by Ted Binnema, François Lanoë and Heinz W. Pyszczyk
University of Alberta Press
2025/$39.00/232 pP.

When it comes to navigating in unfamiliar terrain, today’s travellers have many options based on GPS systems. I’m a bit of a luddite with my boat anchor of an iPhone, but it does have the county map on it showing every quarter section of land, and landowner’s name, for miles around. If all else fails, I have topo maps for old school route finding, thanks to generations of cartographers who have plotted the entire country in a series of grids based on calculations of latitude and longitude. But in Cartographic Poetry we learn that Indigenous people, the Siksika and Gros Ventre, had a totally different way of navigating, based not on mathematical measurement but on landmarks, particularly rivers, that were, and are, of cultural, historical and spiritual significance. The authors note that “Poetry is language condensed: Siksika cartography is landscape distilled,” that is to say, not only landmarks but the history of a nation was distilled in the minds of the First Nations travellers and guides. Every river, every mountain, every buffalo jump was a living story in the mind of the people.

This was the mental cartography the early fur traders relied on, while exploring the west with Cree and other Indigenous guides. One notable explorer was Peter Fidler, a Hudson’s Bay Company surveyor and map maker. In 1792, guided by Sakatow and his band of Piikani, he made a winter journey from Buckingham House on the North Saskatchewan River south to the Oldman River gap. Nearly a decade later he established the short-lived HBC trading post of Chesterfield House, where he asked the Siksika leader Ac ko mak ki (Old Swan) to draw a map of the land south of the post, an area that at the time was a blank spot on European maps. Fidler, writes author Ted Binnema in one of his chapters, took great care in getting his guides to draw on paper the maps they held in their minds. Among explorers in that era, he “was unique in his systematic efforts to preserve and document Indigenous cartographic conventions.” Indeed, Cartographic Poetry contains a wealth of ethnographic detail on place names thanks to the meticulous care Fidler took with his Siksika and Gros Ventre informants.

The maps drawn for Fidler are very different from the European tradition of mapping. They are minimalist by necessity, since they would have been typically drawn in the snow, in sand or mud, or upon a piece of hide using charcoal or other medium. They show the Rockies, the “Back-Bone of the Earth” to the Piikani people, as a pair of double lines in Alberta bending east to the Musselshell River in Montana and then south again to the Big Horn Mountains. From it, the major rivers are drawn simply as lines leading out to the plains with the Indigenous names attached by Fidler. We are then shown their transition in Fidler’s hands to maps a fur trader might understand. Next, this Indigenous knowledge passes from the HBC to the famous British cartographer, Aaron Arrowsmith, for his 1802 map of North America. The authors point out that Fidler, if allowed, would have made a much better map than Arrowsmith. The latter, to “…make his depiction plausible to a western reader, invented sinuous river courses and confluences even though he had no evidence for them.” His map was relied on by Lewis and Clark for their much-ballyhooed continental transit in 1804 (which had already been done with zero fanfare by Alexander Mackenzie in 1793), but Arrowsmith’s map “…contributed nothing to the success of the Corps of Discovery.”

Today these maps “are priceless treasures,” write the authors. In publishing them they hope others will “become as fascinated by the maps, their authors and the territories they depict as we are.” With this respectful, evocative study, they have succeeded.

Sid Marty’s most recent book is Oldman’s River, which won the Al and Eurithe Purdy Poetry Prize in 2024.

_______________________________________

Click here to sign up for our free online newsletter.

The post Cartographic Poetry appeared first on Alberta Views.

by Robert Cree, with Therese Greenwood,
ECW Press,
2025/$26.95/264 pp.

The post The Many Names of Robert Cree appeared first on Alberta Views.

Plastics are everywhere. Microplastics—tiny particles of plastic less than five millimetres long—have been found near the top of Mount Everest. A deep-sea submersible descended to the deepest point in the oceans, in the Mariana Trench, and found a plastic bag. Scientists found phthalates—chemicals used to increase the flexibility of some plastics—embedded in the skin of ants in remote parts of the Amazon rainforest. In Antarctica, an icy, unpopulated continent, 97 per cent of birds were found to have ingested microplastics—primarily common plastics such as polyethylene, polypropylene and polystyrene. Microplastics were similarly found in the blood of 77 per cent of people tested by scientists in the Netherlands. So, it would be no surprise to find such particles in the North Saskatchewan River.

But getting a clean sample wasn’t easy. To avoid polluting 1,500-litre samples of river water, the researchers designed and built a pump out of stainless steel, with no plastic at all. Then they worried about other things that contain and shed tiny bits of plastic, such as their clothes and lifejackets. “When we started sampling,” said Bryksa, “we would have to stand downriver [from the pump] because that lifejacket is contaminating the sample.” Studying plastic pollution would be easier, they joked, if their lifejackets were made of concrete.

Left: In August 1955 a LIFE magazine article ran with the then-celebratory but now vaguely sinister title “Throwaway Living.”
Right: Kwabena Akese, Accra, Ghana, 2020. In Canada only 9–12 per cent of plastics are recycled. Most of the rest goes to landfills.

Unless you were born before 1907, when the first synthetic plastic was invented, everyone alive today has been born and raised in the age of plastic. Forget the generational divides—Boomers, Gen X, Millennials, Gen Z, Gen Alpha—we’re all part of the same era, an age marked by the increasing abundance of often useful and convenient plastic stuff and the growing amount of plastic waste found everywhere on earth.

The scale of plastic production today is mind-boggling. In 1950 all countries around the globe together produced 1.5 million tonnes of the stuff. In 2025, globally, over 500 million tonnes of new “virgin” plastics are now created every year. Much of it is disposable—50 per cent of virgin plastic is turned into single-use items meant to be thrown away—and little of it is recycled. In Canada, depending on who’s making the calculations, only 9 to 12 per cent of plastics are recycled. Of the rest, the vast majority of the over three million tonnes a year that’s tossed out goes to landfills. Some 4 per cent is burned in incinerators and 1 per cent of plastic in Canada is lost into the environment as litter.

Figuring out how to keep the good things about plastic while limiting the downsides is one of the great conundrums of our time. In Alberta a variety of organizations think they have a solution to that problem. These groups range from the government of Alberta to recycling and chemical industry associations to NAIT polytechnic—where the sampling for microplastics study is part of a 10-year, $10-million program called Plastics Research in Action (PRIA). The NAIT program—funded by energy company Inter Pipeline—began in 2020, according to informational material, “with a single focus: finding ways for society to reuse and recycle plastic waste as valuable commodities. In short, PRIA is on a mission to build a sustainable circular economy.” The Alberta government has a similar goal in its “Natural Gas Vision and Strategy,” released in 2020, promoting a “plastics circular economy,” which they define as “when the full value of a plastic product is used across multiple lifecycles, not just used once and then discarded.”

Alberta’s plan is to reduce plastic waste while growing the plastics industry. “The future is bright, and it is circular,” said Leduc-Beaumont MLA Brandon Lunty (UCP) at the start of the third annual Alberta Circular Plastics Day at NAIT in March 2025. It sounds laudable. But you might ask: to what extent is a plastics circular economy for real?

Undeniably plastic has benefits. “This looks promising,” wrote Leo Baekeland, with prophetic understatement in his laboratory notebook after inventing the first synthetic plastic in 1907. His product—Bakelite—could be heated and moulded into various shapes such as radios, telephones, toys and other mass-produced goods. Its inventor made a fortune. But Bakelite had flaws. Made from chemical compounds teased from wood alcohol and coal tar, it was brittle and couldn’t absorb bright colours. New varieties of plastics were soon invented, and today 99 per cent of plastics are derived from oil and gas, including hydrocarbons such as ethane and propane.

The plan for our “circular economy” is to reduce plastic waste while growing the plastics industry.

In simple terms, “plastic”—from the Greek plastikos, meaning mouldable—is a synthetic polymer. A polymer is a chain of molecules—hence the “poly” (“many”) in long tongue-tripping names such as polyethylene and polypropylene. Plastics can be hard or flexible, depending on chemical structure and additives. But in its various forms, plastic is lightweight, durable and insoluble. It’s also relatively cheap to make in large volumes.

That’s handy for all kinds of products. Bottles, bags and clingwrap, for instance, are made from polyethylene. So too is the most common type of polyester. Coffee pods, straws and microwavable dishes are made from polypropylene. Cutlery and take-out cup lids can be made of polystyrene. Most vinyl siding on houses is polyvinyl chloride. The list of products that contain plastic today is almost endless. Bike helmets. Cell phones. Seatbelts, airbags and dashboards in automobiles. Medical equipment is now mostly made of plastic, not least because it’s hypoallergenic and it’s easier—think syringes—to ensure the sterility of a single-use product in a hospital.

Proponents of plastic can be extravagant in their praise. “In many instances, plastics are the solution to the climate change problem,” said Bob Masterson, president and CEO of Chemistry Industry Association Canada, to a committee of MPs in 2019. “That includes lightweight, high-strength plastic composites in the automotive sector, improved insulation in the building sector, enormous quantities of plastic resins that are vital to the production of renewable energy from wind turbines and solar panels, as well as the very important role of plastic packaging in reducing food waste.” The shelf life of zucchini, the MPs were told—with a helpful info sheet from the Flexible Packaging Association—is extended from one day to five days when stored in plastic packaging. Ground beef is extended from three days to 20. Grapes allegedly remain edible for 70 days instead of seven.

Plastics also benefit the economy. In 2020 Alberta’s petrochemical sector was valued at $12-billion. That’s but a portion of the $35-billion the sector generates in Canada as a whole and a tiny sliver of the US$712-billion global plastics market. Alberta has vast supplies of oil and gas—including ethane and propane—and global demand for plastics is growing. According to the International Energy Agency, “petrochemicals are set to account for more than a third of the growth in world oil demand to 2030, and nearly half the growth to 2050.” Given this economic projection, the provincial government wants to produce more plastic in Alberta. Goal number one in the “Natural Gas Vision and Strategy,” for instance, is “for Alberta to become a global top 10 producer of petrochemicals” and “to grow this sector by more than $30-billion by 2030.”

Government subsidies, under both the NDP and the UCP, have boosted the sector toward that goal. In 2019 the federal Liberal government gave $49-million to Inter Pipeline to both “invest in efforts to reduce plastic waste” and to build a polypropylene plant—the first in Canada—just northeast of Edmonton. In 2021 the province, through the Alberta Petrochemical Incentive Program (APIP), granted $408-million to Inter Pipeline to help build the Heartland Petrochemical Complex. Completed in 2023, that $4.3-billion plant now turns Alberta propane into 525,000 tonnes of pea-sized plastic pellets a year—mostly for export to the US.

Similarly, the APIP is granting about $1.8-billion to Dow Chemical’s Path2Zero project near Fort Saskatchewan. Construction began in 2024 on the plant, which will turn ethane into plastic polyethylene pellets for export, primarily to Asia. It’s the first such facility to be considered “net zero,” in part because it will burn hydrogen and bury CO₂ nearby—reducing emissions lower than if it were built without those elements. The federal government is giving the “green plastic” project $400-million in investment tax credits. In late November 2023 premier Danielle Smith and then-federal finance minister Chrystia Freeland stood together in Alberta’s Industrial Heartland to announce that the $11.6-billion project had official approval to be built. “This project is the embodiment of the future of Canada,” said Freeland, “which is we have a growing economy, we have more great-paying jobs, and at the same time we’re reducing pollution.”

To date, the history of dealing with plastic waste has largely been a tale of failure. The latest flop was in December 2024 when about 175 UN countries held talks in South Korea to establish a legally binding global treaty to cut plastic pollution. It ended without an agreement.

It’s not as if the stakes were unknown. Plastic doesn’t dissolve. That’s great for storing water in bottles, for instance, but not ideal if you factor in that plastic bottles take somewhere between 400 and 1,000 years to fully break down. Some one million plastic bottles are bought every minute on earth. Add in other kinds of plastic, and it’s estimated that a truckload of insoluble plastic escapes into the environment every minute—much of it into the ocean, most famously in the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch,” which includes 1.8 trillion pieces of plastic floating in an ocean area twice the size of Texas. But plastic also breaks down locally into minuscule pieces. “It is widely agreed upon that smaller particles can enter the bloodstream and organs more easily than bigger particles,” says a 2022 article in the Journal of Hazardous Materials Letters.

The potential health risks are reason for caution. “Plastics are made out of the combination of thousands of chemicals,” said Patricia Villarrubia-Gómez, the lead author of a research article on plastic pollution released prior to the treaty talks in Korea. “Many of them, such as endocrine disruptors and forever chemicals, pose toxicity and harm to ecosystems and human health.” That alarm was echoed in an Environment and Climate Change Canada news release, also just before the talks: “The scale of this problem has reached a boiling point that requires urgent action,” said the feds, “with plastic pollution projected to grow by 2.5 times by 2040.”

In Canada the urgency around plastic waste had grown since January 1, 2018, when China stopped importing almost all used plastics for recycling. Previously Canada had exported most recyclable plastic—including what’s thrown in blue bins—to China and other Asian countries. The cost of dealing with all that waste hit fast. In 2019 the City of Calgary, for instance, spent $330,000 to store 2,000 tonnes of plastic clamshells, hoping to find a way to recycle them, then eventually dumped them—about 92 semi-trailer loads—into the landfill.

Alberta and the federal government soon fought over how to deal with plastic waste. Both sides, curiously, drew inspiration from the same document. That 2019 report by Deloitte, which the feds had commissioned, pointed out that in Canada we overwhelmingly produce, buy and use virgin plastics that are thrown away with little recycling. But plastic waste, said Deloitte, is “a lost opportunity.” If Canada recycled 90 per cent of plastics—moving from a “linear” to a “zero plastic waste” economy—the benefits could include thousands of new jobs and lower greenhouse gas emissions. It wouldn’t be easy—under the status quo only 25 per cent of discarded plastic is collected for recycling. Most plastic packaging, textiles, auto parts and electrical and electronic equipment end up as waste. But with better waste collection, bigger recycling plants, new incentives and innovation, the ambitious promise could be realized. Alberta and the feds agreed on the gist of all that. But on one point they sharply diverged.

In 2019 an all-party committee of MPs, convened after the Deloitte report, recommended “that the federal government commit to banning single-use plastic products—such as straws, bags, cutlery, cups, cigarette filters and polystyrene packaging.” The feds subsequently banned some of those single-use items such as plastic straws and plastic grocery bags. In response, a consortium of plastics companies, including Dow Chemical and Calgary’s Nova Chemicals, sued the feds. Alberta was an intervener in the case in support of the petrochemical companies. In 2023 the Federal Court of Canada ruled that the federal government’s labelling of some plastics as a “toxic substance” was jurisdictional overreach. The feds appealed, and the Single-Use Plastics Prohibition Regulations remain in force while the appeal is in court.

Constitutional matters aside, the fight comes down to one question: Should there be limits on plastic production The UCP government says no. A ban on plastics would be a “serious threat” to the petrochemical industry, said then-premier Jason Kenney in 2022. Environment minister Rebecca Schulz added to that dissent in April 2024. “The federal government would be better served by taking a page out of Alberta’s plan, which diverts plastics from landfills and turns used plastics into new products,” she said. “This is the promise of Alberta’s plan to create a plastics circular economy, a modern miracle in which, through chemistry, we can have all of life’s conveniences and necessities while protecting our environment and reducing plastic waste.”

The third annual Alberta Circular Plastics Day—organized by the Alberta Plastics Recycling Association (APRA)—was held in March 2025 in the sprawling and light-filled Productivity and Innovation Centre at NAIT. Among the attendees—described by Tammy Schwass, the executive director of APRA, as “about 200 people from across the plastics value chain in the province”—were representatives from Dow, Nova and Inter Pipeline, reps from recycling companies, reps from companies selling new products made with recycled plastic, instructors from NAIT, and groups such as the Recycling Council of Alberta, which in 2024 officially switched their mandate from “supporting the recycling value chain” to “advancing the circular economy.”

“Our government sees plastics as an opportunity, not a problem,” said MLA Brandon Lunty, at the start of the conference. “We see this as a waste management issue, not a plastics issue.” He admitted he was “a circular plastics newbie” and sent greetings from minister Schulz, who was not able to attend. The UCP government, he read from prepared notes, “is working with the recycling industry, plastics manufacturers and Albertans to eliminate the plastics we don’t need, innovate to ensure the plastics we do need are either reusable, recyclable or compostable, and circulate the plastic items we use to keep them in the economy and out of the environment.”

Notably, he touted Alberta’s new Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) regulations, which came into force on November 30, 2022, and were “fully implemented” on April 1, 2025. These are intended to shift the “burden of collecting, sorting, processing and recycling waste” away from municipalities and onto the producers of plastic packaging. A central body, Alberta Recycling Management Authority, will oversee the system, similarly to new EPR systems in Ontario and Quebec. The idea is that companies which produce plastic pollution will pay for or find ways to reduce that pollution.

Polyvinyl chloride releases harmful chemicals when melted. Polystyrene turns into a “weird powdery mix.”

“We know this transformation to a circular economy will take time,” said Lunty. How much time is unclear. But challenges were on display at the conference—not least that some plastics are very hard to recycle. Take, for example, a potato chip bag. “That chip bag might have 12 layers of foil and different kinds of plastic in it,” said Mark Sabourin at an exhibition booth for EFS-plastics, a company opening a new recycling plant in Lethbridge in July 2025. Each kind of plastic in those layers has a different melt temperature. That means if you heat the bag at just one temperature, the layers glom together into a piece of junk. “Recycling has to be like for like,” said Sabourin. Plastic products are stamped with numbers 1–7. EFS will specialize in recycling numbers 1, 2 and 5—basically polyethylene and polypropylene—turning those kinds of used plastics back into pellets to ship to producers that want such recycled material.

Even “like for like” recycling isn’t straightforward, however. Recycled plastic is not the same as virgin plastic. At the Nova Chemicals booth, bright-white virgin polyethylene pellets were displayed beside darker-coloured recycled pellets. Each time a plastic is “warmed up again to melt into a pellet,” said Robert Clare, the Nova rep, “you get more degradation.” He showed clear plastic bags made of virgin polyethylene beside bags made with “30 per cent recycled” plastic. The bags with recycled plastic had visible speckles. “It’s still fit for purpose,” he said. “You can fill it with liquid or solids and it would be hermetically sealed.” But for commercial purposes it’s not up to snuff. A used plastic can be turned back into a pellet up to 10 times, he claims, but each time it’s made into a new product it must be blended with virgin plastic to “boost the performance,” and chemical additives are needed to mask imperfections.

Other plastics pose more difficult challenges. Polyvinyl chloride releases harmful chemicals when it’s melted down. Polystyrene, said Sabourin, “turns into this weird powdery mixture that floats everywhere.” Most recyclers don’t want it.

Those problems are among the reasons why most plastics end up in the landfill. Finding ways to keep plastics out of the dump has been a primary focus of research initiatives at NAIT, along with funding for pilot projects and start-up companies from both government and the private sector. Dow Chemical, for instance, paved a parking lot at the new Path2Zero project with asphalt that included some 2.2 million plastic bags worth of used polyethylene. NAIT and Heartland Polymers (Inter Pipeline) collaborated to turn plastic polypropylene waste into a wax that they mixed into asphalt used to pave roads at four test sites, including on the Alexander First Nation. Alberta Innovates—which funds research projects “aligned with Government of Alberta priorities”—gave out numerous grants, including $250,000 to both PolyCo (a start-up that also partnered with NAIT), which makes luxury floor tiles from recyclable polypropylene, and to Resolve Plastics Recycling, which turns mixed plastics into cinder blocks that can be used to build everything from garden sheds to roadway crash barriers. Merlin Plastics, the biggest Alberta-based recycling company, got $2-million from Emissions Reduction Alberta (which doles out money from the government’s TIER fund) to research a “commercially viable” method for recycling used food-grade clamshells back into new food-grade clamshells. “The circular economy is in its infancy in the province,” said Schwass, praising all that’s been accomplished so far. “It’s only been about five years since we started talking about it here.”

Jeremiah Bryksa looking for plastic in the North Saskatchewan River. He’d like to study microplastics in food packaging next.

By designing out waste and pollution, keeping products and materials in use, and regenerating natural systems,” says a quote from the UK-based Ellen MacArthur Foundation (which since 2010 has been acknowledged as the leading proponent of the circular economy concept), “we can reinvent everything.” It’s an ambitious idea. One that in Alberta still appears far off in the future.

Jennifer Koole, a conference attendee and the executive director of the Recycling Council of Alberta, told me in an interview that “there is a way to measure the circularity of an entity, whether that’s a country or a province. We haven’t measured it for Alberta,” she said, “but Canada’s circularity level is 6.1 per cent. That means a small percentage of materials [plastic or otherwise] are being recycled or recovered and there’s a lot of opportunity to do more.”

A few presenters who spoke at Alberta Circular Plastics Day—via Zoom—expressed hope that strict regulations could still be brought in to address plastic waste in the environment. Ryan Parmenter, from Environment and Climate Change Canada, told attendees that negotiators for a global treaty on plastic pollution will meet again in Switzerland in August 2025. This time, he said, “I think we’ll be able to move forward.” The stakes were highlighted by Roxana Sühring of Toronto Metropolitan University. “Plastics are complex chemical mixtures that are released into the environment throughout a product’s life cycle,” she said, explaining a study in which she traced microplastics back to their source products by analyzing chemical additives in various plastics. Microplastic regulation is needed, she said, but she wonders how it would be enforced.

Near the end of the day I talked with Jeremiah Bryksa. His microplastics sampling project was wrapping up in April 2025 and he was working on having the results of the study peer-reviewed and published in a journal. “We found plastics everywhere” in the North Saskatchewan River, he said. “They’re really low concentrations.” This surprised him. “I thought I would see way more plastic,” he said. “The river’s pretty clean.”

I asked how plastics are getting into our bodies, given that most people apparently have microplastics in their bloodstream. “The biggest exposure route is just through being indoors,” he said. “Most microplastics come from inhalation.”

At NAIT, he said, “our work is industry-driven, so I don’t get to choose what I work on.” But if he could choose, he said, “I would love to do more microplastic work. They come from plastic bottles. All food is packaged in plastic.” Studying microplastics in food packaging “would be a really interesting space to go to next.”

Tadzio Richards is a National Magazine Award winner and the associate editor at Alberta Views.

____________________________________________

Support independent local media. Please click to subscribe.

The post The Modern Miracle Problem appeared first on Alberta Views.

The post April 28–May 2, 2025 appeared first on Alberta Views.

by Tyler McCreary University of Alberta Press, 2024

In 2006 prime minister Stephen Harper claimed that Canada’s tradition of inclusive development was a key part of our country’s “emergence as a global energy powerhouse.” We were, of course, not there yet. The landlocked oil sands require pipelines to link production to global markets. In Harper’s time, the first new pipeline proposed was the Northern Gateway—from Alberta to the northwest BC coast. The attempt to build it, writes Tyler McCreary, revealed that “the ideal of inclusive development that Harper evoked was illusive if not illusory in practice.” The pipeline would have run through the traditional territory of the Wet’suwet’en First Nation, who have taken their land claim to the Supreme Court, and who largely opposed the pipeline. “This book unpacks how the fate of this pipeline became entangled with Indigenous mobilizations,” writes McCreary. “Specifically, it examines how state and corporate actors tried to incorporate Wet’suwet’en concerns into formal governance processes and how Wet’suwet’en resistance exceeded those frames, ultimately becoming part of the constellation of forces that blocked the proposed project.” For those wanting insight into the complex realities of Indigenous law and proposed resource development in Canada, this is an essential book.

_______________________________________

Click here to sign up for our free online newsletter.

The post Indigenous Legalities, Pipeline Viscosities appeared first on Alberta Views.

The post Should Voting be Mandatory? appeared first on Alberta Views.

by Myrna Kostash
ATHABASCA UNIVERSITY PRESS
2024/$17.99/48 pp.

Flipping through old diaries filled with youthful thoughts can be nerve-wracking. Yet acclaimed Alberta author Myrna Kostash took on an even braver task. In Writing Ukraine, a long essay based on her writer-in-residence lecture at Athabasca University in 2022, Kostash revisits nearly five decades of writing and reflects on how her understanding of her Ukrainian heritage has evolved and matured over time.

She reserves her harshest criticism for All of Baba’s Children, the book that launched her career in 1977 as one of Canada’s leading non-fiction writers. Although a third-generation Ukrainian-Canadian, Kostash viewed herself as an outsider. To connect with her roots, she embarked on a cultural immersion journey, spending three months in Two Hills—a predominantly Ukrainian settlement at the time. She eavesdropped on café conversations, rummaged through dusty boxes and interviewed locals. “I passed judgment on it all,” she notes wryly, marvelling at the youthful audacity that defined her debut work.

After that book, Kostash made two trips to Ukraine—one before and one during Gorbachev’s perestroika. The quaint calendar images of thatched-roof cottages she had grown up seeing were replaced by the stark reality of village life. Her relatives lived without plumbing, with only one paved street, and exhaustion etched the faces of people waiting in line for the meagre goods available in shops. The brutality of Russian domination was painfully evident in signs that ordered Ukrainians to “speak human,” which meant speaking Russian. These trips also deepened her empathy for her family’s tumultuous past, shedding light on political views Kostash had once dismissed. She captured these revelations in her book Bloodlines: A Journey into Eastern Europe (1993).

As the essay unfolds, Kostash shows how her later works cast ever wider nets around her heritage. An inspiring church service she attends soon after the thaw of perestroika foreshadows Prodigal Daughter: A Journey to Byzantium (2010)—a travel diary exploring the roots of Ukrainian Orthodox traditions. In Canada, a visit to a mass grave of Indigenous warriors near Fort Battleford leads to her recent book, Ghosts in a Photograph (2022), in which she grapples with her settler family history and the colonial policies that secured their place on the land.

Ultimately Writing Ukraine paints a sweeping panorama of an author’s evolution. From this bird’s-eye view, Kostash’s reflections trace a gradual transformation: youthful certainty—what she often calls “swagger”—gives way to nuance, wisdom shaped by context, and a deep embrace of the multifaceted richness of the Ukrainian-Canadian experience.

Agnieszka Matejko is an artist and writer in Edmonton.

_______________________________________

Click here to sign up for our free online newsletter.

The post Writing Ukraine appeared first on Alberta Views.

by Conor Kerr
Strange Light
2024/$24.95/272 pp.

Conor Kerr, a Métis/Ukrainian prairie writer, imbues his texts with loving descriptions of the lands he calls home. One of the CBC’s 2022 Writers to Watch, and with his novel Avenue of Champions shortlisted for the Amazon Canada First Novel Award, longlisted for the Giller Prize, and winning the 2022 ReLit Award, he comes out strong in his second novel, Prairie Edge. The prologue sets the stage for a heartbreaking, humorous, and defiantly proud story of two young Métis cousins who hatch a plan to free bison from a nearby national park, bring them into downtown Edmonton and change the urban landscape into more of what it could look like if land truly were given back, not just to the Indigenous people, but also to the animals who called it home for centuries.

Humour threads through this book like music from a Métis fiddle, sweeping in and out, sometimes loud, thunderous like a herd of bison, and sometimes quiet and soft like the swish of prairie grass. “Being a bison rustler made me feel like I was living in an old-time western movie,” says one of the cousins. “The kind that hired Italians to play the Indians.” I found myself laughing out loud throughout and texting friends the funniest parts so they too could share a laugh about a white hunter who dons thousands of dollars’ worth of custom camo only to fail at catching even a single moose.

Embedded in the text are historical lessons on the role and place of bison in the prairies, from the birds that used them for survival, to the people who depended on them for sustenance, to the very grasses they would walk over. Showing the historical lives of the bison highlights both current efforts to revitalize their populations and the fact that they are now for the most part caged in small territories without the freedom to roam as they once did. Kerr contrasts this with the theme of Indigenous kids being taken from families, put into a cold and unfriendly foster system and, when aged out, living with the constant threat of jail. “It’s either do something monumental or just fade into an inevitable jail cell.” Both the bison and the people are caged. But what if there were no more cages?

Through his characters, Kerr looks at what it might truly take to live in a state of reclamation and reconciliation. Bringing back the bison and repopulating the land with all that’s been lost is one answer explored in this novel. Both funny and politically aware, Kerr also delivers a sharp-edged critique of modern activism—a realm in which posturing often overshadows bold action. Thought-provoking and a great read, Prairie Edge is a story of resistance and a love letter to bison and the people who survive alongside them and because of them.

Francine Cunningham is a Cree/Métis author and artist.

____________________________________________

Read more from the archive “Don’t Fence Me In” July 2018.

Support independent local media. Please click to subscribe.

The post Prairie Edge appeared first on Alberta Views.

Edited by Lorene Shyba and James R. Parker
Durvile & Uproute books
2024/$37.50/144 pp.

Since the release of the DALL-E image-generating model in 2021 and the launch of ChatGPT in late 2022, artificial intelligence has gone from sci-fi speculation to an almost inescapable subject of debate. As new tools are developed and deployed (and hyped) at a staggering rate, AI is presented as either humanity’s saviour or an existential threat in the making.

Ascenti: Humans Opening to AI won’t settle that debate, but it isn’t intended to. Instead, as the subtitle puts it, this collection of short essays on the intersection of AI and creativity is meant as an opening, inviting a dozen Alberta artists to experiment with AI tools in their artistic practice, free from any preconceptions. Naturally, the 12 playwrights, musicians, painters, poets and other artists included here respond differently to this prompt. Some engage with AI as a creator in its own right. Others approach it conversationally, asking it for feedback and suggestions. The range of uses showcases the flexibility of these tools, and of the creative process more broadly.

The focus on experimentation encourages a conversational and reflective tone; as a glimpse into the creative practices of a multidisciplinary group of artists, Ascenti would be valuable even without the inclusion of AI. The collection’s most striking moments are often its most diarylike—as when painter Rich Théroux confesses that working with AI “feel[s] a little like the shame people harbour while experimenting with hard drugs,” or when musician Kenna Burima shares her fears of how generative tools will disrupt her creative process.

For some artists, the results of these experiments are unambiguously positive. In his foreword to the book, DerRic Starlight describes using AI to refine stories from Indigenous participants in a writing program, and finding himself amazed how “even the trainees who cannot read or write have a way to tell their stories.” AI’s role as an assistive technology is a common thread in the more positive responses, as when artist Julian Hobson uses it to generate colours his own vision can’t distinguish, sharing how it “enhance[d] my clarity in thought, perception, and connection to many things.”

Others are less enthused. Many are struck by a mediocrity that seems inherent in AI art. Poet and writer Uchechukwa Peter Umezurike finds that generated text “relies on cliches and usual tropes” and can’t “reflect and appreciate my own lived experiences as a racial minority,” while Burima bluntly states she “did not find a shortcut, an untapped well of inspiration nor a very good collaborator.” Others focus on how AI distances them from their creative process. Painter Verna Vogel finds “[u]sing word prompts to make visual images on a digital screen is utterly tedious,” while poet Rosemary Griebel laments how AI removes the pleasure “of creating a poem through memory, conscious skill, emotion and imagination”

These critiques, alongside others about AI ethics, are important to any discussion of AI art, but due to Ascenti’s format, they’re raised mostly in passing before moving on to the next experiment. Considering how ripe “AI” is for critique (the term itself may be more a marketing masterstroke than an assessment of intelligence), Ascenti’s choice to set skepticism aside may be frustrating for some readers. Still, it makes sense if you see the project as an opening gambit in a wider conversation. Closing our eyes to generative tools won’t slow down their deployment. It only makes sense to learn from the artists and creators who will be most affected by these emerging technologies. Collections such as Ascenti are an important step towards understanding what we might gain from these tools—and what we risk losing.

Peter Hemminger is a writer and editor who has worked with numerous arts festivals and organizations in Calgary.

____________________________________________

Read more in the archive “Artificial Intelligence and Politics” November 2024.

Support independent local media. Please click to subscribe.

The post Ascenti appeared first on Alberta Views.

The past few years have seen a resurgence of interest in the use of psychedelic substances. The word “psychedelic” is an umbrella term for natural or synthetic substances that alter the senses, change thinking and impact mood. Also known as hallucinogens, they belong to various classes of drugs, and include peyote, MDMA, LSD, ayahuasca, ketamine, psilocybin, ibogaine and others. Though it is not fully understood how the different classes of psychedelics might have a therapeutic effect, neuroplasticity—the ability of the brain to “rewire” associations, impulses, emotions and memories—is thought to play an important role.

Psychedelics have been used by humans for various reasons, including traditional healing, spiritual practices and recreation, for millennia. They have received special legal and moral scrutiny in North America since their use became associated with the so-called “counterculture” of the 1960s. During that time in the US, the criminalization of psychedelics granted authorities a reason to target Vietnam war protesters. Since then, psychedelics have been subject to the “war on drugs.” In Canada psychedelics are considered a controlled substance with criminal repercussions whether one has them for personal use or with the intention to share with or sell to others.

This is why it was such a surprise to hear Mike Ellis, associate minister of mental health and addiction at the time, announce on October 5, 2022, that for patients with substance use disorders and trauma, psychedelics would now be available as treatments. Did I hear that correctly Alberta’s UCP has consistently opposed decriminalization and regulation of illegal drugs. In the words of its previous leader, Jason Kenney, “flooding the market with government-provided illegal drugs is not something Alberta will be doing.” Yet, with this new policy, the UCP would allow criminalized drugs to be used in as-yet unproven therapies for substance use disorders.

It was such a surprise to hear that psychedelics would now be available in Alberta as treatments.

As an addictions physician, I pay close attention to changes in drug policy. As a street doctor with family-physician values, I’m constantly on the lookout for new resources for my patients. I wanted to believe there was something in Alberta’s new regulations that would help my patients.

I had grounds for skepticism. At the same October 2022 press conference, in just as radical a departure, Ellis announced new restrictions to supports for patients with opioid use disorder. Those patients’ physicians would be prohibited from offering certain treatments, and would even be required to send patients to a difficult-to-access clinic called the Narcotic Transition Service to be taken off their medication. Tapering stable patients off their opioid medications can sharply increase the risk of death from drug toxicity and should only be done cautiously in the context of a strong therapeutic alliance, such as with one’s primary care provider. It was devastating news for patients who were stable on these medications. For some the change proved fatal.

At the time, the juxtaposition of these two changes puzzled me. Why were evidence-based harm-reduction interventions being quashed while unproven therapies using illegal psychedelic drugs—that the UCP until recently found abhorrent—were receiving enthusiastic endorsement?

On Tuesdays I wear work boots and cargo pants. The extra pockets are needed for latex gloves, a mask and hand sanitizer. I stuff donated socks, first-aid supplies and throat lozenges into a backpack. In winter I layer on thick long johns and a toque. A portable oxygen monitor and naloxone kit are clipped to a D-ring on my waistband, and my boot treads have spikes. I want to be prepared for anything. Not only are Tuesday patients often quite ill, but many have had terrible experiences in the healthcare system: stinging moments, while sick and asking for help, of dehumanization or outright racism.

Having internalized the stigma of violence over many years, homeless people often tolerate subpar conditions of outreach care. They don’t expect anything more than what US medical anthropologist and physician Paul Farmer calls “shitty care for the poor.” They will express gratitude for a bit of antiseptic spray and a band-aid to cover chronic ulcers and emotional wounds. Just doing my job, I say, struggling to tuck in ragged edges of tattered gauze. I try to hide my fury and sadness from patients who need their doctor to have a strong back.

The chronic rubbing of the bandage’s ragged edges, combined with the recent government announcements and my stubborn yearning for less-shitty care for the poor, may be why, one day last winter, I noticed a chic new storefront clinic near downtown. The interior gleams with glass and white marble. Plants thrive on windowsills streaming with natural light. I imagine the air is filtered just so, warm and humid with a hint of eucalyptus. I gaze up from my slushy streetcorner at shiny chrome letters: The Newly Institute.

I pull out my smartphone: “More like a spa than a clinic,” reads an online review. The Newly Institute website confirms it is a facility for psychedelic treatments enabled by new UCP legislation—ibogaine, psilocybin and ketamine, though Newly’s director is also “looking forward to pushing the boundaries of psychedelic therapy by employing substances like LSD and ayahuasca.” Photos portray clinicians in immaculate scrubs while executives in smart suits exude corporate confidence. A beautiful place, filled with beautiful people, for helping folks struggling with their mental health. I feel dowdy and damp in my muddy boots and sweaty layers.

Nevertheless I try to imagine practising within the Newly Institute’s pristine walls. In my mind I steam up a fresh espresso between appointments as patients relax amongst the plants and pleasantries. I stride across gleaming maple hardwood in spotless sneakers, dripping with efficacy. If this place, I reason, provides the newest treatments for the most intractable cases, then my current patients would be good candidates for its services. I think especially of one soul who lives with complex post-traumatic stress and substance-use disorder. He has been to residential treatment programs many times and to residential school before that. So many of my patients carry the most severe forms of the illnesses the innovative Newly Institute treats. I want to get them inside. So I make a call.

“I have a few patients I would like to refer to your clinic,” I say. A staffer in the spa clinic reassures me that they can help.

I had noted that the website mentions drumming, so the first thing I ask is whether there is an Indigenous adviser or elder on staff. The staffer apologizes. No, there is not.

Most of my patients live in homelessness or poverty, I explain, still a little hopeful. Is there a cost for treatment Well, yes. Consultations and treatment are “fully private,” I’m told, and paid for by the “client, an employer or by an insurance company.” Later I discover that the cost of psychedelic treatment courses varies widely but can range into the thousands of dollars. The standard one-month “intensive outpatient” program for mental health at Newly, for example, costs $12,950. Bloom Clinic in Calgary advertises a 10-week ketamine-assisted program for $5,965.

I try again. If someone has Alberta disability or income supports, will they be covered No. What about Indigenous patients with status under the Indian Act No.

The friendly person educates me cheerily: most of their clients—I feel chastised for saying “patients”—with substance-use disorders use only alcohol, or maybe cannabis, but not opioids. Those clients, I am advised, should first go to medical detox if they have opioid-use disorder.

Thanking the person on the phone, I feel a familiar disappointment, but also bafflement. If only their suggestion were that easy. So-called “detox,” or safe withdrawal, is a notorious bottleneck in Alberta’s system of care. Getting a spot when it’s needed is nearly impossible. Instead, in a wealthy province that now sees a drug poisoning death every five hours, our government is ushering in an intervention that helps only those who can afford it and are using the “right” substances.

I asked Dr. Leah Mayo, Parker Research Chair in Psychedelics at the University of Calgary, about the access disparity in the world she studies. She agreed that “major limitations to these interventions [are] becoming mainstream, and a lot of thought will need to go into how to make access equitable.”

And equity is about much more than simply access or cost. As a young anthropologist, I worked in rural Mexico with a group of curanderos, or traditional healers. During long drives between Indigenous villages, where they worked with young mothers learning to grow and use medicinal herbs, I listened to the healers as they grappled with the problem of commercialization of their plant medicines. In a recent forum on psychedelics, the Canadian Public Health Association voiced a similar concern: “…We must question how traditional Indigenous knowledge, cultural rights and opportunities for economic participation will be adequately protected as psychedelics gain prominence in Canada.”

Though services might struggle to be inclusive of Indigenous practices and perspectives, they must. We have the guidance: biomedical colonialism is addressed in Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission Calls to Action and in the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and should always be explicitly included in any new health-related regulations, programs or services.

Drug policy in Alberta is determined not by science, safety, access or equity but by commercial potential.

Maybe, after witnessing the toxic-drug crisis rampage for the better part of the past decade, I’m becoming impatient. Novel approaches take time; we have to gather data and properly implement sensitive aspects such as inclusion and reconciliation.

It has been well over a year, however, since Alberta’s new regulations were implemented, and though scientific evidence might someday prove the therapeutic value of psychedelics, it hasn’t happened yet. In a search of clinical trials registered by Health Canada for two of the psychedelic drugs approved under the UCP’s new regulations, one of the drugs—psilocybin—had only two clinical trials, both now closed. The other—a traditional central African root medicine called ibogaine—has no clinical trials registered. Dr. Mayo acknowledged that only one psychedelics clinic in Calgary, SABI Mind, is currently involved in a regulated clinical trial of its therapies. (The Newly Institute website has since removed references to treatments using ibogaine and psilocybin. Other clinics, including ATMA CENA in Edmonton and Calgary, are offering MDMA and psilocybin as well as ketamine.)

Meanwhile, evidence in favour of the interventions blocked by the UCP’s new legislation, including studies of prescribed safer supply of opioids, continues to accumulate.

Despite Mike Ellis’s stated rationale, his ministry’s mash-up of regulatory changes improves neither access nor safety for my patients. So, what’s really behind the changes The answer is disconcerting. Many psychedelic facilities and, it should be noted, residential treatment facilities receiving massive taxpayer-funded “investments,” are run by privately held, for-profit companies. The reality is that the public system of care holds no market prospects, while, as noted on Nasdaq.com, “psychedelic stocks have a bright future.”

The truth is that even during a crisis that annually kills thousands of Albertans, and despite sneaking in words such as “compassion” and “stewardship,” drug policy in this province is determined not by principles of science, safety, access, equity or human rights but by commercial potential. Alberta’s UCP government believes that health services should be driven not by a patient-centred mission but by marketing strategies like the Newly Institute’s: “We are firmly rooted in our collective commitment to excellence, whether it’s patient care, inter-office communication, or the impact of the colour we choose for our wallpaper in the office bathrooms. No detail is too small to be considered.”

As I lace up my spiked boots for yet another Tuesday of street medicine, I’m conflicted. While I’m glad for the existence of clean and beautiful places for patients, and for new approaches to treating severe mental health disorders, I recognize the pipe dream. My espresso fantasy melts away like dirty snow as I realize that neither my patients nor I would be any more welcome in a fancy private clinic than we are in general society. This is because, wherever we go, we expose the marble-clad foundation of discrimination upon which both for-profit clinics and society itself are built.

While the UCP cheers on the psychedelics industry to monetize its visions, I am deeply sad for the ongoing loss of lives and dreams in my community. Regardless of whether we use the word “patients” or “clients,” people are still people, not commodities, with challenges that are still illnesses, not market prospects. It turns out that what we sacrifice in a private system is accountability. Even more chilling is what we sacrifice in a for-profit health system: care.

If current conservative governments continue their path of destruction all in the name of profit, too many people will have to continue to hold their breath while waiting for care out in the cold, some until they simply stop breathing.

Bonnie Larson is a physician and community organizer who for 15 years has worked with people experiencing homelessness.

____________________________________________

Support independent local media. Please click to subscribe.

The post Money Visions appeared first on Alberta Views.