as if it had no purpose.

The reaction surprised me — the nasty email, in particular —  both on the negative and the positive side. More than a handful of people responded, immediately, to the initiative. Some of the respondents were actually people who participated in the last soultalk project.

Then something came up, about the same time, that would take my interest away, and I bailed on the project (something totally unlike me) for the time being. It got me thinking about why I thought the project was, or would be, interesting. Further, it got me thinking more on why I enjoy communicating with others, at times only by traditional letter.

That week (it might have even been that day), I heard a radio interview with former Talking Head David Byrne and his latest project, an online magazine called Reasons To Be Cheerful. In the interview, and after reading (and subscribing) to the magazine, my reason for initiating the letters project became quite clear: personal correspondence is a reason to be cheerful.

Quite simply, letters have a purpose, and receiving a letter from afar brings me great joy.

Communication in this digital age is, or can be, quick and easy. You simply have to pick up your mobile device and you can read (on so many levels) about who is doing what and how they are doing it, or how they are coping with some of the stuff we all face daily. You can reply, quickly and easily, by tapping out a swift response, or offering an emoticon or just clicking on the like option, before moving on to someone else’s story.

It is a connection, yes, but it is not total communication. It is not the response you get from a letter that arrives in your mailbox unannounced. There is a certain level of surprise when you discover something personal amidst the bills, notices and advertising junk mail. A letter from someone will usually bring a smile to your face.

We can, and many of us do, engage in social media groups. We can join any, or many, conversations in online discussion forums. We can initiate a conversation just as easily by sending an email to a specific person, or posting on your wall. You can then respond to comments and further discussion, or communication.

Letter writing can take this process deeper, and further, I believe.

You write differently when you take a pencil or pen and allow it to travel freely across the page. While longhand communication is more time-consuming, there is documented evidence that the process is beneficial to your physical and mental being. There is a greater connection, through the handwriting instrument, between your thoughts and mind and, ultimately, to the intended recipient of the letter.

I whole-heartedly believe, and practice, this with some regularity right now. I have several friends across the globe I correspond with. As well, my daughter and I write to each other often. Part of it is this casual form of stamp collecting I began decades ago. Part of it is keeping touch, perhaps expanding on previous conversations, or just letting each other know what play or movie we just saw, or what music has lately caught our interest.

Whether I am writing to family or friends, the topics of the letters are similar. We talk about life. We also share difficulties, or celebrations, in our working lives.

The purpose is to maintain a meaningful connection with a worthwhile person. It’s part of the human experience, and part of it is getting off the grid, so to speak, and taking the time to write.

It is all about time.

It does take time to both sit and write, and also to wait for a response or reply. It is humane. It is not rushed. It is civil at a time when we know social media can be anything but.

Longhand communication is more personal, dare I say intimate. Psychologists and therapists have, for years, encouraged journaling, by hand, as a means of getting in touch with feelings. Emotion-based writing, daily, has been proven to lead to noticeable mental and physical health benefits. Letter writing furthers your journaling practice.

Writing by hand demands more of your fine motor skills. Your brain functions on a different level, and while writing (or reading) a letter, your memory and imagination are put to work. You visualize what is on the page before you, in a more personal way than you would by reading a book, or newspaper. You are engaged.

It is more personal. What you write is a first person account of the life you are living. Like keeping a journal, you relate personally to current and past events. By communicating events, thoughts, and feelings to the recipient of the letter you are expressing yourself in ways you simply can’t do any other way.

It can be mind altering, and it can be mood altering. Think about it, who doesn’t like getting a letter in the mail? When was the last time you got one?

It is, for me, a reason to be cheerful.

If you would like to become involved with a project that will further your communication skills, share your human experience and, perhaps, make this world a little smaller send an email  soultalk@mythsandmarginalia.com  and I will forward details.

What you write about is up to you. You can share what you are comfortable with, with courtesy, with commitment.

I believe you will find a reason to be cheerful.

© 2019 j.g. lewis