the other press Op-Ed March 19, 2003 http://otherpress.douglas.bc.ca Celebrating International Women’s Day at the Black Jack Table?—Well, why Not? Erin Culhane Opinions Editor “Men stayed home with their children for a change and their wives, the captive housewives, went to meetings.” —Alexandra Kollontai, Russian revolutionary and femi- nist Kollontai was referring to the first International Women’s Day, which she helped organize on March 19, 1911. Citing that the event, held in Germany, Austria, Denmark, and other European countries, “exceeded all expectations,” Kollontai said. “Germany and Austria...was one seething trembling sea of women. Meetings were organized everywhere. ..in the small towns and even in the villages, halls were packed so full that they had to ask (male) workers to give up their places for the women.” Fast forward to 2003—how did you celebrate IWD? Well, since I devoted an entire column last year at this time to a “Stamp on the tax” campaign to remove the GST from tampons, youd think I would have at least remembered that the big day was once again upon us, but no—lI completely forgot. But get a load of this irony: On International Women’s Day—Saturday, March 8—I was one of 15 women cara- vanning down to the States for an ultimate women-only overnighter to a luxury casino resort. Our “convention,” the brainchild of my good friend Doreen, saw us 15 women, ranging in age from 22 to 59—friends, moms, sister-in-laws—heading across the line, for a much needed respite from the everyday. And when a radio announcer piped up about women’s events happening due to IWD, well—look out. Our conven- tion, which was loosely named “Gamblin’ Grannies” since we were all going by our grandmother's names (I was Mabel), became something much bigger. We were on a mission. “What is your purpose for going to the United States?” Well, Mr. Border-Patrol-Guy, it’s to celebrate International Women’s Day, of course! Our new vocation offered us the perfect defence for the friendly gentlemen at the casino resort. When one brave man approached us and asked, “Hi there, ladies, would it be okay if I just hung out with you for awhile?” we curt- ly answered, “I’m sorry, but it’s International Women’s Day, and it’s about the women and we're going to have to pass.” He muttered something about us “hating men” which incited much laughter and satisfaction. “Cause yeah, if ze ladies are hanging out together and having fun, they must be man-bashing feminists, right? Hee hee!” It was a meant-to-be kind of trip. My bestest friend from high school, Michelle, who I hadn't seen in ten years, just happened to be in from Saskatoon for a four- RE: DUI by mossE week pediatric rheumatology rotation at BC Children’s Hospital, and was able to come. My bestest friend from college Jenn took part too. My bestest (okay, only) mom Earla joined in the fun, bringing along her friend Lori. And what better way to spend a day that recognizes women than surrounding yourself with the best of them? And really, isn’t that what the women’s movement is all about? Hanging out with your girlfriends—partying, gambling, dancing, staying up way too late and laughing until your abs ache? Yes, there are serious women’s rights issues worldwide that are worth fighting for. And yes, a true feminist would give me a right smack in the face for my blatant flippancy, but even Kollontai would concur that the definition of a “seething, trembling sea of women’ is not the same as it was 92 years ago. So to all the Gamblin’ Grannies—Thank you. Yvette, Bertha, Pearl, Nettie, Vega, Clara, Loucille, Constance, Mildred, Vera, Jantina, Blanche, Cecile and Florence—I couldn't think of a better way to spend International Women’s Day than with all of you. And I can’t wait to do it all over again next year, when my mission will be to convince you all that a 9a.m. swim is in fact a very good idea (ah, yes—an inside “women’s only” joke). I am writing in response to your book review and interview with the reclusive mossE. I’m relatively new to New West and have always enjoyed the Queens Park area with its heritage homes. Walking through mossE’s novel has taken me on another route—more a psychic landscape that the Royal City is built on. Standing outside of the Paramount theatre, now a strip joint, almost reminds me of /ts a Beautiful Life, where George Bailey sees what has happened to the street without him. In the opening of DU/ there is mention of seeing childhood films at the Paramount. There are now two casinos (and prob- ably lots of backrooms), and the mules that travel the light rapid transit from Main and Hastings. There is the disturbing Barfly that pays homage to alcoholism. I too languish seeing the direction that New West is going in. I wish that I could rein it in, and keep its heritage...its dream. Every Friday night I awaken to people drunk out of their minds, driving their cars by 6th and Queens (a block from the Cop Shop). One time a drunkard was waving a pistol outside my house. It is not hard to say that there is a lack of law, and greater chaos in New Westminster. I have seen a greater amount of the walking wounded, and with social services being cut left and right—less being done. It was no better when the YMCA building was across the way and I'd be woken by midnight ravings. What I read in DUI is someone who has returned, or is reflecting on their hometown, only to dig up bones from some prehistoric nightmare. The author is not proud of what he has discovered, and is trying to make some sense of what he has. There is that scene close to the end, when Seline-Marla fan- tasizes that she is living in the countryside with Ray-Berney. It is truly pastoral—a kind of untruth that glosses our society. It is a perfect dream that drives one to colonize, and pioneer. And so, I would like to end on a positive note. I feel driven to urge mossE to write something of the potential of this place. True there are a lot of bad apples, but there are good apples, and there is the apple tree itself to tend to. There are good deeds done in New Westminster—not to mention the poten- tial of education—and that should not be overlooked. —DMartin Whelan page 7 ©