photo by eutrophication&hypoxia on flickr

As the sun disappears behind the concrete horizon, I look across the 10 lanes of highway that are currently all filled with cars moving extremely slowly. Everyone in their own vehicle on their way back from work heading home, everyone hoping this traffic will clear up, just as they hope everyday around this time.  The highway is massive and bleak, with shards glass and tiny nondescript car pieces along the shoulder. The sound barriers couldn’t possibly block out all this sound, but communities along the highways of New Jersey figured that out long ago. Most of them are used to the 24 hour, year after year sound of trucks and cars roaring in the direction of New York or Pennsylvania.

This is New Jersey in 2012. This was New Jersey in 1992. A few decades pass, but other than the shape and design of the newer cars on the road, the feeling has not changed. If anyone happens to tune into news in the car, they could surely hear a report about the state of the world, specifically about the environment and the point to which humans are pushing it through our own collective behavior. But thats just on the news, the story out there is doing the daily routine. Getting through the day. Making that car payment. Paying that mortgage. Living that life we were taught to live.

Along the highway, between the occasional tree or building, there are the billboards. One in particular is for solar energy for your home. There’s a phone number under a picture of a solar panel. I wonder how many people have dialed it and how things are working out for them. A Prius pulls in front of me, I almost forgot there were hybrid vehicles out here among the SUV’s and livery cabs. The exit ramp takes me around and over the highway, the bridge I grew up crossing everyday looks worn and crumbling. The etched date in the concrete reads: 1974. I wonder how much we’ve really learned since then.

The beauty of having grandparents around the age of 90, who are still of mostly sound mind, is that you can ask all the questions many people never get to.  Instead of learning about your family based on second or third hand stories, you have the very people who lived unbelievable moments and did the kind of hard work that seems impossible for any modern day work-from-anywhere self-employed person. You also get to watch them reflect on a world that they have observed for almost 100 years… even if they were too busy or napping for many of those years.  In an era where we stash our elderly out of sight and praise the virtues of being young, I’ve had the good fortune of never losing touch, and always being enlightened/entertained by one set of my grandparents.  Even better, throughout my life, I’ve gotten to help my grandfather in his orchards, listen to my grandmother in the kitchen, and laugh at the cold weather while sitting with them around a fireplace.

Not everyone gets to do this. That truth never eludes me. It is a rare treasure that no one is guaranteed and many are denied. I would call that one of the main reasons I would share stories about them, to share the wealth in some tiny and perhaps naive way.

Today my grandfather, José da Fonseca Jr. turned 91 years old. Whatever his age, however different my world might be from his, he is a part of everything I do and the way that I do it. Parabens Avô!

Galvanize 1. b: to stimulate or excite as if by an electric shock

-(merriam-webster)

Photo by palindrome6996

News out of Canada today still lacks in-depth information and examination, but so far what is coming out is that a same sex couple who got married back in 2005, while trying to get a divorce, were told by the Canadian government that their marriage had never been legal. The British-American couple was shocked at this revelation, and according to the Toronto Star (newspaper) the same applies to thousands of other same sex marriages between non-Canadians that have taken place in Canada since 2004.

If you remember back to 2004, it was the height of same-sex marriage phobia in the United States, and the re-election of George W. Bush.  Americans, as well as people from all over the world who could manage it, went to Canada where the country had embraced its role as a nation where same sex marriages could be legally performed and recognized. The government even used this image, as they do to this day, as part of their promotion of  Canada as a world leader in human rights.  The reports that have surfaced this week indicate that government lawyers are now arguing in court that if same sex marriages aren’t legal in the home country of those getting married, then the marriage isn’t legal in Canada either.

In the coming days the government as well as the lawyers may change their story. The prime minister, unsurprisingly, claims ignorance as to any change in government policy.  But regardless of what elected officials, lawyers or the media say, this development should be enough to galvanize Canadians who value human rights and equal treatment. The spark that reawakens a movement that has, perhaps, fallen asleep to what seemed like mission accomplished.  Suddenly betraying thousands of couples should be an electric shock that sweeps representatives out of office, and embarrasses lawyers and others into resignation and generally speaking – the social wilderness. This is the time to take something horrible and turn it into a rally cry to demand justice, a real, lasting justice that cannot be undone.

photo by heedmane on flickr

The headlines coming out of Chilé this week echo throughout the world, “government shift in policy regarding learning about Pinochet era in school,” from now on to be described as a “regime”, and not a “dictatorship”. Which is immediately met with anger and disapproval, criticized as an attempt to rewrite and whitewash history.

You don’t have to be Chilean to know something about re-writing history. One constant that transcends borders and time is that history gets told in different ways as time passes. People often refer to the old Churchill quote, “History is written by the victors,” in an effort to explain how the stories from the past are told. Christopher Columbus was an explorer. George Washington, a great leader. Genghis Khan, a brave fighter. None may be true, but each is often told, retold and accepted as fact. Few of the victims are alive or represented to tell a different story, though some brave souls with seek out and bring their histories back to life.

In the context of the classroom and what appears in history books, there is no doubt that these things have tremendous influence as to how children will grow up understanding  the world and how it came to be as it is.  Chileans have every right to be concerned or outraged when their nation’s history is rewritten in favor of those who committed mass murder and other atrocities. Most nations on this planet have marginalized or harmed people in some way in their past, yet not all are willing to admit it and let the shameful stories be told in the classroom. It is easier to hide behind pride and boastful patriotism, far more difficult to be honest and critical of what your country does and has done in the past.

All outrage aside, in our present world of plentiful information and the informal learning renaissance, citizens could also look to each other to address this problem. At home and in our communities, both offline and online, we have the power to tell history from the bottom-up.  The government may shift and attempt ridiculous revisions that might even be implemented for periods of time, but we have a fantastic arsenal of experience and communication to counter such hubris.  The children of the world could stand up during the revised history lesson on how charming dictators from the past were, and calmly respond — we know this is false.  Better yet, they could rewrite the whole section with help from stories of people who lived through the horror.

Back in New Jersey, in the town where I spent much of my childhood, older people always told me about how my sprawling suburban hamlet used to be a farming town.  Yet by the 1990′s there was not a single farm left, and it looked more like a town made up of strip malls, big box stores, and cozy suburban homes. Whatever majestic green there may have once been was long paved over by several highways criss-crossing the town.  No one thought about what had been lost – too late now anyway.

Country life isn’t for everyone. It may not even be for me. But when you’re eating cheese or bread, and you can look across the street and wave to the sheep or baker who were responsible for the deliciousness on your plate – there is a satisfaction that anyone could and should get to enjoy (city or country dweller).  And my utmost compliments to the people of Northwest France who have managed to preserve their farms and their wonderful environment. Wandering around these sleepy forgotten places, it doesn’t just feel like the backbone of France, it feels like the backbone of a sustainable world.

Somewhere in Normandy today, looking towards the sea.

Then it happened. In what even now seems like it never happened, something that I can only describe as feeling like a giant ice-ball slams into the engine outside our window. This is immediately accompanied by a small ball of fire that seems to appear over the engine. This causes the plane to only momentarily shake a little, resulting in a natural sound of panic, fear, and surprise from most passengers on the left side of the plane. They then break into a loud whisper and murmurs, as everyone leans over trying to get a look at the wing. Then gentleman and I look out at the wing and can’t make out much of anything, not smoke, not damage, nothing. The plane seems to be flying normally, but the panic on board is thick. For the first time of the entire flight we’re looking at each other needing to say something, searching for some way to make sense of what has happened and what will happen. In an effort to find something to say, I assure him like some kind of plane expert, “If it is only one engine the plane can still land normally with one engine.” Neither of us seems comforted. Wiser voices among the passengers shush the panicking whispers, “calm, stay calm,” I hear in several languages. Amazingly things get quiet. -And then it happens.

From out of the cloud cover Amsterdam appears below us. I won’t bother to describe how I know, after a decade of flying to and from the city that I call home, I know when I see it from above at any time of day. Nervous people start making jokes and talking about life. I turn to the gentleman and ask him his name. We break into friendly conversation and I learn about his work as a professional soccer player in division I Romania, and his Angolan ancestry. We speak a bit of Portuguese and laugh a little about I don’t remember what. In that moment I’ve decided two things: 1- If something should happen I want to at least know my neighbor in these last minutes. 2- Probably nothing is going to happen but we both need to be distracted right now. Might seem dramatic but all around the plane I noticed the same thing happening, people who had barely spoken to each other suddenly asking each other questions and sharing thoughts and experiences. Some trying to calm or comfort their neighbors, others maybe thinking what Im thinking.

Minutes later the wheels touch down and despite the strangest thing Ive ever seen happen to a plane in mid air, there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary outside. But inside, something even more interesting is happening. Laughter and smiles, all around. I notice a group of 3 people who are not traveling together suddenly exchanging numbers. People are handing each other bags and patiently letting others go before them. Everyone is relieved and there is a euphoria that we rarely experience in our day to day. It would probably be psychologically exhausting if we did. But at the same time, to see such kindness and joy, I was left thinking about how good we can be to each other when we allow ourselves.

The gentleman and I walk towards the baggage check together. We’re still smiling about being safe on the ground, and swapping a few stories. I learn about his kids and his life here in Amsterdam. I tell him a bit more about mine. We part ways at the baggage carousel, in the same style many new friends did that night: “Great meeting you. Ill keep an eye out for your name on the internet. Guess we’ll never forget this flight eh? See around town.”

In the end it is a long story with no big ending. Even the pilot didn’t bother explaining what did happen. And I suppose we can’t live life the way that people who have had a near death (or at least what seems like near death) experience do. But in a world where most of the news and the stories we share describe how cruel people can be to one another, it is fantastic to live a moment where you see how fantastic we can be towards one another.

It all makes for a strange and alluring atmosphere; wander into a café and one friend will introduce you to another. Before you know it, a conversation that transcends borders and the conventional small-talk erupts.  They will want to meet up again, as often is possible, they will make time for you, don’t worry. No topic seems off the table. Even those probably tired and repetitive visitor questions about the country and its significant list of problems. Its no problem here, we can talk about it, we can even talk about problems in a far away land, no country or context is too distant.

Surely it is an old song. I came to Kosovo and made some fantastic friends that I shall seek to see again and surely never forget . I’ve said that of so many countries I doubt anyone takes it seriously. But this is no polite travel note, this is a seasoned veteran traveller telling it like it is in his experience. The world may often forget about Kosovo these days, but here in Prishtina, Kosovo is very much a part of the great big world.

One comedian who stood up and refused to compromise with those who sought to tell him what not to talk about or use in his comedy, was the great Patrice O’Neal.  The man who once explained that he “spoke for funny”, and believed strongly in the right to try and be funny. In his hilarious and sometimes bizarre wisdom he spoke truths that deserve to be remembered long after his tragic death. “Funny jokes and unfunny jokes come from the same place. You should be able to attempt to be funny.”

Much of the world has never heard of Patrice O’Neal. To them he was never famous so he shouldn’t be compared to any of the greatest minds in the history of comedy.   As Patrice himself often said over the past year “I’ve got my phone on, but fame still hasn’t called.”  Like so many amazing artists of this era, the mainstream market place didn’t want anything to do with him.  Just as many young and lesser known content creators (including citizen journalists!) are often told to compromise their values and thoughts in order to make money and become known, Patrice was often given similar advice. Advice he famously shit all over as he would attend meetings with entertainment executives and proceed to make fun of their previous programming choices, instead of kissing ass to try and gain their favor. Not that he didn’t want to be known, he simply wanted to be known on his own terms.

Compare journalism and art today and you might find yourself being written off as insignificant, wrong and reckless.  Compare comedy and journalism and you’ll surely hear similar or worse.  But in the hilarious, creative, contreversial, bizarre, disgusting and beautiful mind of Patrice O’Neal, I have long found inspiration and reassurance.  Though it is extremely sad that he has died, with the exception of his shitty diet, the way he lived should only inspire joy.

Image courtesy of Garnet Publishing UK

Hanna Braun. In early 2006 this name was recommended to me by an enthusiastic listener who said something to the effect of “you should really interview her.” I did some reading and learned a bit about who Hanna Braun was, an stubborn old lady who had grown up in Berlin during the rise of Hitler, then moved to Palestine when it was under British control, and then lived the creation of the state of Israel.  However the real story of Hanna Braun is one of resistance and speaking out – as she witnessed injustice run rampant in this newly created state.  Beyond injustice, Hanna explains what few people are old enough to recall – this was not the original plan, the dream of a secular inclusive state was co-opted and would never be realized.

I had the great privilege to speak with Hanna for 2 fantastic hours for this podcast all those years ago (including during the most recent Israeli military incursion into Lebanon).  We spoke about her life and the lessons learned from all that she lived through. We spoke about the beautiful moments and of course – her life’s work – exposing the injustices and the suffering in Palestine that deserve the world’s attention.  Hanna was dedicated not only to speaking about it, but taking action herself; organizing projects and participating in demonstrations, conferences, meetings and more.  She was an inspiring figure who taught me more about history than any school book in high school ever did.

Hanna died just over a week ago at the age of 84. I hadn’t spoken to her in a few years, but I have thought of her often whenever someone asks about my most favorite interview.  I was very much looking forward to having her back on the program and hear more from her all these years later.  Instead her voice as well as her words will have to suffice. Her memoir, “Weeds Don’t Perish - Memoirs of a Defiant Old Woman Author” was published just 2 months ago.  I intend to read it, pass it on to my loved ones, continue to pass on the message, and carry on speaking out, just as Hanna did.

The whole process takes less then a minute and soon we’re passed the customs area, passed the 4 construction workers staring at an open hole in the ground, and back on the two lane highway.  The mountains here are steep and drenched in red, yellow and orange autumn colors.  Occasionally we pass a little hamlet and I notice a newly completed bridge or road, even the lonely single track railroad seems to have been recently renovated.  As we drive into the heart of this infamous part of the world, I can’t stop thinking of how much it reminds me of mining country in Eastern Pennsylvania.

The towns we passed may have some new pieces of construction, but they don’t look like happy places.  The typical unfinished houses look vacant and what becomes even more clear as we get nearer to Prishtina, is that there is an overabundance of empty office space in Kosovo. One after another we pass shiny new warehouses and storefronts that look abandoned before they could ever be occupied.  This one would probably be good for selling tractors, that one over there looks more like a furniture outlet, neither has a single sign of life.  We drive on slowly, passed the Greek KFOR military base, the speed limit reads 60kmph, I find myself thinking of how different this place is from my dear Portugal, where no one respects such speed limits on country roads.

The beautifully vast and empty horizon finally changes after what seems like an hour, there is clearly a city up ahead, and I think it is Prishtina.  The two lane highway becomes 4 shiny new lanes, and the slow pace speeds up some.  On either side of the road its a mix of motels of small scale commercial operations.  Each one making heavy use of the following flags in this order: Albanian, Kosovar, American, followed by a hodgepodge of European Union  member state flags.  The favorite seems to be the French followed closely by the German flag.  ”Made in Germany” several of the advertisements for machine parts along the road read in smaller print.  Pulling into the quiet bus station and it seems like the entire city could be on vacation. “Prishtina is quiet” is the first uncontrollable conclusion I make in my head.  I could not have been more wrong.

Skopje, by NataschaM on flickr

I arrive in Macedonia just in time to enjoy the last bits of sunlight as the airport taxi whirls into Skopje. In a nation of just over 2 million people, its capital is a tiny place with a lot of history. And who’s their favorite historical figure? – Their very own Alexander the Great. And just like I observed at Mongolia’s Chinggis Khaan airport last year, Macedonia has also named their “Alexander the Great Airport” after their most famous citizen of all time. Coincidentally just this summer I was in another important site connected to this same historical juggernaut – Herat, Afghanistan, city that Alexander ruled back somewhere around 330BC. Herat would eventually be destroyed by an invasion by none other then Chinggis Khaan. Another reminder of just how connected the world is.
Talk about connected, this land locked nation borders Kosovo, Albania, Bulgaria, Greece and Serbia. Looking at the map and discussing travel options with a taxi driver, I suddenly had the urge to pop over to Albania for a day, then up to Kosovo for another day, and on and on… with all these nations nearby, it becomes clear that Macedonia continues to be what it has historically been, a place where many roads lead.

During the interview we touched upon the “Lèse Magesté”: extremely oppressive laws that govern how you can or cannot talk about the royal family.  As a journalist, you are not allowed to criticize the royal family in publications.  Doing so would constitute a serious offense and while I can’t remember what the average sentence could be, I remember it was bad.  Jiew was extremely well versed in what a reporter or media channel could and couldn’t do in their work, even an alternative source.  To my surprise she even asked me to turn off my recorder when we got to the part about the laws regarding media and the royal family.  She explained off the record how it works and the risk that one ran by publishing anything considered critical the exalted king.  It marked, still to this day, one of the few times in the 7 year history of my program, that I’ve had to turn off a recorder for legal reasons- even just to hear a seemingly harmless explanation of the rules.

Over the years Jiew and I have of course remained in contact, whenever there’s something (and there always is) going on in Thailand or SouthEast Asia, I know I can ask her for help with information or perhaps a good source to better understand what is happening.

Unfortunately, and to my great shock and disappointment, the Thai government is now pursuing a case against her.  Claiming, I believe, a violation of the Royal Family criticism laws at her publication; they are seeking a jail sentence.  As many watchdog groups have reported, the government is clearly afraid of someone so committed to reporting what is really going on behind the dog-n-pony show Thailand puts on for the tourist masses.

And so an excellent journalist, a friend of this citizenreporter.org, and someone who has dedicated her life to making the world around us a better place faces the looming threat of being convicted of a crime that should have long been stricken from the legal books in favor of real universal human rights.  All the more reason for us to help Jiew beat this bogus charge in any way we can, so she can fight twice as hard next time to keep this from happening ever again.

(To be continued, trail posponed to February)

Occupy Amsterdam General Assembly Meeting

I’m reluctant to write anything yet about the #occupy movement, specifically my local occupy Amsterdam.  On the one hand it seems like everyone has already heard about the actions nearest to where they live, in the US, Europe, Asia, South America…. all over the world.   Which makes me think perhaps all the minds have already been made up. One role I don’t want to have when it comes to “occupy” is the one where I try to convince people of something and they try to argue counterpoints against me.  I don’t want to convince anyone to follow along, come on down, or anything like that.  Yet each day I still run into friends and strangers who have no idea what occupy wall street is, or here in our own city, what occupy Amsterdam is.  So I write, or at least, start to write, even if I’m not actually ready to write about everything I’ve seen and think from daily visits to this burgeoning community nestled on the former financial center of this city so famous for international trade.

We live in a world of categories. On websites. On forms. In our minds. You fit here, you fit there. Don’t fit, we’ll make you a new box if you’re lucky.  Even with alot of disorganization among us, we try to organize. You’re either this kind of person or that kind of person. Your action is either good or bad, in between is confusing and hard to process.  And when it comes to our protest activities, when it is about using or not using time, energy and resources towards a certain goal… the public tends to evaluate as quickly as possible and render their verdict if the cause is worth it.

Enter the occupy wall street actions- which are taking place all over the world. The average person looks, reads/watches briefly, and makes their decision.  Few visit, but many write or talk about it.  Based on images, sounds, text and other material coming from these epicenters, people make their judgement. They condemn, they approve, they ignore or something in between all these.  We still live in a world where you can ignore a lot and keep going about your life; war, corruption, injustice, the environment… few of these topics have stopped the general public, so it should come as no surprise that sustained demonstrations against the status quo would be any different.

And still they are out there, building something together. People ask “Are there still people down there?” They’d probably not believe me if I told them the truth – there are more everyday.

“But what do they want!?” – I knew you’d ask that.

Copper Mine in Indonesia by pjriccio2006 on Flickr

Freeport MacMoRan is the world’s lowest-cost copper producer and the largest gold producer in the world. Producer is a funny term, they pull it from the earth. I suppose the production label comes from everything they do to the stuff they take from the earth.. the processing.

The company is almost 100 years old with its headquarters in Arizona, but of course its operations are located all over the world.  Freeport operates the largest copper mine in the world, the Grasberg Mining Complex in West Papua, a province of Indonesia.

West Papua has long been the stage for conflict, where the Indonesian government uses whatever means at its disposal to keep the independence movement down. For many Papuan people the mine is a major part of that conflict, due to the massive environmental damage it causes on their territory, the lack of financial benefit or return to the region, and the use of notorious elements of the Indonesian Military to handle security. Since 2002 there have been several incidents involving the shooting deaths of workers at the plant.

For the past two months workers at the mine have been on strike, demanding better wages. According to Reuters, their current payrate is $1.5 to $3 an hour. They are now demanding that it be raised to $12.50 to $37 an hour.  Recent demonstrations by the workers have attracted crowds numbering around 8,000. According to the Jakarta Post, during one of those demonstrations police fired into the crowd and killed 2 workers.  The paper also reports that Freeport had been trying to fire all the workers and have them replaced, a tactic an Indonesian Minister said would be a violation of their labor laws.

Freeport is number 136 on the Forbes Fortune 500 list, with over $4 billion in profit for 2010. They have been heavily criticized by human rights organizations and corruption watchdogs for their payments to the Indonesian Government and the Military in an effort to maintain the status quo and quell labor disputes at their mine. The millions of dollars in lost revenue are often mentioned in the media for every day their mine is shut.  What does their copper go into? The list is massive and touches on many aspects of our everyday lives in the western world.

Dubai 2011

In an effort to keep up with what you the site visitors, readers, listeners, and viewers are thinking and feeling, I present to you the citizenreporter.org user survey. 12 questions. 5 minutes. The info you provide will be taken very seriously, read carefully, and helps me in all my future work on this site.  Won’t you please fill it out: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/viewform?formkey=dGl6YXVSSG9OUEtXYkhHYXJMdWpqaXc6MQ

In the US education system, both primary and higher education, the Opium Wars are hardly mentioned. Children are taught that it was a British problem, a disagreement with the Chinese, and has nothing to do with the United States or these modern times we live in.  But in fact, the opposite is true.  The US played a major role, with relatives of presidents Thomas Jefferson, Calvin Coolidge, and even the Delano (Roosevelt) family being major investors in the Opium trade. And once we again we find ourselves in an era where nations claim free trade will solve the problems of the world, while at the same time pushing, secretly or overtly, monopolies and other “unfree” business tactics.

As people around the United States and throughout the western world occupy and retake public spaces and confront centers of business and trade, I wonder if they know how far back the practices they are raging against go.  The lives we know, for well over a century have been built on top of deep traditions connected to corruption and greed at the expense of massive groups of people. How do you halt or change a system so deeply ingrained in how things function? I think its a good time to revisit the Opium Wars, especially for those of us who don’t know the lessons that were never learned.

Things are extra busy inside Frubaça, it feels like the high season for apples as they roll passed me on the conveyer belt. At one stage they go under a large machine that shines a light on them, “Infrared Scanning,” Jorge Periquito, president of Frubaça, explains as we walk passed extremely long assembly lines. I can barely hear him over the sound of so many devices and machines as he explains the details of this state-of-the-art infrared scanner that detects any damage or defects to the apples.  We go on to see several other fruits being sorted and packaged for sending out to supermarkets and other places throughout the country. Some of the labels are even printed in Spanish and I learn later that beyond Spain the company sends their products to France as well.  Hard to believe this modest facility is serving up fruit even beyond the borders of Portugal, but the more I learned about Frubaça, the more I understood, this is no ordinary operation.

First there’s the technology: GPS, RFID, Infrared, High Pressure Processing  (HPP) Machines, are just some of the tools that play a critical role in how this natural fruit company functions.  In the case of the HPP machine, we’re talking about a device with few equals anywhere in the world, a piece of technology based on an old idea (pressure), that isn’t even known by most other companies out there.  It simulates the pressure equal to 60 kilometers under the sea, a pressure at which microrganisms are destroyed but the integrity of the juice remains in tact.

Jorge and I walk up the stairs to the giant metal tube where  small bottles of mango juice are being loaded in. This new room we’re in has a fantastic scent of fruit that hits you like the freshest mountain breeze imaginable.  As the process begins as we watch the digital display of the pressure meter rise. Nearby another version of the same machine is being loaded up with little packs of apple sauce.  Again, all around us, conveyer belts carry bottles of juice to their next destination.  Near the juicing machines I’m asked not to take any pictures as the machine manufacturers are very protective of their technology, I leave the camera off and focus my eyes on the apple foam flowing into a nearby drain. I’m temped to cup my two hands together and drink some delicious looking foam.

During my two hours at the plant Jorge explains the company, cooperative actually, from the beginning. He is one of 5 people that, since 1992, oversee the cooperative, all of which are from this rural community. They invested heavily in technology and go regularly to trade fairs and conferences all over the world, in an effort to know all the latest methods for handling the growing of fruit and production process. They’re not trying to be organic, their intention is to only use pesticides when it is absolutely necessary, a system of evaluation known as “integrated pest management.”

At some point I asked Jorge about business, his approach to the global demand that says – a company must grow and make more profit year after year.  His response was that the company is not interested in growth for the sake of growth. They won’t try to fight price wars to sell the cheapest fruit, choosing instead to offer the best quality, in hopes that customers recognize the value. They won’t move or expand, this is their community and their intention is to keep it healthy and working. Then, a conversation topic I never expected to arise – arose: “The socioeconomic model of the urban setting is finished.” Technology from the city applied back in the countryside can help create a healthy and sustainable life in a way that is increasingly hard to achieve in the urban setting.

For a moment I though Jorge must have been listening to my latest podcasts or reading my tweets. But then I realized the connection- sustainable business. Quality food with real ingredients produced by a proud community that has been there for generations.  Using the latest in technology and applying it to old fashion ideas. It all connects back to the theme of doing things differently then the conventional way. Taking steps to build lives that are about something other than making money and consuming as much as possible.  Once again I had stumbled upon the kind of ideas and practices that have the power to change our world.

Abandoned Lisbon, March 2011

Thats how it feels when everywhere you turn there are victims of some rapidly spreading phenomenon that leaves dispair and suffering in its wake.  Here in Lisbon the headlines read “Nation Reduces Its Deficit By 22%” with a sort of pride; the demands of the global bankers are being met.  But if you flip the pages of the newspaper, talk to the taxi driver, or the women on her way to work in Lisbon this morning, you’ll hear the painful details: Energy company privatized, raising prices by 30% next year.  Most salaries in public and private sector slashed by 8% and higher. Elimination of holiday pay, a yearly bit of income most mid and low income families count on to get by. Government programs for career development, cut. – Everywhere you look it is the average citizen, who for decades has survived on one of the lowest wages in Europe, that now literally pays to get the government out of its massive financial hole.

Somehow the bankers, governments, and many citizens in the rest of Europe will call it a success if Portugal manages to keep reducing its deficit. Many of the same people who,  over the past decade, helped plunge the country into its current crisis. The government in Brussels and here in Lisbon will probably pat itself on the back when the good numbers are announced in a few months or (more likely) years.

But what is left of a nation when everything has been cut or sold, and people have been squeezed to a breaking point?

I digress, this is not supposed to be a list of what does or doesn’t need to be done to save Portugal or save the Portuguese economy. This is an open question about the working of the global and European economy. About how we measure what is good and what is bad. While government and financial leaders act as if this is the medicine to cure the country of its ills, they bleed and beat the country through their actions. No I suppose not literally, but if you look around, there is a country full of afflicted people here.

Holy Scrap Springs photo by Mikeysklar

This week Im working on a series of podcasts as well as an article for United Academics Magazine which focuses on people who have created their own home and work spaces. Those who left cities and suburbs, left houses and apartments, left conventional jobs, and moved to a rural or undeveloped place. In their new environments they have built or rebuilt their homes using a mix of traditional, proven techniques and new, innovative features.  They do things like grow/raise their own food, collect their own water, generate their own power, and create their own kinds of income-generating work.

This phenomenon, at first glance, is nothing new; people have been leaving cities for the country periodically for decades. (though statistically more people do the opposite) But this generation is the unique above all for the techniques and knowledge it brings to these remote locations. Knowledge that is not only their own, but the never-ending collective knowledge one can consult via the internet. Installing a solar power system? Never built a barn before? Canned your own preserves? Check youtube, the step-by-step instructions are there waiting for you.

Of course the internet is not the only source of knowledge, the offline community that one joins when moving to a rural area also has its own experience and skills which might be called upon. Between the depth of the internet and the generations of experience in your town, whatever it is you don’t yet know how to do on your own, you can learn. And this is exactly what is happening.

Back in the urban-suburban world that so many in the western hemisphere see as the only two choices, such life changes are probably still seen as odd or undesirable. They might lose sleep over barely tenable costs of living and work stress, but they’ve grown up with the idea that this is all normal and simply “life”. Need something for the kids or for the house? Go to Walmart. Need heat? Turn up the thermostat.  All needs are met by some external service or source, all of which come at a monetary cost.  Again, at some point this may seem like the only way life works. But this group of people has proven otherwise, and their will to take action in this manner has inspired more people to do the same.

In the coming series of podcasts you will hear from this special group of people. They’re explain how they used to live and what led them to make a radical change. They’ll also explain the details about why this way of life not only works better for them, but why they are better prepared for the foreseeable future where the value of money decays further and the ability to grow or make things becomes more rare and necessary.

José dos Santos in Angola has been president for 32 years. He is, behind all the political pageantry, a dictator. But once upon a time, his party was the voice of reason under the brutal Portuguese colonial system. They helped liberate the country and went on to fight a civil war against what may or may not have been a madman (Jonas Savimbi). But here they are, 2011, the enemy of human rights and the antithesis of a party that was supposed to improve the quality of life for all Angolans.

Fidel Castro. Robert Mugabe. The ANC in South Africa. Bad comparisons? Perhaps. But the list of leaders and movements that started as heroes and later became something other than good to their fellow citizens is long. Whats more, it is often not possible for these leaders to recognize what they have become. They honestly seem to believe they are still doing what is right and fighting the good fight.  Later some of these people are called monsters for the crimes they commit during their reign. But in reality, monsters are just people. Grandpa Muammar was Colonel murderer, and everything in between.

What we the observers of this world and the reporters that try to explain it all need to do, is not turn everything into some easy to swallow version of the truth. The truth is not black and white, it is grey. And by pretending it isn’t, we make it more possible for the same scenarios to keep playing themselves out. Yes, you might be the hero today, and that is wonderful. But remember, years later when you still think you’re the hero, you probably aren’t.