Because the bastards are winning, and we must never make peace with it. ✎ Wayne…
This week’s podcast is an encore presentation of an interview recorded on April 13, 2013.
Indigenous people have had to fight for recognition of every right we have. And we…
We don’t need, and we don’t want, a devil’s advocate to set us right about…
This week I talk to Chelsea Vowel, Brooke Torgerson, Carey Newman, Conrad Saulis, Doug Jarvis, Karen Lawford, and Nahnda Garlow about identity.
Doug lacks even an interest in the mechanics of charm, and his style tends more toward resentment. But resentment is a cheque that someone will eventually cash if only you carry it around long enough.
We’ve reached the point at which no one can be under an illusion, unless of course it’s an illusion of one’s willful choosing. President Trump’s administration is nothing more, but also nothing less, than the giant con and tax-avoidance scheme of every palace-and-botox Word-of-God blowhard.
They did not ask for the journey, and we don’t want to know too much about it, but they return holding a marvellous gem that they alone can explain. A gem from a dream of the departed who haunt them. A dream not of the day but of the relentless, interminable day. A fascinating gem that I do not want to ever hold.
The two solitudes of Saskatchewan, the reserve and the farm, remain as estranged as ever, and Indigenous people everywhere hold their breath in anticipation of a trial they don’t dare allow themselves to believe will be fair and impartial.
On Episode 93 of The Roundtable, I talk money, personal finance, and financial literacy with Terry Goodtrack (CEO, AFOA Canada).
The Indian residential school debate is and has always been about the right of one ethnic or cultural group to dominate and absorb another.
One day there will be an Indigenous Prime Minister of Canada. And I couldn’t care less.
Angie Abdou is the author of “In Case I Go.” She and Frank Busch talk about the making of this novel.
I have seen sun-bleached photos, of aunts and uncles, the happy brides and grooms whose future self will divorce and remarry, or perhaps not, retaining across the decades some small semblance of this person frozen in time, covered in wedding confetti, surrounded by those I remember as once living among us.