1989

1989, the number, another summer (get down)
Sound of a funky drummer…
Our freedom of speech is freedom or death
We gotta fight the powers that be.

- Public Enemy

I’ve been thinking a lot about 1989 recently. It is the picture of the lone protester in Tiananmen Square that started it, brought up in conversation with a friend of mine. The Unknown Rebel, unmoving in front of a column of angry tanks, sidestepping into their path each time they tried to go around him. A single man representative of a huge fight that was happening around the world at that time.



1989 was a year of struggle, as evidenced in the lyrics of Fight the Power by Public Enemy. While Public Enemy continued to document and sustain the struggle for black equality started in 1960s, a decade synonymous with mass social change, elsewhere around the world was seeing tremendous change in human rights and freedoms.

The 200th anniversary of the French Revolution, a revolution based on basic human freedoms - Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ou la mort! (Freedom, equality, brotherhood, or death!) - saw the fall of several repressive regimes in eastern Europe. Poland saw its first free parliamentary elections since the war; Ceausescu’s dictatorship was ended in Romania (he was later executed); the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia saw the overthrow of the Marxist/Leninist government; the Republic of Hungary was declared; and in August, 2 million people across Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania joined hands across 600 km to demand freedom and independence from the Soviet Union.

1989 was also the year that the Berlin Wall came down – physically and symbolically. I can remember watching the event on television – hundreds of people climbing over the wall, yelling and celebrating, and battering it down with decades’ worth of suppressed anger and frustration at their lack of freedom, fractured families and silenced voices.

The silenced voices of South Africa experienced an administrative shift in 1989 (and this is not to say that black South Africans allowed their voices to be silenced: many raged against apartheid since its inception after the National Party’s win in the 1948 elections). Newly elected president F.W. de Klerk scrapped the Separate Amenities Act (an act which segregated the races in all areas of life – from white beaches to black universities) and in early 1990, released Nelson Mandela from his 27 years in prison for his determined refusal to allow his voice to be silenced. I am still amazed to this day at the winds of change that persisted so, allowing a political prisoner to become South Africa’s first black president just 4 years later.

South America also experienced its share of newfound freedoms: Chile held its first free elections in 16 years, ultimately ousting Augusto Pinochet who was later tried for human rights abuses, from his protracted presidency. Brazil also saw its first free elections after 25 years of a ruling military regime.

1989 witnessed the end of Soviet occupation of Afghanistan; the release of the Guilford Four (a group of people wrongfully convicted of blowing up an English pub during the Troubles – their case was one of police manipulation and disinformation – see the film In The Name Of The Father); the Exxon Valdez spill (perhaps a key event in the raising of our environmental awareness); and of course, the series of protests from April to June in Tiananmen Square.

There is no real answer as to what happened to the Unknown Rebel, the man that stood alone in front of the tanks bearing down on him and his country’s freedom. There are some claims he was executed – a brutal ending to such an inspirational action. I prefer to believe what Jan Wong writes in her book Red China Blues: My Long March from Mao to Now: he is still alive and in hiding in China. And I have to believe that if I am to still hold onto the hope that the winds of change in 1989 have not died. We came a long way that year, but the fact that the man in front of the tanks has to be in hiding (or indeed, was executed) tells us that we have a long way to go still.

Epilogue

Perhaps at some point I will further explore the fact that Seinfeld and The Simpsons, two popular, long-running and highly-acclaimed comedy shows, made their debuts in 1989. Interesting that these two shows broke away from the happy family comedies of the 80s, so content with the status quo.

Homer, Boners and a Pagan Rain Dance

In Dorset, in the southwest of England, there lies the outline of a sexually aroused Celtic warrior, carved out in chalk. Known as the Cerne Abbas Giant, it is thought to be an ancient symbol of spirituality and fertility. And now the promoters of the new Simpsons film have gone and painted a similarly-sized impression of Homer Simpson, naked but for his Y-fronts, offering a doughnut to the club-bearing giant (no really - he's actually holding a club).

Members of The Pagan Federation were not impressed with the depiction of the much loved cartoon character, daubed on the hill with water-based biodegradable paint: "We'll be doing some rain magic to bring the rain and wash it away," said Ann Bryn-Evans, joint Wessex district manager for The Pagan Federation. And judging from the torrential downpour that swept across the UK yesterday, the Pagan Rain Dance worked...

Posh: Reality Living in America

Along with the rest of the closeted Spice Girls fans across the land, I watched Victoria Beckham: Coming to America last Monday. I will fully admit to an odd fascination with the lives of a few celebrities: I followed Kate Moss’s torrid love affair with Pete Doherty, I’m still intrigued by Suri Cruise (along with Katie Holmes’s outfits) and I love seeing pictures of Victoria Beckham in impossibly high heels and tiny get-ups, carting around her three boys – how does she do it?

The special, originally planned to be a series of six episodes, was shortened when producers were left with little material after Victoria flew back to the UK early to see her football start husband, David Beckham. Producers scrambled and made it into a one-hour special, attracting a mediocre 4 million viewers in the U.S. on Monday.

Like most reality TV shows centred around celebrities, the show was about publicity – and warming Americans up to Victoria, who consistently wears a scowl (and those sky-high heels) in paparazzi shots in papers and on the internet. The show is carefully crafted to show Victoria, though always gorgeous and flawlessly dressed, as a down-to-earth mum who misses her kids, incurs traffic violations, and sometimes drinks too much at afternoon socialite parties.

As with other shows that document the lives of celebrities like The Osbournes and Nick & Jessica: Newlyweds, the editing is deft, frequently poking fun at the show’s subjects. From Ozzy’s exasperated interjections during his children’s squabbles to prolonged shots of Jessica as she tries to figure out if chicken really do live in the sea, we are made to laugh at the follies of the rich and famous.

And this is why we like these shows: they bring celebrities down from their airbrushed spot on a Louis Vuitton pedestal and show us that yes, they are just like us: Ozzy and Sharon have to deal with clearing up dog poop in the house, Nick has to deal with the olfactory aftermath of Jessica’s visit to the bathroom. And while Victoria Beckham is never brought down to this basest of human functions, we are shocked to see her having to step out of her car in [gasp] flats!

Bringing celebrities down to the layperson’s level is a trend of the past decade or so. Remember back in the 80s when Robin Leach took us through the lavish and serviced homes and lives of celebrities in Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous? That programme was deftly edited, too – but it was all the boring, diurnal bits that were left out. Now, we want to see those bits. Celebrity magazines - a niche once left to the National Enquirer and News of the World, but now expanding faster than Nicole Richie’s pregnant belly - frequently run stories about celebrity cellulite and other body flaws the magic of Hollywood manages to hide. (And I use the term "stories" loosely, since much of the story is told through glaring graphics and little text.)

While Victoria Beckham does remain quite flawless throughout the special, we do see that she is followed around by her own makeup artist and hairdresser, and refuses to consume a proffered cookie from the bitchy celebrity blogger, Perez Hilton. But we also see her sweet side: stumbling over what she wants to be a polite description of a chubby, plastic, dolphin-calling socialite and dressing up a sex doll to act as a decoy so she can buy her husband a watch.

And though I never did figure out how she manages three boys whilst wearing skinny jeans and Louboutin heels, perhaps we will discover more in the near future: David Beckham has just signed on to star in his own reality series. Now, if only someone would convince Kate Moss to open up her model lifestyle to the scrutiny of the layperson…

At Capacity

It would seem that the ocean has had its fill of our frivolous trash cast thoughtlessly into its seemingly inexhaustible repository. Last week, the currents in the sea around Mumbai, India changed and spat back over 300 tonnes of garbage per day.

In Praise of the Absurd

On my way to the gym the other day, I passed a flyer stapled to a telephone pole - one of those little posters with the tear-off phone number fringe on the bottom. Ever-curious, I stopped briefly to see if I should tear off a phone number and put it in my wallet alongside all the other tear-off numbers that if I would just call, would allow me to begin my Buddhist meditation practice, continue with my yoga postures and stop smoking through hypnosis (okay, not the last one).

This poster was offering classes in levitation. I looked again, sure I must have misread it. Nope, levitation. Call the number and you, too can be well on your way to floating serenely, cross-legged, just a few inches off the ground.

This levitation poster was the first in a string of stories I have noticed lately that are wonderfully absurd. Elizabeth Renzetti wrote in Saturday’s Globe and Mail last week about her new favourite headline, courtesy of The Scottish Daily Record that reported on civilians who tried to subdue the man who drove a burning car into Glasgow’s airport: Hero Cabbie: I Kicked Burning Terrorist So Hard In Balls That I Tore a Tendon.

Today’s Globe and Mail provided two offbeat stories. The first transcribing a 911 phonecall at 3am in Newmarket:

Caller: "Hi. Umm ... We've found an elephant walking down the street near the community centre, the Ray Twinney."

Operator: "Sorry?"

Caller: "We've found an elephant walking down the street. Like the ones from, like, the circus at the Ray Twinney centre. One of them got loose and it's walking down the street."

For the next few minutes, the caller explains that there are, in fact, at least two fully grown, trainer-less elephants milling about.

The second affirms what I’ve been saying for decades: the fashion of wearing underwear increases literacy rates.