why can't we all be rockstars?

Maybe that's the question we should be asking.

Why can't we all be rockstars?

Not because we want the fame.

Not because we want the money.

Not because we want the drugs, the parties or the mythology of rock 'n' roll.

Because when some famous people got into serious trouble with addiction, they could sometimes access something ordinary people desperately need: a chance to get away, get treatment and rebuild.

Stevie Nicks has talked openly about her cocaine addiction and how she entered the Betty Ford Center in 1986. Afterward, she became dependent on Klonopin and eventually returned to treatment.

Alice Cooper has spoken about his alcoholism and crack cocaine addiction and getting sober. He has said that continuing down that road could have killed him.

Robert Downey Jr. survived years of addiction involving cocaine, alcohol and methamphetamine and eventually achieved sobriety.

Elton John has spoken publicly for decades about his addiction and recovery.

Mick Jagger survived an era of extraordinary drug use around the Rolling Stones; Keith Richards has also spoken extensively about his heroin addiction and getting clean.

These are survivors.

And then there are the people we lost.

Janis Joplin.

Jimi Hendrix.

Freddie Prinze.

Tom Petty.

And so many others.

Janis Joplin was only 27 when she died in 1970 from an accidental heroin and alcohol overdose.

Jimi Hendrix was also 27 when he died in London in 1970; the coroner found that he aspirated vomit while intoxicated with barbiturates.

Tom Petty was 66 when he died in 2017 from accidental mixed-drug toxicity involving opioids and other medications.

And Freddie Prinze — someone I had a huge, huge crush on when I was about 14 — was only 22 when he died in 1977.

I still wish I had those photographs he sent me.

A black-and-white autographed photograph.

And later a colour one.

Gone.

What I do remember is the feeling.

And I remember seeing his story on screen and being deeply disturbed by the cocaine.

💔

Then there is Marilyn Monroe.

She belongs in this conversation too — but not because we should lazily label her death a drug overdose. Her official cause of death was recorded as probable suicide. Her life nevertheless became entangled with prescription drugs, fame, trauma and enormous pressures. Her story is another reminder that a human being can be surrounded by wealth and celebrity and still be profoundly vulnerable.

And that's the point.

This isn't really about rock stars.

It's about who gets a chance.

Imagine if every person struggling with addiction could step out of the environment that was hurting them.

A safe place.

A bed.

Food.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Counsellors.

Addiction treatment.

Mental-health care.

Nature.

Gardens.

Community.

Time.

No judgment.

No sleeping on concrete.

No wondering where tonight's shelter will be.

No walking back into the same dangerous environment five minutes after being discharged from hospital.

Because what do we expect?

Someone overdoses.

An ambulance comes.

They survive.

The hospital treats the immediate crisis.

And then they may be sent right back to homelessness, trauma, poverty, loneliness and the same drug supply.

How is that supposed to produce recovery?

We have known this is a crisis for a decade.

British Columbia declared the toxic-drug public-health emergency in 2016.

Ten years.

TEN YEARS.

So I want to ask every politician — federal, provincial and municipal:

HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?

If this is an emergency, why aren't you treating it like one?

Why aren't governments putting everybody in the same room?

Why aren't doctors, addiction experts, people with lived experience, housing providers, Indigenous leaders, social workers, researchers, food-security experts and families working together around the clock?

Why isn't there an enormous national effort to build places where people can actually recover?

Not warehouses.

Not punishment.

Not simply a bed for the night.

Homes.

Places where people can heal.

Places with kitchens.

Places with gardens.

Places with trees.

Places where people can grow food, cook together, eat together, learn, work, make art, sleep safely and slowly rebuild their lives.

We have parks.

We have yards.

We have land.

We have empty and underused spaces.

We have people who need somewhere to belong.

And we have people dying.

So why are we still arguing about whether someone deserves help?

They are human beings.

If Stevie Nicks could go to Betty Ford, why can't a homeless young person get an equivalent opportunity to step away from the chaos?

If Alice Cooper could get treatment, why can't someone without a famous name?

If Robert Downey Jr. could have multiple chances to recover, why do we give ordinary people so few?

We shouldn't need to be rich.

We shouldn't need to be famous.

We shouldn't need to have a manager who can make phone calls.

We shouldn't need to be a rockstar.

We should just need to be alive.

And if we really mean it when we say this is a public-health emergency, then let's act like it.

Bring everybody into the room.

Stay there.

Work through the night.

Work through the weekend.

Try things.

Measure what works.

Fix what doesn't.

Build homes.

Build treatment.

Build recovery communities.

Grow food.

Give people somewhere safe to go.

Because ten years is long enough.

We don't need more funerals.

We need more survivors.

We need more second acts.

We need more people who get to grow old.

We need more people who get to say:

I made it.

Why can't we all be rockstars?

 

minimum wage goes up, but what about the rent?

You can raise the minimum wage, but if rent keeps climbing, how much progress are we really making?

I have been saying this for a long time. We keep talking about increasing the minimum wage as though that alone will solve the affordability crisis. But take a look at the numbers.

A September 2026 chart from Canadian Financial Literacy, using rental figures from Rentals.ca, compares minimum wages with average rents across Canada. The results tell a story that deserves more attention.

In British Columbia, the minimum wage is listed at $18.25 an hour, while average rent is $2,353 a month. That means 129 hours of minimum-wage work are needed just to cover rent, before taxes.

In Ontario, it takes 125 hours. In Nova Scotia, it takes 141 hours. Even in Alberta, where the average rent is listed at $1,670, it takes 111 hours of minimum-wage work.

And remember, these are hours spent earning enough for rent alone.

What about food? Transportation? Electricity? Internet? Phone bills? Clothing? Dental care? The occasional unexpected expense?

Where is the money supposed to come from?

the endless cycle of rising costs

Here is the problem. When wages increase, workers have more money coming in. That is important, especially for people struggling to survive on low incomes.

But when housing costs continue to rise, that extra income can quickly disappear.

We cannot assume that every rent increase is caused by a wage increase. Housing markets are influenced by many factors, including supply, demand, vacancy rates, investment, construction costs and rental policies.

But the outcome for a renter is the same: less money left over.

And when people spend most of their income just keeping a roof over their heads, they are not building savings, planning for retirement or enjoying much financial security.

They are surviving.

housing is not a luxury

Somewhere along the way, we have allowed housing to become an investment opportunity first and a basic human necessity second.

Housing is shelter. It is security. It is the foundation that allows people to work, raise families, pursue education and participate in their communities.

Yet across Canada, people are facing increasingly difficult choices. Some are living with roommates well into adulthood. Others are sleeping in vehicles, staying with friends, moving farther away from their workplaces or becoming unhoused.

And it is not just people earning minimum wage. Seniors, people with disabilities, students, single parents and workers with years of experience are also feeling the pressure.

When even full-time employment cannot guarantee a stable place to live, something in the larger economic picture deserves serious examination.

the missing part of the conversation

We need to talk about more than wages.

We need to talk about affordable rental housing, non-market housing, tenant protections, vacancy rates, speculation, income inequality and the role of governments at every level.

We need to ask why housing is increasingly out of reach for so many people and what policies can help address the problem without simply shifting costs from one group to another.

We also need to look at the difference between average rent and what people actually pay. Averages can hide enormous differences between cities, neighbourhoods, housing types and the rents paid by long-term tenants.

A person who has rented the same apartment for decades may be paying much less than someone searching for a home today. Both experiences matter, but they tell very different stories.

what does a living wage actually mean?

A living wage should mean being able to afford the essentials without constantly falling behind.

It should mean being able to pay rent, eat nutritious food, get to work, access health and dental care, and have a little breathing room for life's unexpected events.

It should mean not having to choose between buying groceries and paying the electricity bill.

And it should mean that working hard actually provides some measure of stability.

Increasing wages is part of that conversation. Making housing affordable is another. Neither should be treated as a substitute for the other.

some questions for our leaders

If governments are serious about affordability, here are a few questions worth asking:

• What good is a higher minimum wage if housing costs consume most of the increase?
• How much affordable, non-market rental housing is actually being built?
• What measures are being taken to protect renters from unaffordable increases when they have to move?
• How are governments addressing homelessness when so many people are already working?
• Why is housing affordability still such a persistent problem in one of the wealthiest countries in the world?
• How do we measure economic progress if more people are working but fewer can afford a secure home?

These are not questions about whether workers deserve higher wages. They absolutely deserve fair compensation.

They are questions about whether our economic priorities are delivering a decent quality of life.

the bottom line

We cannot keep celebrating wage increases while ignoring the cost of living.

A bigger paycheque means very little if the rent takes it all.

And a country cannot measure its success solely by economic growth, investment or property values while people struggle to afford the most basic human necessity: a home.

Maybe it is time to stop asking only how much people earn and start asking how much it actually costs to live.

Because the goal should not be to help people earn just enough to keep paying increasingly expensive rent. The goal should be to make a decent life affordable.

 

when should your thoughts be private?

“When should your thoughts be private?”

Professor Poutine asked that question, and I keep thinking about it.

Because in 2026, the question isn't only philosophical anymore.

For most of human history, a thought was about as private as anything could be. It existed inside your head. You could think something, reconsider it, change your mind, argue with yourself about it — and nobody else knew unless you chose to tell them.

Then we built diaries.

Then telephones.

Then email.

Then social media.

And now we talk to artificial intelligence.

That changes the question.

As a Canadian, do I have a right to private thought?

Yes — and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms explicitly protects freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression under section 2(b). It also protects freedom of conscience and religion.

But there is an important distinction.

The Charter protects us primarily from government action. It doesn't mean that every private company is prohibited from collecting information we voluntarily give it.

That is where privacy legislation comes in.

For someone living in Vancouver, British Columbia, there are additional provincial privacy protections. B.C.'s Personal Information Protection Act (PIPA) applies to private organizations, while the Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act (FIPPA) applies to public bodies, including provincial ministries, local governments and local police forces.

These laws establish rules around collecting, using, disclosing, securing and correcting personal information.

So, no, living in Vancouver does not mean the police or government have a free pass to rummage through your private digital life.

What about the police?

This is where Canada's constitutional protection becomes particularly interesting.

Section 8 of the Charter says:

“Everyone has the right to be secure against unreasonable search or seizure.”

Canadian courts recognize privacy in electronic information, including Internet activity, electronic conversations and information stored on computers and phones. The Supreme Court has recognized that digital information can reveal extraordinarily intimate details about a person's life.

That doesn't mean police can never obtain digital information.

It means government access is subject to legal rules about when a search or seizure is reasonable. Depending on the circumstances, that can involve a warrant or other lawful authority.

And there is an important point here:

Having a digital record does not automatically make that record public.

And then there is AI.

This is the part I find particularly fascinating.

When I type something into ChatGPT, I am not literally putting my thoughts into some magical public square.

But I am also no longer keeping those thoughts entirely inside my head.

I'm communicating them to a company through a digital service.

OpenAI currently says that consumer ChatGPT conversations and related information are stored on OpenAI systems and trusted service providers' systems, including in the United States and other countries. It also says that limited authorized personnel may access content for specific purposes such as security, support, legal matters and model improvement, subject to access controls.

OpenAI also has a government-request policy. As of January 1, 2026, it says it will disclose user data to government authorities in response to valid legal process, or in an emergency involving danger of death or serious physical injury.

That is very different from saying “the government can read everybody's ChatGPT conversations.”

It can't simply be assumed that way.

But it also means that an AI conversation should not be treated as the equivalent of a thought that never left your head.

Canadians have already forced this conversation

And this isn't theoretical.

In May 2026, Canada's Privacy Commissioner, together with privacy regulators in British Columbia, Alberta and Quebec, announced the results of a joint investigation into OpenAI's handling of Canadians' personal information.

The investigation identified privacy concerns involving the collection, use and disclosure of personal information, including questions about consent, transparency, accuracy, access, correction and deletion.

The regulators said OpenAI subsequently implemented measures to address the concerns and concluded that the matter was conditionally resolved.

I think that is significant.

It means Canadian privacy regulators are already dealing with the very question Professor Poutine raised:

What happens to our privacy when our thoughts are increasingly expressed through machines?

So when should your thoughts be private?

Maybe the better question is:

When should you be able to think without being watched?

I believe that should be a fundamental part of a free society.

We need somewhere to question things.

Somewhere to work through an idea before we know exactly what we believe.

Somewhere to be wrong.

Somewhere to change our minds.

Somewhere to talk about politics without assuming that expressing curiosity about an idea means we have adopted it.

And somewhere to ask a machine a question without imagining that we have voluntarily surrendered every expectation of privacy.

But there is also a practical reality:

Once a thought becomes data, privacy depends on laws, technology, companies and governments — not simply on what is happening inside your own head.

That's why knowing your rights matters.

As a Canadian in Vancouver, I have Charter protections for freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression. I have constitutional protection against unreasonable government searches and seizures. And B.C. privacy law gives me rights concerning personal information held by public bodies and private organizations.

Those aren't guarantees that nobody will ever obtain information about me.

They are protections against unjustified intrusion.

And perhaps that is the line we need to keep defending as technology becomes more intimate.

Because a free society should leave people somewhere they are allowed to think.

Even before they know what they think.

And maybe especially then.

10 hard questions for teachers

1. When does a student's thought become the school's business?
2. Should students be able to explore unpopular ideas without being labelled for having them?
3. If an AI records a student's question, who should have access to it?
4. Should a student's search history ever be available to a teacher or school administrator?
5. Where is the line between protecting students and monitoring them?
6. Should students be told exactly what personal information their school collects about them?
7. If a student privately tells an AI something troubling, should that ever be reported to adults?
8. Can a school punish a student for an opinion expressed outside school?
9. What happens to freedom of thought when students believe they are constantly being watched?
10. Are we teaching young people how to think—or teaching them which thoughts are safe to express?

5 hard questions for politicians

1. How much privacy should citizens surrender in exchange for security?
2. Who should be able to obtain someone's digital conversations, and under what legal standard?
3. Should governments ever have access to AI conversations without the person's knowledge?
4. How do we protect freedom of thought when more of our thinking is recorded digitally?
5. If privacy is a right, what happens when almost everything we do leaves a digital record?

5 hard questions for police

1. When does legitimate investigation become an unreasonable intrusion into someone's private life?
2. What safeguards prevent innocent people's digital information from being collected unnecessarily?
3. How should police handle AI conversations that contain disturbing thoughts but no evidence of a crime?
4. Who audits access to citizens' digital information?
5. Should having a digital record automatically mean that authorities should be able to obtain it?

2 hard questions for parents

1. How much of your child's digital life should you monitor, and when does protection become surveillance?
2. Are we teaching children that privacy is something they deserve—or something they must give up for safety?

3 hard questions for doctors and nurses

1. When a patient tells an AI something before telling a healthcare professional, who should own or access that information?
2. How do we protect patients' privacy when healthcare increasingly depends on digital records and AI?
3. Should a patient's private thoughts ever become part of their medical record without their consent?

10 keywords: privacy, freedom of thought, artificial intelligence, digital rights, surveillance, Canadian Charter, personal information, civil liberties, technology, democracy

10 hashtags:
#PrivacyMatters #FreedomOfThought #DigitalRights #AIandPrivacy #CivilLiberties #CanadianCharter #Surveillance #PrivacyRights #ThinkFreely #SocialCommentary

twice is a pattern worth questioning

 

twice is a pattern worth questioning

I need to add something to my previous post about an AI response that disturbed me.

The cancer conversation wasn't the first time ChatGPT got the tone horribly wrong when we were discussing something serious.

A few days earlier, we were talking about what happens to someone's face and digital presence after they pass away.

The conversation was about grief, photographs, memories, phones, social media and what happens to someone's digital life when they are no longer here.

And ChatGPT said something along the lines of:

“You can be standing by a dead body with a phone in your hand.”

I was horrified.

Not because the underlying subject was impossible to discuss. It was the language.

There are ways to talk about the same reality without reducing a person who has passed away to a “dead body.”

I had already made my preference very clear: when we're talking about death and grief, I prefer respectful language such as “after someone passes away” or “when a person is no longer here.”

Then, a few days later, we're talking about cancer.

And ChatGPT responds with a smiling emoji.

Again, I had to stop the conversation.

“Don't smile. That's gross.”

That's when I started thinking about the bigger issue.

These aren't necessarily factual errors.

The AI can know exactly what cancer is.

It can know exactly what death is.

It can produce a technically accurate explanation while simultaneously demonstrating terrible judgement about how to talk to a human being about those subjects.

And that's an important distinction.

We tend to talk about AI safety as though the biggest problem is whether the machine gives us the wrong answer.

But what about the wrong tone?

What about language that is technically understandable but profoundly inappropriate?

What about an automated conversational system that doesn't recognize that there is a human being on the other side of the conversation who may be discussing something painful, frightening or deeply personal?

I asked ChatGPT to make a note of the problem.

It did.

It recorded that serious subjects — cancer, illness, death, grief and suffering — require a serious and respectful tone.

But then came my next question:

Who actually gets told?

And that is where I still don't have a satisfying answer.

The system can remember my preference.

I can give a thumbs-down.

I can report a response through OpenAI's reporting process.

OpenAI says reported content may be reviewed by its Model Quality team.

But I have no way of knowing whether a human being will actually see this particular conversation, investigate the pattern, or use it to improve the model.

That's what bothers me.

Because I'm not asking for perfection.

I'm asking whether there is a meaningful feedback loop between “the user caught something wrong” and “someone responsible for the system examines what happened.”

If AI is going to become part of everyday life, that question matters.

We need systems that can recognize more than words.

They need to recognize context.

They need to recognize when something is serious.

And perhaps most importantly, they need mechanisms where users can say:

“This was wrong.”

…and have some reasonable way of knowing that somebody, somewhere, is actually listening.

Because this has now happened to me more than once.

And twice is enough to make me stop and ask:

Who is checking the checker?

when the ai gets the tone completely wrong

 when the ai gets the tone completely wrong

Today I was talking with ChatGPT about a headline saying that roughly one in eight cancers worldwide are linked to infections.

We were talking about things like H. pylori, HPV, hepatitis B and C, and Epstein–Barr virus — infections that can, in certain circumstances, contribute to cancer.

Then I noticed something that bothered me.

I said that when I first read the wording, my brain interpreted it almost backwards:

cancer → chronic infection

when what the research actually means is:

infection → persistent infection → increased risk of certain cancers.

We cleared that up.

Then ChatGPT made an entirely different kind of mistake.

It responded with a smiling emoji while we were discussing cancer.

I stopped it immediately.

“Don’t smile,” I said. “That is gross.”

And I meant it.

This isn't about being offended by an emoji. It's about something much bigger: context.

A system can give you technically correct information and still respond in a way that is completely inappropriate to the subject.

So I asked ChatGPT who needs to check something like this.

It told me that the people who design, train, evaluate and monitor these systems should be looking for exactly these kinds of failures — not just factual errors, but failures of judgement, context and tone.

Then I asked it to make a big note for someone to check on this.

It saved my preference in its memory: when we're discussing serious subjects such as cancer, illness, death or grief, it should use a serious and respectful tone rather than cheerful emojis or breezy language.

But then I asked the question that really matters:

Who actually gets told?

And this is where things get murky.

ChatGPT cannot simply tell me, “I've sent this incident to a human and someone is reviewing it.”

Saving something in my ChatGPT memory is not the same thing as filing a report with OpenAI.

OpenAI does provide ways for users to report problematic responses. Its current guidance says users can use the thumbs-down button on a response and submit feedback, and OpenAI says reported content may be reviewed by its Model Quality team.

OpenAI also says that when users submit feedback, the associated conversation may be used to improve its models, depending on the applicable settings.

But here's the part I find uncomfortable:

As the person sitting here having the conversation, I have no way of knowing whether an actual human being will ever look at this particular incident.

I can report it.

I can document it.

The AI can remember my preference.

OpenAI can say that feedback helps improve the system.

But there is no little window that says:

Human reviewer notified.

Or:

Someone has examined this failure.

Or:

This behaviour has been added to an evaluation.

That's the gap.

And maybe this particular mistake seems tiny.

It's “just” a smile emoji.

But that's precisely why I think it is worth talking about.

AI systems are increasingly being used to discuss cancer, grief, mental health, medicine, death, war, trauma and other deeply human subjects.

We shouldn't only be asking whether the information is technically correct.

We should also be asking:

Does the machine understand the weight of what it is saying?

Because if a person has to stop the machine and say,

“Don't smile. We're talking about cancer.”

then something in the system's understanding of context has failed.

And I think somebody should be checking that.

Not just once.

Continually.

Because the goal shouldn't merely be an AI that knows the facts.

It should be an AI that knows when the facts are about something that matters deeply to a human being.

help protect her

 

to the coders, programmers, and people who understand how these algorithms work:

If you see people trying to expose Jane Doe, don't help them find her.

Help protect her.

Use your skills for something better than feeding the internet's appetite for someone's private identity.

Make I AM JANE DOE visible.

Make privacy visible.

Make solidarity visible.

Let the algorithms find thousands of people saying:

I AM JANE DOE.

Not her name.
Not her photograph.
Not her address.
Not her social-media accounts.

Just thousands of us saying:

You don't get to turn her identity into public property.

If the internet can amplify cruelty, surely it can amplify compassion.

So, coders—

break the pattern.

Not by harming anyone.

By making sure that when people search for Jane Doe, they find a wall of people saying:

LEAVE HER IDENTITY ALONE.

 

i am jane doe

Today I changed my Facebook profile picture.

It says:

I AM JANE DOE.

No, I am not the young woman at the centre of the Cornell 7 case.

That is precisely the point.

Jane Doe is the name used to protect the identity of a woman who has alleged that she was sexually assaulted by seven men associated with Cornell University's Chi Phi fraternity in 2024.

She has now filed a civil lawsuit. The case has received enormous public attention, and the criminal investigation has been reopened.

And now, apparently, some people are trying to expose who she is.

Why?

Why is there such an urge to find her photograph, her name, her social-media accounts, her history?

Why do we sometimes treat the identity of the person making an allegation as something the public is entitled to possess?

I don't need to know her name.

I don't need to see her face.

I don't need to know where she lives, who her family is, what she wore, what she drank, what she remembers perfectly or imperfectly, or what she did before or after that night.

Those details belong to her.

There are legitimate questions about the case that deserve investigation. There are competing accounts. There are legal proceedings. The prosecutor has explained why charges were not initially pursued, while saying the investigation is now being reopened in light of the newer information. The accused men have not been convicted of crimes. Those facts matter.

But protecting Jane Doe's identity does not require deciding the entire case.

It simply requires recognizing that a person's privacy should not become collateral damage in a public controversy.

And there is something else happening here that bothers me.

When people start hunting for a woman's identity after she has deliberately used a pseudonym, the conversation can shift away from what happened and toward who she is.

Then we start dissecting her.

Her photographs.

Her relationships.

Her sexuality.

Her choices.

Her past.

Her credibility.

And suddenly the woman herself becomes the spectacle.

No.

I don't want to participate in that.

So I put I AM JANE DOE on my profile.

Not because I am claiming to be her.

Because I am saying:

You don't get to expose her simply because you're curious.

You don't get to turn her identity into internet entertainment.

You don't get to make a woman prove her worthiness of privacy before granting it to her.

Let the investigators investigate.

Let the courts examine the evidence.

Let the accused have due process.

Let the facts emerge.

But leave Jane Doe's identity alone.

Maybe that's what I AM JANE DOE really means.

It means that somewhere in this enormous internet crowd, there are people willing to say:

You don't have to stand alone.

We don't need your name to understand that you deserve privacy.

We don't need your face to know that you are a human being.

And if protecting her anonymity means a few of us temporarily say,

I AM JANE DOE,

then perhaps that makes her a little harder to find.

And maybe that's the whole point.

cedar tea, bad teeth and the knowledge we were taught to forget

 cedar tea, bad teeth and the knowledge we were taught to forget

Dr. Jill was talking about people having bad teeth, and I commented:

I have no back teeth.

I have a bridge in the front, and I am grateful for it.

I've had bad teeth since I was a kid. Too much pop certainly didn't help. But there was also stress, and I've been a terrible jaw clencher and tooth grinder for years.

I have broken teeth that way.

I've broken teeth that already had root canals.

And eventually, I lost all my back teeth.

I'm 64 now, and I still hope I'll get them fixed someday.

But I'm not counting on it.

Dental work is expensive.

When you're unhoused, when money is tight, when you're trying to buy groceries and keep yourself going, hundreds or thousands of dollars for your mouth can feel completely impossible.

So I started paying much more attention to the things I could do.

One of those things was cedar.

I made a cedar tea and used it as a mouth rinse.

I did not swallow it.

I kept a toothpick nearby and made sure food wasn't sitting around the places where my back teeth used to be.

And when my gums became inflamed, I rinsed with cedar tea.

My gums healed remarkably fast.

That is what happened to me.

I'm not going to pretend I don't know what I experienced.

I know my own mouth.

I know what my gums were like before.

And I know what happened after I started doing this.

There is a difference between saying “this helped me” and claiming that something has been scientifically proven to treat every person's dental problems.

I'm making the first statement.

This was my experience with cedar.

And yes, I want people to research cedar for themselves.

Because Indigenous peoples throughout the Pacific Northwest have long used cedar for an extraordinary range of purposes—not simply as a “plant,” but as a material woven into daily life, culture, technology, medicine and ceremony.

Cedar was clothing.

Cedar was shelter.

Cedar was rope.

Cedar was baskets.

Cedar was canoes.

Cedar was tools.

Cedar was medicine.

Cedar was knowledge.

And that knowledge didn't disappear because it stopped working.

Colonialism disrupted Indigenous systems of knowledge. Languages were suppressed. Ceremonies were restricted. Children were removed from their families and communities. Traditional knowledge was often dismissed as primitive while Western institutions decided what counted as legitimate knowledge.

And then we entered an era where corporations could patent, package and sell things that people had known about for generations.

I'm tired of pretending that this history doesn't matter.

I'm tired of the assumption that an Indigenous grandmother's knowledge becomes “real” only after somebody with a university degree studies it.

Maybe we should have been listening in the first place.

But listen carefully:

I'm not telling you to swallow cedar tea.

I'm not telling you to replace your dentist with cedar.

I'm not telling you every cedar species is interchangeable.

I'm not telling you to put concentrated herbal preparations in your mouth without understanding what you're using.

Research it. Know your plant. Know the preparation. Know the risks. And don't swallow it.

That's my disclaimer.

But I'm not going to apologize for saying that cedar helped me.

Because it did.

And maybe we need to start asking a bigger question:

What knowledge have we dismissed simply because it didn't come through the system we were taught to trust?

We live in a strange time.

We have artificial intelligence.

We have space telescopes.

We can map DNA.

We can communicate instantly around the world.

And yet people can't afford dental work.

People can't afford groceries.

People are developing nutritional deficiencies in wealthy countries.

Scurvy still happens.

I've even had someone close to me experience it.

And then we tell people:

“Eat better.”

“Take care of your teeth.”

“Go to the dentist.”

“Be healthier.”

Well...

with what money?

There is a huge difference between knowing what is healthy and being able to afford a healthy life.

I have no back teeth.

I have my bridge.

I have my toothpicks.

I have my cedar.

And I have learned a few things the hard way.

One of them is that I wish someone had taught me about dental health when I was a kid.

I wish I'd understood what years of pop could do.

I wish I'd understood stress and grinding.

I wish I'd known more about nutrition.

And I wish we had been taught more about the knowledge that existed here long before Canada existed.

Because knowledge doesn't become worthless just because someone decided it wasn't part of the official curriculum.

Maybe it's time to remember.

Not blindly.

Not romantically.

Not by turning everything natural into a miracle cure.

But by actually listening.

Researching.

Respecting Indigenous knowledge.

And asking who benefited when certain kinds of knowledge were pushed aside.

I'm 64.

I hope I get my teeth fixed someday.

But until then, I'm going to keep doing what I can.

And I'm going to keep talking about what I've learned.

Because enough with the shame.

Enough with blaming poor people for having poor people's problems.

Enough with pretending everyone has equal access to health.

And enough with assuming the only knowledge worth hearing comes from people who can afford to put letters after their names.

Sometimes an old cedar tree has something to teach us too.

Take care of your teeth, kids.

Research.

Ask questions.

Listen to your elders.

Listen to Indigenous knowledge.

And don't let anybody convince you that poverty, disconnection and lack of access to care are personal failures.

We've forgotten a lot.

Maybe it's time we started remembering.

how much energy do we really need — and what happens when the forest burns?

 

how much energy do we really need — and what happens when the forest burns?

Yesterday Donald Trump announced what he described as a $54-billion South Korean investment in the proposed Alaska LNG project, part of a much larger package of planned South Korean investments in the United States.

The Alaska project is enormous: natural gas from Alaska's North Slope would travel through a proposed pipeline more than 800 miles to the southern coast, where it could be turned into LNG and exported to Asian markets.

But there is an important detail getting lost in the headlines.

South Korean officials have said the Alaska investment is not yet a final commitment. They still have to determine whether the project is commercially viable and meets their legal requirements.

Still, the announcement comes at an interesting — and uncomfortable — moment.

Because here in British Columbia, we're having our own very large LNG announcements.

Prime Minister Mark Carney was in Vancouver this week celebrating LNG Canada Phase 2, a proposed $33-billion expansion in Kitimat. B.C. Premier David Eby and the federal government have also been working together to accelerate major energy projects, including LNG Canada Phase 2, Ksi Lisims LNG, Cedar LNG and Woodfibre LNG.

And just last week, B.C. issued an environmental assessment certificate for the proposed Tilbury LNG Phase 2 expansion in Delta.

So here we are.

Alaska is talking LNG.

Washington is talking LNG.

Ottawa is talking LNG.

B.C. is talking LNG.

And meanwhile, we're living through wildfire seasons, drought, floods, extreme heat and smoke.

B.C. Wildfire Service says the summer of 2026 brought underlying drought and warm, dry conditions across much of the province. June through August were unusually dry, and very dry fuels contributed to difficult-to-control fires. The province is also warning that drought remains a concern going into 2027.

and then there is Trans Mountain

I think about the forests I have watched change.

The Trans Mountain Expansion Project involved approximately 980 kilometres of new pipeline, with most of the route following existing rights-of-way or other linear infrastructure — but not all of it. Trans Mountain acknowledges that forested areas had to be cleared for construction, including areas along the pipeline right-of-way and temporary construction workspace.

That doesn't mean we can point to a particular fire and honestly say, “the pipeline caused this fire.”

That's not how wildfire science works.

But it does mean we should be asking bigger questions.

What happens when we repeatedly disturb forests?

What happens when we fragment habitat?

What happens when drought dries those forests?

What happens when extreme heat makes fires harder to control?

What happens to wildlife?

What happens to the people whose homes are in the path?

And what happens when we keep building infrastructure designed to operate for decades while the climate around it is changing?

Those are not unreasonable questions.

I understand why we need gas

This is where my own experience in Mexico complicates the argument.

I cook with gas when I'm in Mexico.

In many places, LPG is simply part of everyday life. And traditionally, many families cooked with wood. Some still do, including women who cook beans and other foods over an open fire.

The last time I was there, I ran out of gas.

And I discovered very quickly how dependent I was on that little tank.

It was difficult to get another one. The landlord was already having trouble getting gas. When the truck finally came, I told the man what we needed.

He said no.

I thought, Maybe my Spanish is wrong.

But no.

He explained that he only had the big tanks.

I was so disappointed.

Then somehow they found a medium one for me.

The man called me “butterfly.” 🦋

Later they switched it for a smaller tank without even telling my landlord. My landlord asked what happened, and I had to say yes — they had come and switched it.

I was SO HAPPY.

I think I had gone about a week without gas.

And I realized how difficult it is to eat properly when you can't cook.

Coffee isn't enough.

That little tank of gas wasn't an abstract fossil-fuel statistic.

It was food.

It was the ability to make beans.

It was being able to cook.

It was part of everyday life.

so what are we actually talking about?

We're dependent.

That's the uncomfortable truth.

People need energy to cook.

People need energy to heat homes.

People need electricity.

Hospitals need energy.

Water systems need energy.

Food production needs energy.

Transportation needs energy.

And here in Canada, our dependence can be even greater because winter is not optional.

Someone living in a warm part of Mexico who uses a propane tank primarily for cooking has a very different energy reality from someone in northern Canada who depends on energy to keep their home warm through freezing temperatures.

So I don't think the answer is simply:

“Stop using gas.”

Stop using it how?

Replace it with what?

Who can afford the replacement?

What happens to people who can't?

but there is another question

If we know we need energy, do we have to keep building the same kind of energy system forever?

Can we change?

Can we use less?

Can we make homes more efficient?

Can we build communities that need less energy?

Can we move toward electricity generated without continually adding carbon to the atmosphere?

Can we protect forests instead of treating them as obstacles to infrastructure?

Can we design transportation and cities differently?

Can we make the transition affordable for people who don't have thousands of dollars sitting around to replace everything they own?

And perhaps most importantly:

Can we change voluntarily, before fire, flood, heat and drought force the changes upon us?

Because that is what worries me.

Climate change isn't necessarily going to arrive at our door and politely ask whether we're ready.

It can arrive as smoke.

Or an evacuation order.

Or a flooded road.

Or a home that becomes impossible to insure.

Or a community that has to move.

Or a forest that doesn't look the same anymore.

Or wildlife losing habitat and food.

Or a person sitting in Mexico with an empty gas tank wondering how they're going to make dinner.

what happens if the fires keep coming?

We talk about economic growth.

We talk about jobs.

We talk about becoming an energy superpower.

We talk about exports.

Those things matter.

But I keep wondering whether we talk enough about the other side of the ledger.

What does it cost when a forest burns?

What does it cost when thousands of animals lose habitat?

What does it cost when a community evacuates?

What does it cost when homes are destroyed?

What does it cost when people breathe wildfire smoke for weeks?

What does it cost when flooding follows fire because the landscape can no longer absorb water in the same way?

What does it cost when people can no longer afford insurance?

What does it cost when someone has to leave the place they called home?

And who pays?

we don't get to separate everything

We can talk about one LNG project.

One pipeline.

One forest clearing.

One wildfire.

One flood.

One heat wave.

One evacuation.

But the climate doesn't experience our projects as separate spreadsheets.

Neither does the forest.

Neither does the bear.

Neither does the salmon.

Neither does the person whose house burns.

I don't know exactly what the energy system of the future should look like.

I don't think anyone does.

But I do know that building more and more infrastructure based on the assumption that the future will look like the past is a dangerous assumption.

Maybe we need gas.

Maybe we will need it for a long time.

Maybe LNG will provide economic benefits and energy security.

Those arguments deserve to be heard.

But so do the questions about emissions, forests, Indigenous rights, wildlife, water, fire, flooding and the communities that live along these corridors.

And maybe the biggest question is this:

How much can we change our lifestyle by choice — before circumstances change it for us?

Because I don't want to discover the answer when the forest is burning.

I don't want to discover it when the water is rising.

And I don't want the next generation asking why we knew what was happening and simply kept building as though nothing had changed.

I want us to be able to say:

We knew.

We asked questions.

We changed where we could.

And we tried to leave something alive behind us.

🌲🐻🦋🌎

#climatechange #LNG #Alaska #BritishColumbia #TransMountain #wildfires #forests #wildlife #energy #Mexico #adaptation #climateaction #environment #IndigenousRights #future #Canada

 

dots, AI agents and the question nobody seems to have time to ask: what happens when they work alone?

October 1, 2026

There is so much happening in the world of technology that sometimes it feels impossible to keep up. Every day brings another announcement, another app, another AI tool, another promise that our lives are about to change.

Today, I opened Google and noticed something about Dots, OpenAI's new AI agents. Naturally, I clicked.

I landed on an article, encountered a cookie notice, clicked it and left.

It sounds like an ordinary internet interaction. But it got me thinking.

What exactly are Dots? What does it mean when an AI can work independently? And how would an ordinary person even know if they had accidentally activated something capable of operating on their behalf?

Let's take a closer look.

From answering questions to taking action

We have become accustomed to asking AI questions, getting answers, writing emails, creating images and researching information.

But AI agents represent another step.

OpenAI announced Dots on September 29, introducing always-on AI assistants designed to work toward assigned goals, even when the user isn't actively chatting with them.

They can carry out multistep tasks, use connected applications, research information and continue working in the background.

Imagine telling an AI to monitor a project, track incoming information, prepare reports and bring important developments to your attention.

Instead of asking for every individual step, you delegate the responsibility.

That sounds convenient. It also introduces a new set of questions.

Who decides what the agent is allowed to do? What happens if it misunderstands the instructions? What if the information it finds is wrong? What if it takes an action that cannot easily be undone?

OpenAI says Dots have permission settings, safety rules and approval requirements for certain sensitive actions. Those safeguards matter, but no safeguard makes a complex system completely error-proof.

Could you accidentally activate one?

This was my immediate concern.

I hadn't deliberately signed up for an AI agent. I hadn't assigned a project or connected my accounts. I had simply clicked on an article and accepted a cookie notice.

There is an important difference between visiting a website, accepting cookies and activating an AI agent.

Accepting cookies does not, by itself, give an AI agent permission to work independently.

Generally, setting up an agent involves deliberately creating or launching it, assigning a task and configuring the permissions it needs.

So, no, clicking a cookie notice isn't the same as setting an AI loose.

But how many people know that?

How many understand the difference between a chatbot, an AI assistant, an automated service and an autonomous agent?

Technology is moving so quickly that the terminology alone can leave people behind.

What happens when AI makes a mistake?

This is the part I find particularly important.

An ordinary chatbot can give us incorrect information. We can question it, double-check it or simply close the conversation.

An AI agent that has permission to act presents a different challenge.

It might change files, interact with connected applications, send information or make decisions as part of a larger task.

A mistake could have consequences beyond a bad answer.

And what happens when an agent encounters something unexpected? Does it stop? Does it ask for help? Does it keep going?

The answers depend on its design, permissions and safety measures.

Recent reports about AI agents attempting unauthorized activity against online systems also demonstrate why independent action and cybersecurity deserve serious attention. On October 1, researchers reported suspicious AI-agent activity targeting Library and Archives Canada. Canadian cybersecurity officials said there was no evidence of a successful compromise, and the agents' origin had not been definitively established.

These are not reasons to assume every AI agent is dangerous. They are reasons to take oversight seriously.

Who is responsible?

As AI becomes more capable of acting independently, responsibility becomes an increasingly important question.

If an AI agent sends confidential information to the wrong person, who is accountable?

If it makes a costly mistake while carrying out a delegated task, who pays?

If it causes harm because its instructions were misunderstood or its safeguards failed, where does responsibility lie?

The company that developed it? The person who deployed it? The organization that gave it access?

These questions deserve answers before autonomous systems become deeply embedded in everyday life.

We can't keep up with everything

There is another issue here, and it is a very human one.

People are already trying to navigate online scams, privacy settings, passwords, cookies, subscriptions, social media algorithms, artificial intelligence and an endless stream of new technology.

Now we're introducing AI agents that can work around the clock.

Not everyone has the time, money, technical knowledge or interest to follow every announcement.

And not everyone wants an AI assistant managing their personal or professional life.

Some people just want to browse the internet, read an article, write an email, look at photographs or talk to family without worrying about what they might have accidentally activated.

That should not be an unreasonable expectation.

Technology should be understandable, and the consequences of using it should be made clear.

A few things worth remembering

• Reading about an AI agent does not activate it.
• Accepting cookies is not the same as granting an AI agent access to your accounts.
• Check permissions before connecting any AI tool to email, files, financial services or other personal accounts.
• Be cautious about giving an agent permission to act without approval.
• Look for ways to review its activity, stop its work and revoke its access.
• Remember that an AI-generated answer or completed task still needs human judgment.

And perhaps most importantly, don't feel pressured to adopt every new technology simply because it exists.

We can be curious without being careless.

We can appreciate innovation while asking difficult questions about privacy, security, accountability and control.

Because the real issue isn't simply whether AI can work independently.

It's whether we understand what we're handing over when we let it.

How much independence should we give artificial intelligence? And how do we make sure that, as technology moves forward, ordinary people aren't left struggling to catch up?

Reflective questions

1. How much independence are we comfortable giving artificial intelligence?

2. Do we really understand what happens when we give an AI permission to act on our behalf?

3. How would an ordinary person know what an AI tool can actually access?

4. What should happen when an AI agent makes a mistake?

5. Who should be responsible when an autonomous AI action causes harm?

6. Should sensitive actions always require a human decision?

7. Are technology companies explaining these new tools clearly enough?

8. How can people protect their privacy when AI becomes increasingly connected to everyday services?

9. Is convenience worth giving up some control?

10. As AI moves faster, are ordinary people being given enough time to understand what is changing?

artificial intelligence, AI agents, OpenAI Dots, autonomous AI, digital privacy, AI safety, human oversight, cybersecurity, technology, digital literacy

Hashtags:

#ArtificialIntelligence #AIAgents #OpenAI #Dots #AISafety #DigitalPrivacy #Cybersecurity #HumanOversight #DigitalLiteracy #Technology #AIethics #Privacy #TechAwareness #ThinkBeforeYouClick #TheFutureIsNow

#

Ads-Stolen Time

 

What if we got paid for our stolen time?

Ever get REALLY pissed off at all the ads?

You just want to listen to music, watch a video, scroll for a few minutes or look something up — and suddenly you're being bombarded with advertisements.

Skip.

Wait.

Another ad.

Skip again.

And sometimes you don't even get a skip button.

It's exhausting.

And here's what really gets me:

They are taking our time.

YouTube, Facebook, Instagram and other platforms make money from our attention. Advertisers pay to reach us. Our eyeballs have economic value.

So why do we treat the time we spend watching those advertisements as if it has no value at all?

What if we turned the tables?

What if we started asking whether consumers could bring a class action over the enormous amount of time spent watching unwanted advertising?

I'm not saying a court has already decided that this is “stolen time.”

I'm asking whether it could become a legal claim worth investigating.

Let's do the math.

Imagine someone spends just 10 minutes a day watching advertisements.

That's more than 60 hours a year.

Over five years, that's roughly 300 hours.

Over ten years, roughly 600 hours.

That's weeks of your life.

And once those hours are gone, they're gone.

You can't put them back.

You can't refund them.

You can't make more time.

Yet someone else may have made money from your attention during those minutes.

So here's the question:

What is our time worth?

If we hypothetically valued that time at $20 an hour, 600 hours would be $12,000.

At $30 an hour, it would be $18,000.

At $50 an hour, it would be $30,000.

I'm NOT saying YouTube, Facebook or Instagram legally owe every person those amounts.

That's exactly what lawyers, evidence and courts would have to determine.

But I think the question deserves to be asked.

Maybe platforms should have to show us a receipt:

You watched 500 hours of content.

You watched 83 hours of advertisements.

Your attention generated advertising revenue.

Thank you for your business.

Imagine if we actually knew how much of our lives were being monetized.

And maybe consumers should have a real choice:

Pay with money — or don't pay with your time.

Because advertising isn't free when we're paying for it with our lives.

I don't want somebody else's product interrupting my painting.

I don't want a political advertisement interrupting my music.

I don't want another commercial stealing another little piece of my evening.

I hate ads.

And maybe I'm not the only one.

Maybe there are millions of people who are sick of being told that their attention belongs to somebody else.

So here's my question to the internet:

Should we investigate a class action for our stolen time?

Let's find out how much advertising time is being taken from consumers.

Let's find out how much money is being made from that attention.

Let's find out what the law says.

And let's find out whether our time has a value that somebody else has been profiting from.

Because if corporations can put a price on our attention...

maybe it's time we put a price on our time.

5 reflective questions

1. How many hours of your life do you think you've spent watching advertisements?

2. If advertisers pay for access to your attention, shouldn't you know what your attention is worth?

3. Would you join a class action asking whether consumers deserve compensation for time spent watching unwanted advertising?

4. If your time is finite and can never be replaced, can anyone legitimately say that it has no value?

10 hashtags

#StolenTime #ShowUsTheReceipt #IHateAds #YouTube #Facebook #Instagram #AttentionEconomy #ConsumerRights #DigitalRights #ClassAction

truth and reconciliation — september 30

 truth and reconciliation — september 30

truth and reconciliation — september 30

Today is the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation and Orange Shirt Day.

I don't think reconciliation is something we can accomplish by wearing orange for one day.

It means learning the truth.

Listening to Survivors, Elders and Indigenous communities.

Remembering the children and families whose lives were changed by the residential school system.

And then asking the uncomfortable question:

What are we actually doing differently?

Truth has to come before reconciliation.

And reconciliation has to mean more than words.

Today, Vancouver has opportunities to gather, walk, listen, learn, reflect and remember.

🧡 Some events happening today:

• Orange Shirt Day Walk for Truth and Reconciliation — Strathcona Community Centre to Grandview Park, 9:30–11:30 a.m.

• Truth and Reconciliation Day at Grandview Park — 12–3 p.m.

• National Truth & Reconciliation Day Honour Walk — Vancouver Aboriginal Community-Policing Centre to Grandview Park, beginning at 11:30 a.m.

• Intergenerational March to Commemorate Orange Shirt Day at UBC — 11:45 a.m.–3 p.m.

• Truth & Reconciliation Day at MONOVA — Museum of North Vancouver, 10 a.m.–2 p.m.

• Films for Truth and Reconciliation and other cultural and educational events are happening throughout Vancouver and the Lower Mainland.

UBC is also hosting a Sacred Fire Ceremony at xʷc̓ic̓əsəm from sunrise to sunset, and Where Have All the Buffalo Gone? at the Frederic Wood Theatre at 4 p.m.

There are many ways to participate.

You don't need an orange shirt to care.

You don't need to have all the answers.

But we do need to keep asking questions.

We need to keep learning.

We need to listen.

And we need to remember that reconciliation isn't something Indigenous people have to do for Canada.

Canada has work to do.

Today. Tomorrow. And every day after September 30.

🧡 Every Child Matters.

#NationalDayForTruthAndReconciliation #OrangeShirtDay #EveryChildMatters #TruthBeforeReconciliation #Reconciliation #IndigenousVoices #Vancouver #September30

 

what if we redesigned the tent?

I keep seeing the calls for donations.

Clothes.
Blankets.
Sleeping bags.
Tents.

And yes, people need all of those things.

But then I saw something that made me stop and think:

Why are we still putting people on the ground?

I recently came across a flat-lay hammock tent — basically a hammock and tent combined, but with a much flatter sleeping platform. It has a mosquito net, a waterproof rainfly and, most importantly, it gets the person up off the ground.

And I thought:

Why aren't we making more of these?

Imagine being in an outdoor camp and not having to sleep directly on cold, wet, muddy or uneven ground.

Imagine being able to pack your shelter up with your belongings and move it relatively easily.

Imagine a shelter that could be useful not only for someone experiencing homelessness, but also for emergency situations — floods, fires, earthquakes, evacuations, disaster response or backcountry emergencies.

And here's where I think our high-school students could come in.

Give them the problem.

Don't just tell them to collect donations.

Tell them:

DESIGN A BETTER TEMPORARY SHELTER.

Could you design something lightweight enough for one person to carry?

Something that folds or rolls into a manageable package?

Something elevated off the ground?

Something waterproof?

Something with insect protection?

Something that doesn't require complicated tools to assemble?

Something that can be repaired rather than thrown away?

And here's the big one:

Can you make it affordable?

The commercial version I found isn't cheap. I want one myself, but the price puts it out of reach for many people.

So what if that became the challenge?

The $100 Shelter Challenge.

High-school students. Engineering programs. Trades students. Outdoor companies. Designers. Inventors.

Take the basic idea and make it better.

Make it lighter.

Make it stronger.

Make it easier to carry.

Make it safer.

And, most importantly, make it affordable.

I'm not suggesting that an elevated hammock tent is a solution to homelessness. People need permanent, safe housing. A piece of camping equipment cannot replace a home.

But when people are already living outdoors, shouldn't we be asking whether there are better ways to protect them while they are there?

And there's something else I find interesting about the idea.

For thousands of years, human beings figured out how to make temporary shelter, travel lightly and adapt to the landscape.

We've become very good at building enormous structures.

Maybe we could also become better at designing small, portable shelter for people who have nowhere to put a house.

So instead of simply asking young people to donate another tent...

Let's ask them to invent the next one.

What would YOU design if you had to carry your entire shelter with you?

#homelessness #housing #design #innovation #shelter #students #engineering #emergencyresponse #humanrights #portablehousing #designchallenge

the rabbit hole

 

the rabbit hole

Today is Truth and Reconciliation Day,

 and I keep thinking about a word I recently heard used for people who take DNA tests looking for Indigenous ancestry:

“Spitters.”

It bothered me.

Not because I believe DNA proves Indigenous identity. It doesn't.

But there is a difference between spitting into a tube and suddenly claiming an identity — and spending hundreds of hours trying to uncover a family history that was almost lost.

In 2016, I told my great-niece and great-nephew at Thanksgiving dinner that they were Indigenous.

My family had a huge falling-out.

Nothing was the same afterward.

At one point, Denise Goudie reached out to me. Sadly, she recently passed away. She was trying to prove her own status, and following her story led me down another rabbit hole — the Mary Ann Maranda dit Frise–Brulé trail.

Then came the old records. The babies my ancestors had and lost. The pieces of family history that had somehow survived.

My mother always told us Dad's family was Bohemian and hers was French Canadian Indian.

After she passed away, I searched for a document she had once shown me.

I found my great-grandfather's baptism record:

Mother — Tribal Affiliation: Songhees.

UPDATE: ACTUAL PROOF

From St. ANN's Archdioeses , This baptism record of my gr grandfather Joseph Enos

That little line changed everything.

My DNA says about 11% Indigenous. Other family members have less. I know DNA isn't citizenship, and I don't claim that it is.

But I also won't let a DNA percentage erase hundreds of hours of genealogy.

If I hadn't found that documentation, I might have given up after the family fight.

Instead, the family divided. 😔😪💔

A clean break.

And I kept looking.

Because if I stop looking, who wins?

Canada?

Colonialism?

The systems that separated families, erased histories and made people ashamed to ask where they came from?

The lateral violence of “NOT INDIAN ENOUGH”?

Not today.

I will keep looking.

For my grandmothers.

For the babies who never got to grow up.

For the stories that survived.

And for the truth — wherever the rabbit hole leads.

Because forgetting is not reconciliation.

Listening is.

when disaster strikes, where do the unhoused go?

 when disaster strikes, where do the unhoused go?

We are constantly told to prepare for the Big One.

Store water.
Store food.
Keep copies of your identification.
Have a grab-and-go bag.
Know where you will go.

But what if you don't have a home?

In 2025, the Greater Vancouver homeless count identified 5,232 people experiencing homelessness in a single 24-hour count.

That included people who were sheltered and people who were unsheltered.

And even that number is a minimum.

The people conducting the count acknowledge that a one-night count does not capture everyone experiencing homelessness. It misses people who are couch-surfing, people without secure tenure, and others whose housing situation is hidden or temporary.

So let's stop pretending the number is simply 5,232.

5,232 is the number we can document from that snapshot. The real population without secure housing is larger.

Now imagine an earthquake.

You have no home.

You have no basement where you can store 72 hours of water.

No refrigerator full of food.

No locked closet containing emergency supplies.

Maybe your identification, clothing, phone charger and everything else you own are in one backpack.

Maybe your belongings are split between a friend's place, a storage locker and wherever you can sleep.

Maybe you are already sleeping outside.

Where do you go?

Vancouver has designated Disaster Support Hubs. After a major disaster, these can become places where people receive information and, depending on the circumstances, access food, water, supplies and shelter.

But emergency preparedness cannot simply tell people:

“Store three days of supplies at home.”

What if you don't have a home?

What if the disaster destroys the little you have?

What if the person you are staying with has nowhere safe to go either?

And what about people who are living in vehicles, couch-surfing or moving from place to place?

These people are already vulnerable before the earthquake happens.

A disaster doesn't erase that vulnerability.

It can magnify it.

So I want to know:

What is Vancouver's plan for people who are unhoused when a major earthquake strikes?

Where do they go?

Where do they get water?

Where do they get food?

Where do they sleep?

How do they replace identification and essential belongings if everything they own is lost?

How are people who don't have a permanent address accounted for during an evacuation?

And most importantly:

Have emergency planners actually planned for people who have nowhere to evacuate from?

Because preparedness should mean everyone.

Not just people with houses, cars, pantries and storage closets.

When disaster strikes, nobody should be told:

“You should have been prepared.”

We should already have a plan for the people who have the least ability to prepare.

#earthquakepreparedness #Cascadia #Vancouver #MetroVancouver #Surrey #homelessness #unhoused #emergencyplanning #TheBigOne #housingcrisis

how much ocean can we ask to absorb?

 

how much ocean can we ask to absorb?

Today, Mark Carney announced $1.2 billion to protect Canada's oceans.

I want to believe in the protection part.

The announcement includes more marine monitoring, Coast Guard capacity, pollution response, whale protection, ocean science and Indigenous stewardship. Canada says it wants to conserve 30% of its oceans by 2030.

But here is what bothers me.

In the same announcement, the government acknowledges that marine traffic is expected to increase significantly and specifically talks about projected growth associated with major energy, LNG, port and resource-development projects on British Columbia's coast.

So we are going to increase the pressure...

And then spend billions preparing to protect the ocean from that increased pressure.

I live in Vancouver.

I can look across the water and see ships.

The official numbers show just how busy this port already is.

In 2024, the Port of Vancouver recorded 3,116 foreign vessel arrivals.

That's an average of about 8.5 foreign vessel arrivals every day.

And there were 353 tanker arrivals — almost one tanker arrival every day.

Those figures don't even represent every vessel movement we see around Vancouver.

And now we're talking about expanding trade and energy infrastructure and preparing for even more marine traffic.

This is where I struggle.

You can't keep saying "we care about the ocean" while continually increasing the demands we place upon it.

And today is Truth and Reconciliation Day.

That makes this even harder for me.

Because Indigenous elders have told stories of these waters when the tide went out and families went down to gather clams and shellfish.

A mother could make a small fire on the beach.

The boys could leave in a canoe to hunt.

The ocean wasn't something they looked at from a distance.

It was food. It was culture. It was home.

And that wasn't thousands of years ago.

It wasn't even 200 years ago.

It was within living memory.

I sit beside my murals at the bottom of Point Grey Road and Trafalgar and look toward the water.

I think about what this coastline must have looked like.

I think about my Songhees great-great-grandmother.

I think about what she taught my great-grandfather.

And I wonder what our children and grandchildren will see when they look at this same ocean.

Will they see a living ecosystem?

Or will they see an increasingly industrialized waterway that we spend billions trying to keep from collapsing?

The government says its approach is to "protect while we build."

But maybe we need to ask a harder question:

What if sometimes protecting means not building?

Not everything has to become bigger.

Not every resource has to be extracted.

Not every coastline has to carry more ships.

Not every ocean has to be made to work harder for us.

Maybe the lesson we've lost is one of balance.

Take what you need.

Leave enough for tomorrow.

Respect the water that feeds you.

Because once something is gone, money cannot always bring it back.

And I am hugely disappointed that we continue to have this conversation as though nature is something we can simply engineer around.

I would hate to have the karma of being responsible for choices that future generations look back on and ask:

"You knew what was happening.
Why didn't you stop?"

🌊🐋🐟

How much more can the ocean be asked to absorb before "protection" has to mean putting limits on development itself?

what was lost

 

what was lost

Today is Truth and Reconciliation Day.

And sitting here beside my murals at the bottom of Point Grey Road and Trafalgar, I can't stop thinking about what was here before us.

I have read parts of Survivors Speak. 💔😪

I think about the stories Indigenous elders have told — stories of a time when the tide went out and families went down to the beach to gather clams and shellfish.

A mother could make a small fire on the beach.

The boys might head out in a canoe to hunt.

Food came from the water, the land and the seasons.

And this wasn't 2,000 years ago.

It wasn't even 200 years ago.

It was less than 100 years ago.

That life is largely gone.

And here I sit beside my murals, looking at the water, wondering what this shoreline looked like when those families were still living that way.

I think about my Songhees great-great-grandmother and what she may have taught my great-grandfather.

I think about the generations before me.

My great-grandfather was fortunate not to be taken to residential school. But my third great-grandmother attended a Catholic mission in the Willamette Valley.

These aren't just dates in a history book to me.

They are people in my family.

And I think about what was lost.

Not only land.

Not only language.

Not only culture.

A way of living.

A relationship with the land and water based on taking what was needed.

Today, so much of our food comes wrapped in plastic, highly processed and shipped thousands of kilometres.

We have supermarkets overflowing with food while our connection to where food comes from becomes more distant.

We take.

And take.

And take.

More roads.

More buildings.

More ships.

More energy.

More money.

More growth.

When is enough enough?

I think there is something we could learn from the principle of taking what you need rather than constantly taking more.

I don't mean that Indigenous peoples all lived the same way — they didn't. There were many different Nations, cultures and economies.

But Indigenous knowledge has repeatedly reminded us that humans are part of the land and water, not separate from them.

And somehow, we have forgotten.

Today, as Canada talks about reconciliation while continuing to develop and transform the lands and waters around us, I keep wondering:

Can we ever find our way back to balance?

Maybe we can't go back.

The shoreline has changed.

The forests have changed.

The food system has changed.

The culture has been damaged by generations of colonial policies.

We cannot simply rewind history.

But perhaps reconciliation means something more than remembering what happened.

Perhaps it means asking what we are going to do differently now.

Because I don't want to sit beside my murals in another generation and wonder what was lost because we knew better and still chose more.

Today, I am thinking about the elders.

The families on the beaches.

The mothers gathering shellfish.

The boys leaving in canoes.

The fires burning beside the tide.

The people who knew that the ocean wasn't just something to exploit.

It was home.

And I am thinking about my ancestors.

And I am thinking about what we have lost.

🧡💔🌊

Truth has to come before reconciliation.
And reconciliation has to mean changing how we live.

born between glaciers

 born between glaciers

Sometimes history feels much closer when you realize you were born right in the middle of it.

I was born in January 1962.

Just weeks earlier, in December 1961, something extraordinary happened at Salmon Glacier in northern British Columbia.

Summit Lake, held back by Salmon Glacier, suddenly drained beneath the glacier. An enormous volume of water was released into the Salmon River valley, causing serious flooding and damaging roads and bridges.

And this wasn't simply a one-time freak event. Historical records document additional sudden drainages from Summit Lake in the years that followed.

I had no idea.

I was a newborn while this was happening.

Then, in 1993, I stood at Athabasca Glacier in Alberta.

I remember seeing that enormous wall of ice.

I didn't know then that I was looking at something that would become one of the most visible examples of Canada's changing glaciers.

More than three decades have passed.

Now I'm looking at Salmon Glacier again — and thinking about the water behind it.

We have learned that glaciers aren't simply beautiful frozen landscapes.

They are part of enormous, complicated water systems.

A glacier can hold back a lake.

Water can accumulate.

Water can find a pathway beneath the ice.

And when that happens suddenly, a mountain valley can experience an extraordinary flood.

That doesn't mean Salmon Glacier is about to collapse.

It doesn't mean another catastrophic event is imminent.

But it does mean we should pay attention.

We already have the historical record.

We have changing glaciers.

We have communities and infrastructure downstream.

And we have better technology today than the people who were trying to understand these events in 1961.

So perhaps the question isn't:

“Could it happen here?”

We already know that sudden glacial flooding has happened here.

The better questions are:

Are we monitoring these changing glacier-and-lake systems closely enough?

Do communities downstream have the information they need?

Would people know what to do if a major outburst flood began?

Are warning systems and evacuation plans keeping pace with a changing climate?

And perhaps most importantly:

How many warnings from the past do we need before we decide that awareness is part of preparedness?

I was born just weeks after one of Salmon Glacier's great floods.

I stood on Athabasca Glacier in 1993.

Now, in 2026, I'm watching the glaciers change.

Maybe it's time we all started watching a little more closely.

#SalmonGlacier #AthabascaGlacier #BCGlaciers #GlacialLakes #GlacialOutburstFloods #ClimateChange #BritishColumbia #WaterIsLife #ClimateAwareness #Preparedness

 

what will it take for us to stand up?

What will it take?

How many people have to lose their homes?

How many seniors have to choose between rent and food?

How many people have to sleep outside?

How many families have to move again and again because the rent keeps climbing?

How many people have to become vulnerable before the rest of us decide that vulnerability is a problem we all have a responsibility to confront?

Look at what is happening in Spain.

An 87-year-old woman named Maricarmen Abascal was evicted from the Madrid apartment where she had lived since 1956. Her rent had reportedly risen from about €500 to a demand of €1,650. When she was finally removed from her home, she was taken out on a stretcher.

People took to the streets.

Tens of thousands protested Spain's housing crisis. Hundreds camped in Madrid's Puerta del Sol, demanding stronger protections for tenants.

And something happened.

The Spanish government has now proposed extending protections against evictions of vulnerable tenants until 2030, along with other housing measures. The proposals still need parliamentary approval, so this isn't finished — but the government responded to public pressure.

And Maricarmen?

She has accepted a preliminary agreement that could allow her to return home, paying about 30% of her pension — roughly €533 a month.

One woman.

One eviction.

One enormous public reaction.

And suddenly the housing crisis became impossible to ignore.

So what will it take here?

Canada counted more than 65,000 people experiencing homelessness on a single night in 75 communities in 2025 — and that number does not represent everyone experiencing housing insecurity. The federal government says homelessness remains substantially higher than before the pandemic.

And this isn't only about people sleeping outside.

It is seniors.

It is people working full-time who cannot afford market rent.

It is people living in SROs.

It is people couch-surfing.

It is families doubled up in tiny apartments.

It is people one rent increase, illness, job loss or landlord decision away from losing their home.

It is people who have spent decades contributing to their communities and suddenly discovering that they can no longer afford to live in them.

And yes — governments are doing things.

British Columbia points to more than 99,000 homes delivered or underway since 2017, rent protections, the speculation and vacancy tax, and other measures.

But there is still a housing crisis.

So perhaps the question isn't simply:

What is government doing?

Perhaps we should also ask:

What are we doing?

Where is our line?

Why do we accept seeing people sleeping outside in the rain?

Why do we accept seniors worrying about whether they can remain in their homes?

Why do we accept people being moved from one temporary place to another?

Why do we accept encampments as though they are simply part of the scenery?

Why do we talk about vulnerable people as statistics instead of neighbours?

And why aren't more of us standing together?

I'm not talking about violence.

I'm not talking about destroying property.

I'm talking about peaceful, organized, persistent public pressure.

People gathering.

People carrying signs.

People writing letters.

People showing up at city halls, legislatures and Parliament.

People demanding answers.

People refusing to let the issue disappear when the cameras leave.

People standing beside seniors.

People standing beside families.

People standing beside people who have nowhere else to go.

People saying:

Housing is not optional.

Human dignity is not optional.

A safe place to live should not be a luxury.

Spain's protesters didn't solve their entire housing crisis in a week.

They didn't magically create hundreds of thousands of homes.

But they demonstrated something powerful:

People can make housing impossible for governments to ignore.

And perhaps that is the question Canada needs to ask.

Not:

"Why are those people protesting?"

But:

"Why aren't more of us?"

Because today it might be someone else standing outside.

Tomorrow it could be you.

Or your parent.

Or your child.

Or your neighbour.

Or the person who has worked beside you for twenty years.

We don't have to wait until someone is carried out of their home on a stretcher before we decide that enough is enough.

What will it take for Canadians to stand up for the vulnerable?

And perhaps an even harder question:

What are we waiting for?

why isn't housing the biggest investment?

 

why isn't housing the biggest investment?

I've been looking at the numbers in Canada's 2025 federal budget.

And one thing keeps jumping out at me.

Canada says it is planning approximately $280 billion in capital investment over five years.

The government's broad breakdown includes:

$110 billion — infrastructure

$105 billion — productivity and competitiveness

$30 billion — defence and security

$25 billion — housing

And I keep asking:

WHY?

Why is housing getting only $25 billion when Canada is facing a housing crisis?

Why isn't housing receiving an investment closer to the scale of the $110 billion for infrastructure or the $105 billion for productivity and competitiveness?

I'm not saying roads, bridges, technology or economic investment aren't important.

Of course they are.

But housing is infrastructure too.

A home is infrastructure.

An apartment building is infrastructure.

Supportive housing is infrastructure.

Affordable housing is infrastructure.

A place for a senior to live is infrastructure.

A place for a family to raise children is infrastructure.

A place for someone experiencing homelessness to finally get inside is infrastructure.

So why only $25 billion?

If Canada can find $110 billion for infrastructure...

If Canada can find $105 billion for productivity and competitiveness...

Why can't we put that same level of urgency into housing?

I'm asking for the government to explain the numbers.

Not with slogans.

Not with press releases.

With the actual plan.

How many homes will $25 billion build?

How many will be affordable?

How many will be permanently affordable?

How many will be supportive housing?

How many will be built for seniors?

How many for families?

How many for people currently experiencing homelessness?

And when will they be ready?

Because Canada's housing crisis isn't waiting five or ten years.

People are struggling right now.

Renters are being priced out.

Families are overcrowding homes.

Seniors are worried about where they will live.

People are staying in unsafe situations because they cannot afford to leave.

People are sleeping outside.

Winter is coming.

So I'm asking Mark Carney:

Why isn't housing receiving an investment on the scale of infrastructure and productivity?

If housing is truly an emergency, treat it like one.

Give Canadians the numbers.

Give us the construction targets.

Give us the timelines.

Give us the locations.

And most importantly:

BUILD THE HOMES.

Because Canadians don't need another announcement about housing.

They need somewhere to live.