Only, In Haiti, I Realized, Is It

Change Is No Threat To Culture.

What Could Be More Lonely Than To Be Enveloped In Silence, To Be The Last Of Your People To Speak Your Native Tongue, To Have No Way To Pass On The Wisdom Of The Elders, To Anticipate The Promise Of The Children. This Tragic Fate Is Indeed The Plight Of Someone Somewhere Roughly Every Two Weeks.

The Problem Is That Those Of Us Sympathetic With The Plight Of Indigenous People View Them As Quaint And Colorful, But Somehow Reduced To Margins Of History As The Real World [(our World)] Moves On We Will Be Known As An Era In Which We Stood By And Either Actively Endorsed Or Passively Accepted The Massive Destruction Of Both Biological And Cultural Diversity On The Planet.

To Have That Powder Blown Up Your Nose Is Rather Like Being Shot Out Of A Rifle Barrel Lined With Baroque Paintings And Landing On A Sea Of Electricity.

Mining In Bc's Sacred Headwaters Is Like Drilling For Oil In The Sistine Chapel