The PenOpticon

…on March 23, 2003. The following is a memory, though only a few things have changed: Shock and Awe is history, though bombs are still exploding in Iraq; the local Krispy Kreme folded a year ago or so (good riddance); most days I hop on the VIVA (long may it run!). The intertwined issues of development, energy and transporation are just as perplexing as ever. Same as it ever was:

The morning after the Americans started dropping bombs on Iraq, I woke up to my daily conundrum: how to get to work. It sounds absurd. My life is ruled by routine in so many ways, but I can not settle on a single, preferred method of transporting my carcass to and from work. It all started four years ago when I turned in my parking permit after a price increase made busing more economical than parking. So now, depending on the time of year and the schedule of the day, I may take a bus, a bike, a train, a car, walk or rely on the kindness of friends. During the worst winter storms, I’m happy to share a taxi if one can be hired.

But on the morning after the Shock and Awe campaign began, I thought I might drive. I hadn’t started the old wreck for a few days, and was thinking about the fact that it was overdue for brake work. Braking was not going to be a problem though, because on this particular morning the engine cranked but would not catch. “No problem”, I decide, “I’ll hop on the Vaughan bus.” But as I close the car door I see the #4 pulling away from the corner. “No worries”, says I. “I’ll just walk up to Yonge and catch a GO bus south to Steeles.” Seven minutes later, I see the “C” bus crossing the Yonge and Major Mac intersection — the bus is kitty-corner to where I’m standing, waiting for the light to change. An SUV honks loudly and I’m startled to see an old Chinese man crossing against the red, causing the SUV to miss the left-turn arrow. The old man is stranded on the traffic island for a few minutes until the lights change once more. He seems relieved when the small tide of pedestrians, me among them, catches up. But the “C” bus is long gone by the time I get to the corner, so I decide to walk a few stops along Yonge until the next one shows up.

You can see a long way from the summit of Richmond Hill, but all I see is a continuous line of bumper-to-bumper tail lights snaking their way southward through the morning haze. I follow at a brisk pace, past Block Busters, past the Krispy Kreme where another line of cars idles and puffs in anticipation of coffee and sugar. Now my current plan is to hoof it to 16th Avenue and catch a Vaughan 85 bus west to Keele. The 85s don’t run as often however and I wait 15 minutes for the next one. But, it’s an 85A and only goes as far as Bathurst. The morning’s happy-go-lucky sheen is beginning to oxidize as I realize how late I’m going to be. I notice that i have subconsciously started counting the number of cars, vans and SUVs with just one occupant. If my car had only started, I know I would have counted myself among them. Mostly, I just want to get away from the noise and out of this air. I take two minutes respite at the closest Tim Horton’s and resolve to wait for the next “C” bus. It arrives within the minute and chugs down Yonge, lurching to a halt at every stop along the way.

As we bump along, I keep thinking about Iraq and North Korea, about oil and SUVs, water and the Oak Ridges Moraine, brown-outs and dozens of recently approved housing projects. I remember that the Pickering nuclear plant underwent an emergency shutdown on or about the same day our provincial government announced they would not recall the legislature. All of these items seem to be interwoven, but I can’t seem to make sense of it, can’t make the necessary connections. I’m too overwhelmed by a mental picture of the throbbing red arteries and veins of tail lights that flow in and out of this city every day. And when the Steeles West bus appears just as I step on to the sidewalk, it feels like the only thing that has connected all morning.

The cover story of the June’ issue of Harper’s belongs to Art Spiegelman. The Pulitzer prizing-winning cartoonist casts a critical over the Danish “cartoon war” — a debacle which resulted in more than a hundred deaths, more than 800 injuries and too many “F” words: fires Fatwahs, editorial firings and the fettering of free speech — not to mention an expensive boycott of Danish products throughout much of the Arab world. As Spiegelman so dryly put it:

I’m sure the Danish cartoonists involved would all agree that it was a mistake to enter the “Draw the Prophet and win a prize” talent contest, but they at least managed to demonstrate the capacity of cartoons to bring urgent issues into high relief.

Spiegelman takes time to rap the knuckles of North American newspapers, both for refusing to run any of the infamous cartoons and for not drawing more attention to the fact that al Jazeera and other non-U.S. television networks regularly broadcast images of torture. He complains that many college students have seen neither the Danish cartoons nor the torture imagery that is being broadcast outside of North America.

The meat of the article, however, consists of a detailed — and somewhat raucous — critique of the offending material. Of course, this provides an excuse to republish the actual cartoons (though they are not exactly hard to find on the net) and leads to Spiegelman’s biggest complaint: most of the cartoons have nothing to say and are pedestrian in their execution. The cartoons do not “speak truth to power”, but simply “afflict the afflicted” — just like traditional hate literature.

Spiegelman is clear in his view that jarring — and offensive — cartoons have an important role to play in the world, but at the same time he argues they should not be taken too seriously. His astute deconstruction of the Jyllands-Posten cartoons should be enough to rob them of any sting they may have had. Although, not a signatory of the “MANIFESTO: Together facing the new totalitarianism“, Spiegelman’s critique is an elegant, peaceful illustration of how that group hopes to defuse the “totalitarian global threat: Islamism”.