Once Was Genuine

January 17, 2012

Molson’s Manipulative Menace: A National Identity Crisis

     Who am I? You ask your reflection, who stares blankly back at you from the puddle by the curb. Your head spins with conflicting ideas that you have been bombarded with and your confusion is compounded by the case of Molson Canadians that you drank. If you think that you are alone in this philosophical struggle, you can pass out soundly to the fact that many others ponder the same existential question. It is a universal issue that knows no national boundaries, yet still many people will attempt to identify with some sort of national image, often exemplified as stereotypes. But seek and ye shall find: Kneel before your television and absorb Molsons ongoing ad campaign to disprove these stereotypes. Let it compel you to question the labels that are put on Canadians, and in turn, to consider the labels that are put on your beer.

     Its Hockey Night in Canada, and your beloved Flames just cant seem to get the puck in the net. At the commercial break, you see an ad that catches your attention: a culturally diverse group of ageless Canadians are addressing certain Canadian stereotypes in contrast with contradicting clips. It opens with a red and white colored shot of an Asian girl who primly declares, Canadians are polite. It then cuts to clips of big hits from lacrosse and hockey players not behaving very politely at all. To this the token white guy questions, Polite? The pattern repeats itself, with a growing sense of disbelief and humour from the multicultural panel of actors: Canadians are humble. The gyrating, obese hockey fan with GO CANADA painted on his stomach and the guy flagrantly flaunting a Canadian flag wrapped around his shoulders would seem to disagree.

     They say were reserved. The token black guy finds this hilarious, and we are shown shirtless bungee jumpers, rowdy crowd scenes at concerts, more obscure winter sports such as tubing and boardercross, and a fancy-free young fellow frolicking in a mound of maple leaves. The Asian tightens her shirt again and laughs openly with more shots of extreme snowboarding and Olympic powerlifting. Canadians are passive? Now they are openly questioning these stereotypes while Phil Esposito in the Summit Series demonstrates by calling on a fight that we can be aggressive too! The token white guy dramatically reacts to all of this with an over-emphasized, I dont think so! This is followed by more shots of Canada Day festivities complete with flags and friends. You are now shown the trademark I AM CANADIAN logo at the end to summarize the message in a brand. Ironically, the song that plays throughout the commercial, Hey! Ho! Lets Go! is performed by The Ramones, an American band from New York. You feel an empty sense of longing, and a thirst for a cold pint of lager.

     Websters Dictionary defines a stereotype as a standardized mental picture that is held in common by members of a group and that represents an oversimplified opinion, prejudiced attitude, or uncritical judgment. While these judgments are often accurate and based on reality, this definition suggests that stereotypes can lead to a distorted viewpoint. The ads attempt to disprove these stereotypes only enforces the unmentioned stereotype that Canadians are self-righteous. Since when are politeness, humbleness, reservation, and passivity unadmirable traits anyway? It is true that there is a time and a place for everything; however, the implication here is that we can also be rude, arrogant, outgoing, and aggressive. It is ultimately an attempt to question our national identity, a theme of much contention, usually defined as: not American.

     Halls model of encoding and decoding forms an insightful framework which helps us to further understand the inherent Canadian-ness of this message by applying such factors as social context, economic issues, institutional context and the values of both producer and consumer. To begin, the common social field of referents that this message operates within is comprised of the stereotypes that people from all over the world hold about Canadians and their actual nature. In addition to this, economic factors such as the market for beer drinkers are applied, as while superficially the ad appears to be questioning what makes us Canadian, we must not forget that Molson is of course selling a product, and appealing to a demographic that can relate to the message. It is of interest to note that Molson Inc., a Canadian company, merged with Adolph Coors Co., an American company, to create Molson Coors Brewing Company, the fifth-largest brewer in the world, with head offices in both Montreal and Denver. Following the general rule that the company whose name is placed first is the one that bought the other, it is still essentially a Canadian company. This publicly-traded multinational corporate business influence has implications to the Canadian-ness that is promoted, since while it is striving for uniqueness from American-ness, both national identities are an integral part of each others individuality.

Continuing with Halls formula, the element of institutional context is directed here towards all people who value that uniqueness and individuality. The professional values and opinions of Molson and their promoters are expressed to entice viewers to think similarly, or at least to question existing notions of Canadian identity. The ad implies that to drink Molson Canadian beer is to challenge the norm; but of course there is a paradox involved when a group of people conform to the same ideology to be unique. Operating with these factors in mind, the message is encoded within the medium of television, or in this case Youtube, which combines image and sound to address the audience more personally than, say, a billboard. Finally, the message is decoded and consumed by a diverse audience that will make their own meaning, drawn from the larger social experiences that we all share.

The processes of representation and signification create the framework through which the viewer carries out the ongoing practice of meaning making. The ad represents certain ideas about what it means to be Canadian by presenting suggestive thought-provoking images and signs to be interpreted through the use of signifiers and the signified. The signifier of the vintage clip of Esposito calling on the Russians is added to the implicit signified concept of patriotism to create a meaning of national pride and identity. This sign is repeated throughout the ad, mostly using clips of sports, which are a means to prove superiority over someone else by the declaration of a winner and a loser.

We can also use intertextuality to create meaning by comparing this commercial to others by Molson, such as the ad on the moon in which a Canadian astronaut shoots a puck into an American astronauts facemask then are shown together drinking beers in lawnchairs. Seeing this other text helps us to understand the recurring message about Canadian identity, in this case by AMOGing (proving alpha male of the group status) the American. Of course this is my personal connotative interpretation of this denotative scene; the polysemic nature intrinsic of these commercials allows viewers the freedom to create meaning in their own way.

The ad campaigns prevalent image of supremacy, like Esposito challenging the Russians, encourages the viewer to stand up for what he or she believes in and refuse to be dominated. This also relates to the main theme of national identity as Molsons ads are designed to be counter-hegemonic to the dominant American ideology that is entrenched in so much of the American media that English-speaking Canadians consume. Molsons ideology of questioning and even rebelling against labels and stereotypes endeavors to strengthen an image of Canadian individuality, but in doing so, further confuses the audience, as they scratch their head and ask themselves, If Im not this, and Im not that, then who am I? This could possibly be an intended reaction, as a confused public is easily controlled and can be manipulated to make certain decisions, such as purchasing a case of Molson beer.

To assess the prevalence of Molsons national identity ideology, we can perform a content analysis by quantitatively measuring occurrences of patriotism through the use of maple leaves. There are 20 shots of the maple leaf: 16 maple leaves on proudly waving flags, 2 maple leaves on Canadian jerseys, 1 pile of actual maple leaves, and 1 maple leaf on the Canadian bottle cap. In the 30-second ad this makes 0.6 maple leaves shown per second, fairly ubiquitous.

Altogether, this ad blatantly strives to redefine that abstract notion of Canadian-ness by demonstrating what is and what is not Canadian and I believe that, in doing so, it promotes a negative image. Obviously each and every Canadian can be any of these traits, so there is no need in trying to prove that we can be as crazy, raunchy, rebellious, and wild as other folks. We don’t have to prove such an insignificant thing and attempting to do so only makes us appear insecure. While I am sure there will many people that agree with me that the ad is an embarrassment to our cultural identity, there will also be those self-righteous Canadians trying desperately to identify themselves with some sort of image. I think that what makes us Canadian is not what labels we have, or what beer we drink, or even how we behave. It is subjective and internal to all people that consider themselves Canadian. It is the feeling that we have and the way in which we perceive the world, unique to each Canadian. Canadian-ness cannot be easily classified, or labeled, or even described; thats a fact we should be proud of.

So you lift your head up a bit higher, and you straighten your posture, confident with the freshly acquired realization that you just are who you are, as simple as that. You slide a sheet of paper into your typewriter and begin to type with purpose, speaking on behalf of all Canadians.

——-

Dear Molson Canadian,

We accept the fact that youre selling beers to consumers through promotion of a national identity. But we think youre crazy to make a commercial telling us who you think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us can be polite or rude and humble or arrogant and reserved or outgoing and passive or aggressive.
Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,
The Canadian Club

———

J. Eric Berg
Mass Communications in Canada
Dr. Kathryn Pallister
October 25, 2007

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February 23, 2011

How to Live Victorian: An Island’s Travel Guide

The Hood (Brief Intro to the Island)

Life is a delicate game of balance that Victoria knows how to play. The City of Gardens, tucked cozily on the 49^th parallel, stands right between the Pacific Ocean below and the snow-capped Olympic Mountains that surround the horizon like protector-giants. There is a sense of harmony in this city nestled in the wilderness of Vancouver Island. Bald eagles soar above vibrant rainforests as killer whales cut through the waters offshore. The pace of life here reflects the environment, where it’s not so much where you’re going, but how you get there. And allowing the laidback vibe to guide you, the journey is truly an experience to behold.

There’s an old cliché that Victoria is for the newly wed and nearly dead. While the city does support the largest percentage of retirees in Canada and is known as a university town with a strong student population, Victoria has something for everybody. The city is a unique balance of West Coast flavour and British history, as the big red double-decker bus rolls past brightly coloured and expressive Aboriginal totem poles. The downtown area swells with seaside charm, as tourists fresh off the cruise ships wander alongside hand-clasped lovers, hippies, and businessmen.

Victoria is also known as a counter-cultural haven, where artistic types and nature-lovers escape the hectic pace of a big city like Vancouver to reconnect with the authentic aspects of life. The area itself, with its yearly moderate climate (the winters are rainy but it sure beats Albertan blizzards), promotes health and well being. Joggers zip by with their bounding dogs, swimmers slice ripples through the lakes, and yoga enthusiasts contort their bodies on park lawns. Victoria is rated the bike capital of North America and indeed the cyclists seem to dominate the roads. The cars here yield to them, a tip of the hat to those taking action to help the environment. Inhale a deep breath of some of the freshest air on the continent and let Victoria seduce you.

Belly Bulge (Good Eats)

On a wharf down by the floatplanes in what looks to be a renovated sea can that fell off a passing freight ship, you’ll find some of the tastiest ocean bites on the Island. The experience at Red Fish-Blue Fish is as surreal as its Seussian namesake suggests. Whether you have one or two, obscure selections like the BBQ Qualicum Bay Scallop Burger and Tempura-Battered Fried Dill Pickles will satiate even the most advanced pallet. Try the fish tacones, grilled tortilla hand rolls, filled with the freshest 100 per cent Ocean Wise ingredients, referring to the Vancouver Aquarium conservation program created to educate and empower consumers about the issues surrounding sustainable seafood. Going green these days is trendy, but at Red Fish-Blue Fish, head chef Kunal Ghose is as passionate about sustainability as he is about seafood.

“We’ve upcycled the building with sod on the roof to grow plants and all of the packaging is biodegradable,” he says. “Just chuck it in the reuse and recycle bins and have yourself a great day.” Ghose, who looks like he just walked off a Bollywood set, flashes a smile that fits right in with the ambience of his seafood taqueria.

It’s outdoor seating on plastic chairs, where harbour seals can be spotted lounging in the water alongside an old wooden ship. Don’t be shocked by the line-up, which on a sunny day can stretch far along the boardwalk. If you have the time, it’s worth it to experience this eclectic taste of Victoria.

1006 Wharf St.

(250) 298-6877

www.redfish-bluefish.com

http://www.oceanwise.ca/

Trendsetter (Shopping)

The Bohemian vibe is strong in Victoria, and The Patch on Yates is the place to get decked out in the finest second-hand threads this side of the donation bin. Value Village is a rip-off and most thrift stores necessitate a thorough hunt through piles of grubby, unfashionable digs in order to find the odd treasure. Save yourself the trouble, and the musty stench, and come to a boutique that’s done the style hunting for you. Discovering the perfect missing piece to an outfit in a bargain rack is still highly rewarding. The space is large, with brick walls and tall ceilings, and guys and girls alike will find a huge selection of clothes handpicked out of the decades past as if The Patch borrowed a time machine.
Chicks love the dresses. Dudes love the shirts – and the chicks in the dresses. It’s where trendy young Victorians come to casually flip through this week’s latest shipments, mingle around the racks, and groove to the funky rhythms pumping out the speakers. With deals like, “Whatever You Can Stuff in This Bag for $25,” you really can’t go wrong if you’re looking for something unique.

As urban legend has it, The Patch holds one of the entrances to the Secret Tunnels that supposedly run beneath the city. “I can neither deny nor confirm those rumours,” says the dreadlocked looker behind the counter with a wink.

If you decide to go exploring Victoria’s mysterious underground, stop by The Patch first, and at least you’ll look great doing it.

719 Yates St.

(250) 384-7070

Activities (Things to Do)

People-watching is a serious hobby for many in the city, and with places like historic Bastion Square, where the public hangings were once held; Market Square, where fourteen factories once flourished in the legal production of opium; or Chinatown the oldest in Canada and still rich in Oriental mystique, it’s not hard to find a spot to watch the local human wildlife do what they do. You’ll discover characters you’d be hard-pressed to dream up.

The beaches in Victoria are among the best in the country. The pebbly, driftwood-strewn stretch of coastline along Dallas Road is a great spot for a picnic, where on windy days kite-surfers shred the churning waves offshore. After the sun sets, join in on one of the bonfires and lounge beneath the stars to the smoky sounds of acoustic guitars. The official party beach is in Gonzales Bay, where college kids play drinking games and practice their mating rituals. For the family, Willow Beach offers a sandy retreat with a playground for the young ones and a tearoom for the elders. There are also many hidden coves along the coast for that private romantic retreat. There’s something for everybody, so bring a blanket, some sunscreen, and a few cold beverages, and soak up the goodness.

Explore the Potential

In Victoria, a new renaissance is underway. The Victorian era in the second half of the nineteenth century, whose Queen’s namesake became British Columbia’s capital city, has been reborn. The art, social, and political movements that defined the Victorian era, thrive here in this eclectic city, while the prudishness and repression have been left to the history books. A veritable rainbow of people from all backgrounds have gathered here; indeed many feel they have been summoned. There is a magical quality to Victoria that you must experience to believe. Great minds are at work here and revolutionary ideas are brewing. You can feel it in the air.

Here on the southern tip of Vancouver Island, where anything seems possible, the future is being written. Come see for yourself. Explore the potential. Whatever you’re after, you’re sure to find. Whether it’s food, shopping, activities, or that delicate balance, Victoria provides.

3:07am | URL: http://tumblr.com/ZoXKUy3EImvn

February 2, 2011

Hip-Hop Isn’t Dead (It’s Dreaming)

The bass throbs from the speakers as rapper Tokin Blaq spits immortal lyrics from hip-hop’s vault of classics. It’s “Covers for a Cause” night at Victoria’s Lucky Bar, and Blaq’s essence has captivated the crowd. They go wild for his energetic performance, and then seem to regress to being tame, as if the television was shut off, people lost in idle banter and distracted once again. There is an irony in the air, mingling with conflicting colognes and smoke machine vapour: Vancouver Island, long revered as a counter-culture haven for artistic types, nurtures a dismal local hip-hop scene. Awareness of hip-hop’s true essence has been lost in translation.

If hip-hop culture is a temple, supported by the four pillars of MCing, DJing, breakdancing, and graffiti writing, Blaq says it’s beyond crumbling. “Oh the temple has done been in ruins!” He smiles half-cocked, his mouth a loaded gun. “There’s still the villages that lived in the shadow of the temple though, venerating its fortitude and maintaining what’s left. The hard part now is finding a place for the four elements in today’s hip-pop culture.”

Cool has been commoditized. Hip-hop, homogenized. As Blaq laments, in a world where “breakdancing is a dance crew show on NBC, rap is Drake, DJing is done on computers with everything spelt out for you, and graffiti is posh gallery fodder,” it’s a challenge to find anything truly authentic. The fabled history of hip-hop, the deep roots of the ultimate counter-culture movement, is often forgotten in our society of attention deficit and instant gratification.

Blaq grew up in Toronto, Canada’s hip-hop capital, where he witnessed the history first hand. “Hip-hop had found its way up and permeated the hood the way it did in the states – it hadn’t found its way to the burbs yet – and I experienced jams in the park, kids freestylin’ and breakin’ in the street.” His dark eyes flicker with light at the memories until a police cruiser drifts past and he scowls. “Then it got gangster, and lost its roots and we all got to see it happen.”

From the other side of the country, Blaq observed the Victoria scene take shape over the years with help from “the elders that gave this place that counter-culture vibe.” The more he watched Toronto rappers fall prey to materialism and vanity, the more he grew to respect Victoria’s scene. “The whole time I was thinkin’, man, Vic is so much more in touch with shit.”

Soon after moving to the Island, in search of the elusive greener pasture, Blaq became disillusioned with the hip-hop culture that he hoped to find. “Victoria has this amazing way of being a time capsule for certain things. Hence, times change, but at a slower pace.” His hands draw the air into his chest as his rhythm adapts to match the words. “So what happened is, that bullshit lifestyle that I hated about Toronto found its way here. Then ego followed behind it. The whole ‘Scarface mentality’, sooner or later it’s all just the same and the ‘real’ becomes an afterthought.”

And afterthought just might be what Victoria needs to achieve the awareness it’s meant to represent. Meaningful lyrics might resonate then, resurrecting a culture that isn’t dead, but merely dreaming.

- J. Eric Berg

http://www.reverbnation.com/thabeatassassins

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January 13, 2010

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October 30, 2009

When Giant Prehistoric Geese Roamed The Earth

When giant prehistoric geese roamed the earth, we looked out for one another.

You carried your woman over your shoulder if her feet got sore from walking. You didn’t have to worry about nuclear war or parking tickets. Sitcoms weren’t vehicles for corporate profit back then, but simple and authentic, like when your best friend, Big Nose, accidentally lit his loincloth on fire and ran screaming in smoking circles around the cave, your laughter echoing off the finger-painted walls.

The choice was red berries or blue. Content if you had something to chew. Sure there was the constant struggle for survival, the horrible monsters and the violence; the premature deaths, gangrene, and the silence. Times get tough and smiles erode, but humour used can lighten the load. Make ‘em understand. Speak softly and carry a big club: the law of the land.

The original anarchists must have been suspicious and cautious. Fight or flight, the merits of both weighed and the former developed into a matter of honor. The clan; the family; the community – all grew culture and cohesion that these primal yet similar humans adhered to. They kept each other in check. If a rowdy teenager with a giant goose feather in his headband caused trouble, the clan would deal with him appropriately. Who wants to live in exile? Not Big Nose. Not me.

Then the ice age stormed through and flash-froze friends holding daisies. Immobile still life watches time roll by and people grow lazy. People grow corrupt and people grow crazy. Empires buzz and fade. Flash-froze friends watch the world degrade (but was it ever asleep?)

“Stop Resisting Arrest!”

“Sir I’m complying with your demands.”

“He’s got a gun!”

“Sir it’s a banana I’m holding in my hand.”

Red lights, blue lights, they strobe, they pulse, like some sadistic nightclub on a head full of acid. The fight inside you, the one that waits and hides, with war paint mud streaked under fiery eyes, Awakens (but was it ever asleep?)

Seeing red. Your rights are read. Spit slings from a mustached head, as icing-coated lips palpitate, but you don’t hear the words.

The white hood of the cruiser, mobile fascist command, is hot. The engine inside vibrates with malice (but was it ever asleep?)

Behind your back your hands are like gloves. Fingertips ghostly, your forearms abuzz. Carbon steel cuffs rape your circulation and all you can feel, is the nodding of the slave ship…

Stacked claustrophobic/ rotting friends/ darkness/ death surrounds/ heading/ into /oblivion… shipped worlds away from home… from pyramids to cotton fields. The whiplash scars on your back that once kept time. Humanity commoditized and sold like livestock. Branded and bartered, you refuse to be.

The sirens crescendoed like carnival games. Test your strength. Ring the bell. Resonating like the rat’s scratches in the dungeon walls…

Your mass of beard is almost white and wiry to your waist that’s wrapped in a filthy rotting rag. The constant itch of insects burrowing has become as familiar as your old front door, a lifetime ago. In this cell of granite you once waited. But waiting became existence. The universe, once theorized to be infinite and forever, is the size of an outhouse, and smells like it. Hope has faded, like the carved notches in the wall that once kept time. Until you gave up and noosed your sheets like the last tie you would ever wear - first blind date with destiny (but was it ever asleep?)

“Stop resisting arrest or I will TAKE YOU DOWN!”

Behind the barking cop a streetlamp in this parking lot shines down and the man’s eyes are like caves in mountainsides. Honor the slaves and the bed-sheet-suicides. Vomit your pride and bridge the divide for those that could not.
You are not one of them.

You are a dove with broken wings.

The red of your blood surprises you. Your bruises are sunset black and blue.

“They can’t be trusted.” Casual coffee conversations at 3am.

Too black. Too strong. Quell the uprising before it begins.

“KKKhh 207 in progress.” The police scanner scratches, softly, like a dusty AM radio. Another robbery. This city is oozing with low-lifes. Scum. Cigarette-butts and broken-glass. Gutter-dwelling-criminals and month-old-trash. Wife-beaters, gang-bangers, pede-philes, dope-dealers.

And people say we’re using too much force!

“Just once, Murphy. Just once I’d like to see one of those greasy tree-huggers have to deal with a wacked out meth freak waving a gun around a toddler. Then we could have an honest discussion about a citizens’ rights.”

Murphy slips the transmission into drive and pulls out from the curb.

“We all have roles to play,” Sirens and cherries engage. “If nothing else, remember that. We all have roles to play.”

KKKhhKKKhhKKKhh!!!

50,000 volts of sanctioned torture. In an alien Vancouver baggage terminal, the foreigner is confused and scared. The terminally ill old man clutches a plastic knife in his hospital bed. The autistic boy is overwhelmed and unable to communicate properly.

The tightly woven rope of society that we all cling to unravels. We’re moving faster than our feet can travel. Summer has faded into autumn. Our hands burn as we slide down towards the loose frayed ends at the bottom.

Taser death tolls are rising; but so is the dawn of a new day.

Call me a traditionalist. Call me whatever you like.

But what ever happened to the friendly policeman walking the beat in our parents’ neighborhoods? The one treated with respect by everyone in the neighborhood - not out of fear - but rather from a sense of admiration and welcome for the heightened sense of security that ensued in the wake of his presence.

What ever happened to hands in the air?

The state of fear has risen like a glass of moonshine filled. Humans are intoxicated by power. Humans are terrified of each other. We’ve become enemies. Drunk lost in a funhouse full of mirrors, twisted and askew. We walk on eggshells and watch for the feather trail they left through drips of tar. Tilt blurry eyes up to the sky and wish upon a shooting star. Flash-froze friends holding daisies watch the world spin behind ice. Silently urging our global clan to act nice. The choice is ours. Do we heed their advice, or do we tremble our hands over a nuclear device?

Somewhere, off in the distance, a giant post-historic geese awakens (but was it ever asleep?)

2:17am | URL: http://tumblr.com/ZoXKUyDaTCy

Filed under: short story surreal taser police slavery

October 29, 2009