Building Blocs:#2 "Homemakin'"

Parenting, Movement & Little Folk

Final l y, the second issue of Bui lding Blocs is here!

Perhaps now I ' m a parent more than ever before homemaking

is vi tal ly important to me. That is, homemaking in a very

broad sense, cri tical of the often gendered labour associated

with this creating and homemaking which takes place at

varied geographical scales. Homemaking can be the work of

providing housing certainty, something that has become

increasingly difficul t for so many due to financial crises,

armed confl ict, the steal ing of traditional lands and cl imate

change, but is also the si te of important struggles for justice.

Homemaking is also the work of creating the kind of communities, countries and worl ds

we want to l ive in and determining how they are governed.

Issue #2 ' Homemakin' ' has contributions that address some of these varied aspects of

homemaking, from the pol i tics and practical i ties of share housing in Austral ia and the US,

to the revolutionary struggles to create new forms of government and l iving in Egypt.

Thanks to al l this issue' s contributors for sharing their reflections and experiences.

Lara (Oct 1 1 )

Cover Art by Lara Daley.

Contents"Homemakin'"

Articles1 Growing La Casa: Homemaking in a House of Many by Lara Daley

9 Going Nuclear by Connie Muri l lo

12 Notes from a Revolution by Mai ' a Wil l iams

27 Loving on Share Housing (and John Dog) by Sonny Boy

Comic25 'Under One Roof' - a comic by Adam Wolfenden

Reviews31 How to Talk so Kids will Listen & Listen so Kids will Talk by Adam Wol fenden

Mix Tape24 Bake Mix by Muci l

Miscellanea34 Cal l -outs/Notices/Announcements/Other

Contributors35

24

I l ive in a wonderful col lectivi ty cal l ed La

Casa. I t exists beyond the ordinary

confines of share-house l iving and is a

project of sorts, not quite a community,

but possibl y on its way. For me

community does not pre-exist, i t has to be

bui l t. A grassroots community in this sense

is ‘a group of people that are part of a

common geographical space who share

some common needs, goals, and values

and l ook out for each other' s wel l -beings.

A community is not just a network, a

neighbourhood, a scene, or a school ’ (3 ).

In truth, I am not real ly sure what this

place is that I l ive, but amongst the many

things that i t i s and isn’t, i t i s where I make

my home and is also the home of my

daughter, R, her Dad, A and 1 2

permanent and 2 occasional housemates.

La Casa has existed for 2 .5 years and

started when a network of pol i tical ly

active people in Newcastle sought a way

to purchase a house to support their

involvement in pol i tical work. Not having

the capital themsel ves, an individual

comrade and friend, was able to purchase

the pl ace. The property is now rented

from that person with an unorthodox

sharing of responsibi l i ties for maintaining

Growing La Casa: homemaking in ahouse of many

by Lara Daley

Most importantly, we cannot build an alternative society and a strong self-reproducing

movement unless we redefine our reproduction in a more cooperative way and put to an

end the separation between the personal and the political, and political activism and the

reproduction of everyday life’ - Silvia Federici (1 )

‘Building an urban common also involves much more than capturing land and assets,

although this is essential. It also requires the ability to control and imagine governance in

new ways. ’ - Paul Chatterton (2 )

1

and improving the property. This involves

the unstructured sharing of labour

(physical and creative) and investment

(financial , emotional and pol i tical ) that

goes into bui lding and sustaining the hive

of social relations and projects that make

up La Casa, also including projects that

involve non-residents. However, the

longer version of that story wi l l have to

wait for another time!

This is the second time I have made my

home at La Casa. The first time A and I

had just returned from overseas, were kind

of new to the city, jobl ess and pregnant. I

was real ly anxious about finding

somewhere to l ive. The rental market is

tough on renters and with both of us on

Centrel ink payments (welfare), I didn’t l ike

our chances securing a place to l ive

easi ly. Being pregnant only seemed to

raise the stakes. In Austral ia, housing

affordabi l i ty stress is calculated on a

‘3 0/40 rule, meaning those spending more

than 3 0 per cent of their income on

housing, whi le earning in the bottom 40

per cent of the income range’ are

considered to be experiencing housing

stress (4). In 2 002 -03 , 862 000 lower-

income households were experiencing

housing stress, comprising 1 5 .8 per cent

of al l Austral ian households and 2 8.2 per

cent of low-income househol ds. I t has

al so been found that households with

dependent chi ldren are at greatest risk of

spending prol onged periods of time in

housing stress (5 ). I l ike any parent wanted

to find somewhere safe (in a broad sense

of the term), comfortable and affordable to

raise my kid. The first place we checked

out confirmed my fears about the

competi tiveness of l imited and expensive

housing. I t was more than we coul d afford

on our own (we real l y needed to share to

l ive in a house and in easy distance from

amenities) and there were at least 40 other

people there at the viewing.

Serendipi tousl y some folks we knew said

there were rooms going at a share- house

that had been set up 6 months prior. We

checked it out and I was rel ieved when in

2

response to my pregnancy those present

proclaimed “we love babies! ”. I think my

anxiety about reveal ing my pregnancy to

our potential housemates and my concern

that i t might mean we couldn’t l ive there

is tel l ing of a wider exclusionary atti tude

towards people with kids in “activist” and

“radical” circles. An atti tude that

constructs “activism” and parenting as

mutual l y exclusive, individual ises

responsibi l i ty (simi l ar to the pol i tical

right), i s ageist, and emphasises

population over consumption and global

inequal i ty as the cause of environmental

and resource pressures. However, the folk

we knew in town have had babies in their

midst before and appeared to me as loving

and supportive of them and their

caregivers.

Six or so months later R was born and

shortl y afterwards A, R and I shipped off

overseas for 7 months. Upon our return

we were back in more or less the same

situation. A was sti l l working for a

community organisation based overseas so

was ful l -time, but on a Pacific Island wage

and I was receiving a parenting payment

from Centrel ink. We had enjoyed some

time to ourselves with R overseas, but

were keen to get back to share-house

l iving for financial , pol i tical and social

reasons. Fortunatel y, our timing was right

and La Casans were able to have us back.

I cannot emphasise enough how much I

love l iving with lots of people whi l st

raising a l i ttle one. Firstly, and perhaps

most obviously, i t helps enormously with

breaking down the social isolation of

being a parent. Some days when I was on

my own at home with R in another

country the isolation was crushing. At La

Casa R is surrounded by more loving

adul ts than most kids in dominant

Austral ian cul tures and this means there is

usual l y someone with energy and a game

to pl ay, sufficient distractions to diffuse

the occasional toddler grumps, more

peopl e to share the domestic labour, and

someone to hang with her whi l st A or I

need to get something done or just need a

l i ttle time to ourselves. Some of my

housemates are even hel ping out with her

care on a regular basis since I ’ve gone

back to uni and wasn’t able to find

enough avai lable chi ldcare hours in ei ther

centres or fami ly day care in our ci ty

(indicative of a more general ised shortage

of care) (6).

I t has also been such a joy to see how R

3

and her various housemates have

developed their own relationships. One of

my favouri te things has been to hear the

way housemates talk about R to each

other. When someone is away from home

for a whi le, upon their return I often

overhear other housemates rel ating stories

of R’s burgeoning personal i ty and

developments, just l ike proud parents. A

and I often comment to each other about

how great i t i s that R has her own l i fe with

other trusted adul ts outside of our fami l ial

relationships. I feel this is something that is

enriching her l i fe

experience now and

wil l continue to do so

as she grows, learning

to relate to different

people and share in

their activi ties and

ways of seeing the world. I al so see this as

a model for a world in which not

everyone needs to procreate to have close

relationships with l i ttle folk and multiple

generations.

However, not everything is made perfect

or easier day-to-day by l iving in a large

share-house. Some of the isol ation is sti l l

there due to the differing real i ties of

parents/caregivers and non-

parents/caregivers, meaning that the level

of camaraderie shared is different. R, A

and I have had to make changes to the

way we do things to try and fi t in with the

other activi ties and needs in the house.

Most notable are trying to be conscious of

cl eaning up swiftl y after R so that the

common spaces don’t become

dysfunctional for others to use due to a

pi le of colourful blocs in the day and

trying to keep night waking noise to a

minimum so as not disturb sleeping

housemates at night. There is also a

disparate investment in the general

cl eanl iness and safety of the house

between my housemates and mysel f (and

A) due to the differing needs of our being

directly responsibl e for a l i ttle person. I

find that this dynamic

can exacerbate the

amount of domestic

l abour I do versus

other forms of labour

at La Casa, labour that

is gendered l abour as

i t fal l s in l ine with traditional female roles,

both distinct from and synonymous with

traditional maternal rol es. Another issue is

sharing a rel atively smal l amount of space,

with one room for the three of us and with

common areas shared by 1 5. So far, the

most chal lenging thing about this for me

has been the l ack of private space to go to

of an evening once R is asleep in our

room. This is particul arly chal l enging if I

need some down time after an exhausting

day (or sleep deprived night/s) or i f A and I

want some time al one together.

This brings me to one of the quirks of La

Casa that impacts the viabi l i ty of our

I often overhear otherhousemates relating storiesof R's burgeoning personalityand developments, just like a

proud parents.

4

fami ly’s continued homemaking here.

Whi l st R was born here and it never

presented as an issue then, when the

decision was being made as to whether

we could move in this time, some of the

residents were concerned about having to

make changes to La Casa to accommodate

a l i ttl e person that would affect the

activi ties of La Casa and its residents too

much. So the decision was made that we

coul d move in, incorporating the differing

concerns about having to change

things.This decision is of course

remembered and interpreted differently

amongst the 1 2 housemates our fami ly

l ives with. On one end of the spectrum it

is viewed that the house was not going to

change anything, save for being mindful of

noise level s and sharp objects. On the

other end, that changes around R' s needs

woul d be discussed and decided upon

when they arise. However, the persisting

issue is that al though not necessari ly the

majori ty viewpoint in the house, when the

decision is formal ly raised it is

predominantly the former view of the

decision being evoked.

Another issue with this quirk is that La

Casa not changing due to our needs was

never articulated in such a defini tive way

to A or mysel f as a condition of our

residency and it unfairly (even if

unconsciously) singles out the needs of

parents/caregivers/kids as inferior to the

other needs of current and future residents

of La Casa.

Unfortunately, this decision has resurfaced

on mul tiple occasions as La Casa faces the

changing needs of my fami ly and other

housemates, as a kind of informal “no

change” pol icy when it comes to our

fami ly’s needs. This creates a hosti le

environment for me as a parent and

undermines my confidence and abi l i ty to

raise concerns or needs I may have in the

house. I would go so far as to say so when

we al low this informal pol icy at La Casa

we create a two-tiered system between

legitimate housemate needs and

i l legi timate ones. Perhaps most

5

importantly, the atti tude of the pol icy is at

odds with the day-to-day love and

generosi ty that people show R. Most

problematic in a broader sense, is that i t

casts l i ttle folk and their caregivers as a

burden on the col lective (just as the

pol i tical right say about welfare recipients

being a burden on society), rather than

l i ttle folk/caregivers being able to add

something unique to the group, which I

think most (i f not al l ) my housemates

would recognise.

In our fami ly’s particular case this informal

“no change” pol icy has also played into

narratives, which have been constructed

at La Casa through various

miscommunications, where our fami ly is

incorrectly seen as asking to be financial ly

subsidised (through lower rent) in a house

that is intended for “activists”, La Casa

being open to subsidising on the basis of

the latter. I take issue with this narrative

on a number of counts, but beyond the

personal ised, i t i s the notion of an

“activist” house that I think worth

discussing when thinking about

homemaking and our pol i tical work.

La Casa as a project is for the greater part

conceived of as an “activist” house, with

the vision of providing cheap rent to

“activists”. The idea being, that by

providing housing at lower than market

val ue rent (and by capital ising on

economies of scale when it comes to bi l l s,

house improvements and domestic labour)

i t wi l l support the activism of the

residents. There are two tensions that arise

from this vision, the first being what is an

“activist” and the second being whether

the aim is to support l i fetimes of activism

or more simply provide shorter-term

accommodation to people whi l st their

l ives al low for particul ar kinds of activism,

al l of which are contingent upon what one

views to be consti tuted as activism.

At present there are different

interpretations of what an “activist” is

6

depending on varying subjectivi ties in the

house. For example, my use of inverted

commas throughout this article when

talking about “activist” highl ights my

particul ar disdain for the word. The reason

being that I see it as something that

general ly values particular forms of

pol i tical work over others, encourages

judging people as “activist” enough,

ideal ises a group of people as superior or

separate to the rest of the population and

makes working towards social change a

special ised activi ty. General ly, having

differing ideas of what an “activist” is

functions as an enriching aspect of La

Casa, in that i t provides flexibi l i ty and

openness around who can l ive here and

how residents engage in pol i tical work,

but i t can also makes things problematic,

when narrower interpretations are

mobi l i sed (even if only by some) to judge

another residents worthiness to l ive or

participate ful ly in La Casa. This is

something that I as a parent not currently

engaged in any campaigning or

organising, (largely, but not solely due to

my chi ldrearing responsibi l i ties) have

experienced.

This brings me to the second tension in La

Casa’s vision of whether the project seeks

to support a l i fetime of activism, or

provide accommodation for people

engaged in forms of activism that are,

under most circumstances, onl y viable

periodical l y in l i fe. Whi lst La Casa goes

one step in supporting pol i tical work

through cheap rent, i f we cannot al low for

peopl e’s continual ly changing l ives and

needs, for people to take “time out” to

care for others or themselves, for people

to take stock of their pol i tics and actions,

or to be kids and young people who

contribute something very different to our

col lectivi ties, then we are l imited in our

abi l i ty to support intergenerational

learning and multigenerational pol i tical

work at La Casa.

My personal hope is that my traditional

fami ly unit and our larger La Casa fami ly

can come up with creative ways to

accommodate the changing needs of us as

parents and R as a l i ttle person, as wel l as

the needs of everyone else l iving here, so

that we can stay long-term and continue

7

to contribute to the col lective

homemaking and pol i tical work at La

Casa. My hope for La Casa is that we can

transform our col lectivi ty into a

community. A community in which we

concretely take responsibi l i ty for each

other, and ourselves; support l i fetimes of

varied pol i tical work; create our own

democratic decsision-making; and bui l d

and maintain relationships of mutual aid

with the pol i tical and social networks

beyond La Casa. Al l in the hope that we

can be both humble and dignified in our

rebel l ion.

1 . “Feminism and the Pol i tics of the Commons in an

Era of Primitive Accumulation” in Uses of a

Whirlwind: Movement, Movements, and

Contemporary Radical Currents in the United States,

Team Colors Col lective, eds. Oakland: AK Press,

2 01 0

2 . “Seeking the Urban Common: Furthering the

Debate on Spatial Justice” in City 1 4:6 (2 01 0): 62 5-

62 8

3 . Matt Hern (Field Day), quoted in

http://dothisal lday.org/resources/

4. AHURI , “Housing Affordabi l i ty” page

http://www.ahuri .edu.au/themes/housing_affordabi l i t

y/ accessed August 2 01 1

5 . ibid.

6. For the readers outside Austral ia, the most

common forms of mainstream chi ldcare services are

centres and fami ly day care. There are both non-

profi t and for-profi t centres and fami ly day care is

where a person provides paid chi ldcare services in

their home for a smal l number of chi ldren. The

government provides some funding to chi ldcare

services as wel l as a variety of individual fami ly

support payments to assist in the cost of chi ldcare.

Theoretical ly those with greatest financial /social

need would get the most assistance and priori ty

places. Another article for another time!

Photos of La Casa and Casans with R by Nic and A.

8

In 2 005 , I took one step closer to real izing

my l i fe long goal - to l ive in a sel f-

sustaining community of people who

cared for each other - each offering their

personal gifts to the whole. I l ived as a

member of the Confluence Col lective and

its several mutations unti l moving in with

the only other anarchist parenting couple

in town, forming the Black Diaper

Col l ective in 2 009. The Black Diaper

Col l ective was made up of two hetero

couples and their three babies. We l ived

as a fami ly, took care of each other,

shared resources, bi l l s, etc. as fami l ies

general ly would l iving under one roof.

I love l iving col l ectively. Not only does i t

help out financial ly, but having others

around to share company, househol d

chores and chi ldcare was much

appreciated. I t defini tely takes work to

make sure everyone’s needs are being

met, but to me, the returns are worth i t.

I enjoy big dinners being cooked for each

other, doing ‘fami ly’ activi ties together,

and being a part of the l i fe of chi ldren that

aren’t mine, whom I love as if they were.

In today’s society, i t seems the nuclear

model is popular and enforced, as i f the

only important people were mother and

father to the chi ld. When l iving

col lectivel y there is a shared responsibi l i ty

for the raising of the chi ldren and a

general understanding of how we’d l ike

the chi ldren to be raised. I would l ike my

chi ldren to know that ‘fami ly’ means more

than just a mother, father and chi ldren.

Our ‘fami ly’ includes many more than just

who we l ive with and who our blood

relatives are.

With l i ttle input on my behalf, the Black

Diaper Col lective broke up in December

2 01 0. I found mysel f needing to bui ld and

strengthen a nuclear fami ly household.

After l iving col l ectively, I ’d never thought

9

Going Nuclearby Connie Murillo

I ’d go back to a nuclear fami l y setting, but

that’s how it’s worked out. We (me, my

sons, and my partner) started l iving in a

one bedroom duplex to save money, but

being there for six months took its tol l on

al l of our relationships - i t was hard to get

al l of our needs met insofar as personal

time and the work that needs to be

completed when chi ldren weren’t in the

house. My partner is an artist. Much of his

work requires concentration and si l ence.

That’s hard in a one bedroom house,

especial ly in the winter, when it was

much harder to take the boys out of the

house. I t fel t as i f there

was no breathing space

for anyone and was much

more constrained than the

previous col lective

si tuations we had been in.

So when it became clear the BDC was

real ly dead, I made al ternative plans to

find a suitable place for our fami ly - one

with a lot more space. This was a decision

made out of necessi ty not of want for a

nuclear l iving space.

I t was a rough start. My partner, Q, and I

went through some difficul t times in our

relationship, we stuck it out and our

relationship is better for i t. I find mysel f

questioning my role and my place in our

more spread out ‘community, ’ . I ’m feel ing

a bit more alone now - l ike I took a step

backwards from the goal I was working

on. But at the same time, the new home

that we’ve bui l t for our fami ly is working

out. Schedul es are focused on so that my

partner and I get the time we need, the

boys get to stay home with Q whi le I

work, so paying for chi ldcare is not an

issue - I don’t know what we’d do if we

did have to pay for chi ldcare. We actual ly

have space in our new home for private

time - that hel ps immensel y. We’re not

l iving on top of each other anymore.

The move was defini tel y a transi tion for

my sons. Having l ived most their l ives

with R, our parenting

friends’ daughter, they

didn’t understand why we

didn’t l ive with her

anymore or why we don’t

see her everyday. I t was

interesting to navigate these l inguistic

waters when it came to the chi ldren.

Questions have been brought up as to

“why we don’t l ive with R anymore” and

“why we don’t just switch houses”, and

more. I t took some time, but they now

understand that they don’t l ive with R

anymore and we can visi t when possible. I

hadn’t real l y expl ained l iving si tuations or

anything with boys beyond, “we don’t l ive

together anymore.” I t’s sti l l a hurtful

subject for me and I ’m not sure how to

answer the boys’ inquiries. Eight months

l ater, Nicolai ‘cal l s’ R and talks to her on

his phone. Sometimes he uses my phone

to cal l her and leave messages or texts her

Despite my initialreservations, nuclear

living isn't as difficult asI thought it would be.

10

to say ' hi ' .

Despite my ini tial reservations, nuclear

l iving isn’t as difficul t as I thought i t would

be. I love col lective l iving because I l ove

being around people. I wasn’t in i t for the

help I received. I enjoy the time we get

together and sharing our l ives together -

l ike fami ly, but I al so enjoy the l i fe and

home Q and I have bui l t together. This

defini tely isn’t an end to my desire to l ive

col lectivel y, but i t’s working out for now

and for the time being I wi l l have to find

other ways to work towards and manifest

my l i fe goal - where ever that takes us.

Artwork by Pat Grant

11

January 25thI spend most of Tuesday at home writing.Cal , my partner and a teacher, and Aza,my three year old daughter have the dayoff school , because it' s a national hol iday,Pol ice Day. Cal decides to take her to theprotests downtown. We' ve l ived in Egyptfor two years, and have seen enough' protests' in Cairo. They mainl y consist ofa few dozen or hundred peopl ewandering aimlessly around a squarecarrying signs. But this time it feelsdifferent, I can hear the protests roar intomy bedroom window, as I type on mylaptop. So, in the late afternoon I walk tothe Ni le and the bridges that lead to TahrirSquare to see what' s happening. The riotpol ice' s black trucks l ine the streets andeveryone stands outside of their shops.Crowds of people are walking quickl ydown Tahrir Street toward the square, l ikea badly organized parade.

Aza returns from the protests, into theapartment, strutting her sol id three yearold body. Cal , her father, fol lows behindher.

' Hey baby' , he says to her, ' what aboutthe pol ice?'Hands on her hips, cocks her head ofcurly hair to the side and in a proudsqueak announces, ' Fuck the pol ice! '

I rol l on the bed laughing.

She starts laughing with me, hands on herbel ly, jumping up and down. ' Fuck thepol ice! Fuck the pol ice! '

January 27thI knock on my friends' , Mairead andNiamh' s door. Obada opens i t, leaningagainst the door frame with a sl ight smirk,l ooking the way he looks every Thursdaynight, grey sweater and bl ack pants.

' Hel l yeah! ' I hug him tightly. ' You areout of jai l ' .He grins.' So gl ad to see you. How l ong were youin?'' One day' .' Not bad' .I run my fingers over his fuzzy hair. I

Notes from a Revolutionby Mai'a Williams

12

never ask people what i t was l ike in jai l inEgypt. We stand in the yel low kitchen,with Mairead and Naimh, drinking Stel labeer out of green bottles, as he tel l s thestory of January 2 5th ' I just want Mubarakgone. You know in my whole l i fe I havenever known another president. Al l I haveever known is Mubarak' . I ' ve never seenhim this excited, there' s fi re in his eyes.' There are no leaders at the protest' , hetel l s me, ' everyone is free' . ' We are goingto create a free Egypt' .

In the nine months I have known him, Ihave never heard him talk pol i tics orrevolution. Usual ly his conversationsrevolved around parties, girl s, hash, beer,and fi lms.

' Yes' , I say, ' you never know who theleaders are unti l after the revolution' .

January 28thThe next afternoon, I meet Cal and Jo infront of Stel la bar next to Talaat HarbSquare. Stel la is closed, so we go toFel fela restaurant and drink a beer whi lewe wait for the protest to get started.

There has been no cel l service for the pasttwelve hours. This morning I woke upwith no internet. I look at Jo, ' This isgoing to be bad. The Egyptiangovernment doesn' t want anyone to beable to talk to each other or to the outsideworld. ' Jo nods.

Right now her five year old daughter,Greer, is playing with Aza in Jo andGreer' s apartment in Maadi , aneighborhood on the other side of thecity. The three of us have worked in theWest Bank with the same human rightsNGO' s. We' ve simi lar instincts. But neverdid the Israel i government cut off cel lphone or internet service. I can barel ydrink and leave ¾ of the beer untouched.' We' l l stay in the back of the protests. I ' mnot real l y trying to get tear gassed orarrested. '

An hour later, my chest, nose and throatare burning. Every time Cal and I turn acorner to get away from one wave of teargas we crash into another one. Men,women and chi ldren drag their bodiesthrough the streets, scarves over theirfaces, tissue stuffed into their nostri l s, bentover coughing the mucus out of theirlungs.

We are looking for a taxi to take us toZamalek, a swanky neighborhood on oneof the Ni le' s islands. From Zamalek weplan to cross over July 2 6th bridge andfind out why the pol ice wouldn' t let usnear July 2 6th street. Al l we could seewas heavy smoke drifting over the officers'heads, as they tapped their clubs on theblack tar and yel led at us us to go home.' Nothing is going on! ' they insist,' Nothing. '

13

A black taxi stops in front of Cal . ' 2 5pounds' he says. Any other day, wewould pay 5 pounds for the same ride, butwe hop in the car and ride through thestreets. The driver has a wi ld smi l e,steering with his right hand, the left handsnapping pictures on his cel l phone. ' Bus,bus' he says pointing at a bui lding on fire.The smoke rol l s out of the upper storywindows. Pol ice men beat the taxi hood,tel l ing the driver to ' go, go' . He arguesback with them and laughs. ' Oh my god,Cal , this is the best taxi driver ever. EverThis is so worth 2 5 pounds' .

' Oh shit' , Cal points at the windshield, theprotesters have taken over part of thebridge. We are on 2 6th of July bridge, tothe left of us are pol ice barricades and riotpol ice in black uniforms. In front of us areprotesters who have set up their ownbarricades and checkpoints. They wave usthrough the checkpoint. The taxi driverdrops us off on July 2 6th street in front ofone of our favori te bookstores. We runover to the steps of the bridge and makeour way up to the hundreds and thousandsof people on top. I start to laugh at theincongruity. Zamalek, an upper classneighborhood in Cairo, l i ttered with teargas canisters and kids sporting freshlypressed jeans, si lk/cotton scarves, andshiny backpacks with fists raised marchingacross the bridge toward the pol ice.Suddenly, the rush of the crowd turnsagainst Cal and I , tear gas screech throughthe air and then descends the fami l iarclouds of smoke. Cal grabs my hand andwe race across the bridge. A tear gascanister lands less than a foot away fromme. I cant breathe, I cant breathe, and Icough and cough.

A couple of men pul l us aside and wash

water in Cal ' s eyes, infl amed and cl osed.One of them pul l s out a Coca Cola bottleand says, ' take take' . I shake myhead—l ast thing I need right now is aCoke. He cups my hands together andpours some coke into them. I take a sip.No, he says, and he pushes my palms tomy nose. ' Breathe. Breathe. '' What?'He puts the coke into my nostri l s. Iinhale. My nose and throat begin to cooldown.' You okay?' They ask us.' Yeah thanks' . Their backs disappear intothe crowd.

The dusk cal l to prayer has rung over thestreets of Zamal ek. The sky is indigo andthe horizon is orange and grey withsmoke. Curfew began 1 5 minutes agoand we need to get to the other side of thecity, to Maadi , to get Aza. Taxis pass by usful l of people. We stand under the bridgethat had been our battle ground an hourbefore. The streets are cl earing. The sunhas set and the air is growing dark.Cal stands in the street, flags down a taxi .

I look gui l ti ly at the elderly l ady in hi jab,her arms ful l of bulky black plastic bags,

14

she' s al so trying to hai l a taxi . I f i t hadbeen any other time, I would have let hertake the taxi that stopped for us. But, mydaughter is in Maadi with a babysi tter andwe can' t cal l her to see if she' s safe. Wecan' t cal l anyone to know what hashappened in Maadi . I close the taxi doorand l isten to Cal give the address to Jo' shouse.

We ride over the highways, throughneighborhoods, backstreets, no streets,tyre fires in the middle of the road. Thesidewal ks are either empty or crowdedwith people. Everywherewe look there is anotherfi re, a bui lding. A car.Pi les of wood and debris.

The entire ci ty is ablaze.The smel l of tear gasl ingers in the air. The Ni leis maroon, reflecting theflames leaping out ofbui ldings. I try to takepictures on my blackberry but al l I see on the screen is shadows and blurred l ights.

We arrive an hour later to Maadi , Jo' sal ready home. Aza' s playing Barbies withGreer in the playroom. They hide in atent, pretend to be princesses and squealat each others' funny faces. Jo pul l s outthe bottl es of red wine and importedl iquor and offers me a drink. ' I t took menearly fours to get from downtown tohere. ' she says, pul l ing her waist-lengthhair into a bun.

Al Jazeera Engl ish plays in the l iving room,images quickly flash on the screen. Cairo,Alexandria, Sinai , Aswan. Streets aflame,riot trucks overturned, men carrying gunsand knives, crowds chanting, ' Free Egypt! '

' Mubarak is done' , I say. This is i t. Thecity is on fire.

I finish my second glass of wine, Calmakes me a sandwich, and the three of usparents watch the news, fl ipping fromCNN to BBC and then back to Al Jazeera.We take turns going to the balcony tosmoke cigarettes and l isten to the not-so-distant shouts from nearby streets. Therapid sounds of gunpowder meeting firebegin. ' Are those fireworks or bul lets?' weask each other, hoping someone wil l say,

fi reworks. Sharp cuts ofsound breaking into ournervous conversations.

For the next few days,Jo, Cal , Aza, Greer and Ibecome a smal lcommunity, sharing thecash that we have (sinceal l the banks are cl osed),food, chi l dcare,cigarettes. We sleep,

watch the girl s, and go downtown inshifts. Greer and Aza entertain each other,whi le we adul ts try to maintain somesense of normalcy for them and us in thisnew world.

January 29thCal and I walk from Jo' s house in Maadi tothe Ni l e, escorted by a young vigi lantewith a bald head and a large stick. Anolder man stops us. ' I t' s dangerous on thestreets at night. I advise you to go backhome. ' I look him in the eye. ' Thanks forthe advice' I say and keep walking.Every few streets we pass another bonfire,a few men gathered around, sticks inhand. Ready.Looters have been attackingprivate homes for the past coupl e of days.

For the next few days, Jo,Cal, Aza, Greer and I

become a smallcommunity, sharing thecash that we have, food,childcare, cigarettes. Wesleep, watch the girls, andgo downtown in shifts.

15

We hear gunshots at night interspersedwith protest chants. There are rumors thatthe looters are member of the secretpol ice, that Mubarak is trying to createinstabi l i ty so that his rul e seems morepalatable than freedom.

At the Ni le, a couple of guys, no olderthan 2 1 , one, with a golf club and aperfect North American accent, offer tocatch us a taxi . They stop every car thatpasses, check the drivers ID, open thetrunk, and if i t i s a taxi , ask if they can takeus home to Doqqi . 1 5 mins later we' ve gota ride.

We stop for at least 2 0 checkpoints, oneevery ¼ to ½ ki lometer. The vigi lantessmi le at us, apologize for theinconvenience, ‘i t' s for peace’, we smi l eback, ' salam waleikum' , and watch theteenage boys, fathers, and evengrandfathers ,with grey hair and sl owersteps, rest their wooden sticks, basebal lbats, or metal poles over their shouldersand wave goodbye to us.

As we arrive in our neighborhood, Doqqi ,we pass by a concrete wal l with the wordsscrawled in indigo ink, Game Over,Mubarak. Our neighborhood vigi lantewaves us through the checkpoint andteenage boys resume playing midnightfootbal l on the empty street behind us.

January 30thIn a taxi on our way to Maadi , we drive bymen, tied up on the side of the road, whi lea group of men beat them with sticks. Ilook, but can' t see. My mouth hangs open.I try to cough. The car window is closed.

I don' t know if the men on the ground

were looters, or some of the 1 2 ,000escaped criminals from the prisons, orinnocents in the wrong place at the wrongtime. I don' t know what the process wasto determine their punishment or whathappened to them afterward.

As much as I love staying with Jo andGreer, Maadi isn' t my home. I don' t knowthe community, or where anything is. Icrave our apartment in Doqqi , ourneighbors and friends, and being closer toTahrir square, so Cal , Aza, and I , leave thetree-l ined streets and over-pricedsupermarkets of Maadi and move back toDoqqi ' s trash-l ined sidewalks. Men andboys si t outside of our apartment bui ldingat night, in front of fi res, carrying sticksand cel l phones to protect their fami l iesand us from looters and pro-governmentpaid thugs. Another mutual friend, Joel le,moves to Maadi from downtown andstayed with Jo and Greer. A few daysl ater, Jo, Greer and Joel le leave Cairo, andhead to the north of Egypt, to the Sinai ,where there is l i ttle viol ence but beauti ful

Mediterranean beaches.

My right knee aches constantly. I sprainedit, running away from the tear gas andrubber bul lets on the Jul y 2 6th bridge. Idrink alcohol , smoke hash, swal l owibuprofen to numb the pain, but we l iveon the fi fth fl oor and going up and downfive fl ights of stairs is so hard. I stop atevery floor, cupping my knee andbreathing through the ache.

16

' What' s wrong Mama?'' My knee hurts. '' Why does i t hurt?'' Because the pol ice shot at me. '' The pol ice hurt your knee?'' Kind of. . .when they were shooting. . . '' Why did the pol ice shoot you?'' Because I was on the bridge and thepol ice wanted me to leave. '' Why?'' Because they didn' t l ike what peoplewere doing on the bridge. '' The pol ice don' t l ike you?'' Not real ly. '' Why don' t the pol ice l ike you?'' Because Mama bel ieves in freedom,mi ja. '

February 1stAza and I dance in Tahrir Squaresurrounded by a sea and rivers of people,protest signs in Engl ish and Arabic, tents,blankets, parades, applause, chants,laughter, singing, and prayer. Aza jumpsup and down in a puffy pink winter coat,Mama, I l ike this party! I l ike this party!This is a celebration of freedom, afreedom worth more than securi ty, safety,and i l lusionary peace.Over a mi l l ion people in this place, withone message.Leave, Mubarak. Now.

February 4thObada traces his finger along a red gashon the side of his neck.' How?' I ask.' A stone came for me and I didn’t see itcoming. I try to cover i t up' , he says as hemoves his scarf back in place. He hasbeen down at Tahrir Square for the pastthree days, barely sleeping, arrested twice,exhausted but sti l l glowing.

We watch Mubarak on Al Jazeera. Lately,Al Jazeera is always on.

He opens another beer and sinks to thefloor.

Last night, Obada, Mairead and Naimh,I rish el ementary school teachers, Sheri f,Naimh' s boyfriend, Ahmed, Sherif' sbrother, Hani , a high school student, andLouis and Rachel , the American hispterswere wal king home, sl ightly drunk, andwere arrested at midnight by Pro-Mubarakvigi lantes for breaking curfew. They wereheld at the side of the road for four hours.Sheri f and Ahmed begged for mercy andwere beaten and electrocuted. Obadasays that the older man, the leader, whoclaimed to be a pediatrician, was Egyptiansecret pol ice in plainclothes.According to state television, Ni le TV, al lforeigners who are in Egypt are spies whowork for the CIA/Israel i mossad/Iran. Theirony ki l l s.Obada points to me and says, ' You' renext. '' No' , I shake my head, ' I can' t getarrested, I am a mama' .Aza told me, yesterday, that she wasdrawing a picture of the pol ice shootingMama. Sometimes being a mother almostbreaks me.

In the midst of this revolution, of thisfreedom, I ask mysel f i f having Aza here inCairo is the best thing. One by one, ourfriends are evacuating out of the city orthe country. As the days pass more of ourfriends are arrested. What would peoplesay if something happened to Aza? I fviolence came to our door?

A couple of days ago Mubarak said inresponse to the protests, there is a thin l inebetween chaos and freedom. And heseems determined to create chaos. Theentire ci ty l ives off rumors nowadays. Noone is sure who to trust or what Mubarakwi l l do next as he fights for his right tostay on his throne. And I wonder whathappened to that chi ld who pointed outthat the emperor has no clothes. What didthe king do to that chi ld after he returnedto his castle humi l iated. No one ever tel l sthat part of the story.

We don' t have to be here, but leavingseems a worse option than staying. Theairports are overcrowded with people,waiting for days just to get on a fl ight.Being packed with hundreds of nervous,traumatized, fearful people pushing to geton a plane, seems an even worse fate thanl iving in the midst of the revolution.

One thing is clear, that nothing isguaranteed, that l i fe is a risk. For now wefeel safe in our l i ttle neighborhood,surrounded by friends and neighbors. OurEgyptian friends have chosen freedomover securi ty, and whi le my l i ttle fami ly isnot Egyptian, for better or worse, we havemade Cairo our home. Home is what youlove and what you love you are wi l l ing tofight for.

I want Aza, more than anything, to be

19

free. Even at this young age, she islearning that freedom isn' t pretty, but i t i sworth i t.

February 6thAza’s preschool re-opens. Even thoughnearly every other school in Cairo is sti l lclosed, her teachers say that working inthe preschool is their way to supportparents who are protesting on Tahrir. Oneteacher says to Cal , for the first time in myl i fe I am proud to be Egyptian.

Aza comes home from school shouting,' horreya! horreya! freedom! freedom! 'She waves her egyptian flag, marching inthe l iving room and laughing.

In the afternoons, Cal , Aza and I si t on thecouch and watch Al Jazeera. We expl ainto her that the pol ice are the bad guys andthat Mubarak is the ' pol ice' s boss' .' Look, ' I point to the television, ' at al lthose people. You remember you werethere too?'' I t' s the outside party! ' she squeal s. She' sright, Tahrir is l ike a huge outdoor partywhere people are drunk, not on alcohol ,but on the headiness of freedom.

The next day she tel l s me about a dreamshe had. The pol ice were trying to shoother, so she flew up into the air andescaped them. ' Mama' , she says, ' whenthe pol ice shoot you, you have to runaway. Don' t let the pol ice shoot you. '

I laugh. ' Okay, mi ja, I ' l l try not to let thepol ice shoot me. '

February 7thHawary is si tting in our sky blue l ivingroom, a couple of hours before night

curfew starts. To his right is his guitarpropped against his knee, to the left, i s hismetal cane. A knitted Rasta cap on hishead, his torso wrapped in a leatherjacket. On January 2 5 th he was arrestedby the pol ice and kept in jai l for 4 days.The officers just beat his left leg again andagain unti l i t broke. ' I said, man, can youjust beat the other leg? Just stop beatingthe same fucking leg! ' When he got out ofjai l he went to his house, gathered the fewthings he would need, his macbook, hisguitar, his backpack, a change of cl othes,and a bag ful l of coins, his entire savings.' They stole my bl ackberry, man. Myfucking blackberry. I had just bought thatshi t, l ike the day before they arrested me. '

I hand him glasses of wine, and pieces ofsoft black hash. Cal has made stew anddishes him a pl ate, before going into theback room to put Aza to sleep.' Here take another, ' I say, handing himback the joint. He inhales quickly andthen exhales with a deep sigh.' I think we need to l eave Tahrir' , heshakes his head.

20

' Why?'' Look, I tal ked to my brother today. I wenthome and talked to my brother. . . '' Yeah I was wondering what your fami lythought of you being down on Tahrir. Imean your dad is l ike a general orsomething mi l i tary, right?'' Yeah, something l ike that. Yeah my dadwas l ike, we are rich, son. Why are youdown there? And I was l ike, Dad, I ' ve gotto. '' You went down anyways. '' Yeah. I had to. '' But I was talking to my cousin and he wasl ike, no one, and I mean no one, evenunderstands therevolution, you know?'' Tel l me. '' Like, everyone is justgetting annoyed.Annoyed with al l this shi t.They just want theirnormal l ives man. So whyam I down there sufferingfor this shi t?' he passes the joint to me andI exhal e, nodding.

I ' ve heard some of what he' s talkingabout. The number of protesters on Tahrirare getting smal ler. And ' everyday' peopleare beginning to complain about theinconveniences of the revolution. Thetraffic is slow, because the protesters haveoccupied the main square and intersectionof Cairo, Tahrir. Curfew is from 1 0pm to6am. At night vigi lantes patrol the streets,whi l e pro- Mubarak protesters fight anti -Mubarak protesters throughout the city.Businesses are losing money.

Mubarak has promised elections in thefal l , that he won' t run again, and neitherwi l l his son Gamal , who has spent the pastfew years being groomed to be his father' s

replacement. I sn' t that enough, peopleask. What more do these protesters want?They are making this country into chaos,why can' t l i fe go back to normal?

We' re al l weary and worn. Tahrir is sti l l amagical place of freedom and excitement,but on local television, there is thedrumbeat of accusations that theprotesters are being deluded by foreignagents who are paying them 1 00 egyptianpounds per day, and giving them KFCchicken.

The revolutionaries are dividing amongstthemselves. Some aresaying it' s time to leaveTahrir, go home and letthe elections happen.Others say that theyshould leave Tahrir andgo to the localneighborhoods in thecity and drum up

support for the revolution, that maybeoccupying Tahrir has become a burden.

I pass the joint to him and pour himanother glass of red wine. ' Listen, babe, Iknow it' s tough. But i t' s only been twoweeks. And if you quit now, then it' l l beso much worse. Even if Mubarak doesstep down in the fal l , you know and Iknow, this summer Mubarak and thepol ice and the thugs wi l l hunt down everysingle person who ever came to Tahrir.This summer wi l l be so bloody. Mubarakwi l l get his revenge if we let him. Youguys have to finish what you started. Youcan' t hal f-ass a revolution. I know, I knowyou have given so much. I know. And youknow, babe, there is always a couch foryou here, and anything else you need. ButMubarak has to leave. For al l of our sakes.

"Mubarak will get hisrevenge ifwe let him.You guys have to finishwhat you started.You

can't half-ass arevolution."

21

This revolution is too big to stop, thewhole world is watching, and we' l l neverget another chance. '

Hawary leaves a couple of hours later,leaning on his cane as he goes down thefive fl ights of stairs and walks theki lometer to Tahrir Square. I lay on mybed and I want to cry, but I can' t, so Idrink another glass of wine, open the doorto Aza' s room and watch her sleep.

February 11thCal , Aza, and I are riding in the backseatof a taxi to Tahrir Square. After more thantwo weeks of revolution, we have gottenused to the labyrinthine routes the driverstake to get us downtown, avoiding themi l i tary checkpoints that grow morenumerous everyday. The sun is setting andthe cal l to prayer just rang from themosques.Static. And then a 3 0 secondannouncement in arabic. Wait. I must

have heard that wrong. I look at ourdriver through the rearview mirror. Theannouncement plays again. The driver letsout a yelp.' Mubarak?' I ask.' Mubarak is gone! ' He tel l s me.The 3 0 second announcement repeats.Cars' horns blare. A kid runs down thestreet waving a flag and yel l ing. Cars havestopped and everything is rushing to thestreets, to Tahrir, to freedom. We get outof the taxi and join the growing throng ofpeople. Half a dozen boys are skipping

passed us, two middle-aged men arespinning in circles waving flags, an olderl ady is screaming her arms wide open l ikeshe is hugging the moon, a tal l boy runs,carrying a sign that says ' Game Over' . Calscoops Aza onto his shoul ders and wewalk to Tahrir.We won. We actual l y did i t. We broughtdown Mubarak. The city is al ive. And forone night at least, we are free.

22

Post scriptJune 26thThe revolution continues.

The mi l i tary took over the government forthe interim unti l el ections in the fal l . Andwhi l e at fi rst i t seemed to be on the side ofthe revol utionaries, i t soon becameapparent that the mi l i tary is just asoppressive and authori tarian as Mubarakand his pol ice state.

What amazes me sti l l i s to watch how therevolution changed how people viewthemselves. Watching my friends real ize

how powerful they are, how muchstrength i t takes to be free, and howfreedom and justice is worth i t. We tookwhatever we had avai lable and bui l tcommunities, networks of peopl e whohave our backs, and we have theirs. Andwhen Aza talks about the revol ution, ' theoutdoor party' , she cheers and claps herhands and chants, ' horreya! Horreya! '

Freedom.

And I wi l l work for the revolution unti l shel ives in a world that is truly free.

23

Bake Mix TapeA B

Bait of Fish - The Business

This mix is by Mucil, a four year old with numerous music projects, including a

grindcore band called the 'Rataches'. Bake mix is a selection of his finest work.

Drawers of Sticky Tape - Shark

Mountains

Rats Drown in Water - Rataches

Shining Leaves - The Ice Penguins

Little Monkeys - The Business

24

25 26

From what I can gather parenting is, at

least at fi rst, i solating for most peopl e most

of the time. This varies dramatical ly of

course – class and cul ture,

heteronormativi ty or otherwise – there are

a lot of factors that make parenting more

or less l onely.

Regardless of the different circumstances

however, i t i s how labour is structured that

mostly makes this so. First and foremost,

the way in which the labour of parenting

is sti l l structured to primari ly take place in

the private realm, structured around the

ideal of the nuclear fami ly. This

organisation of parenting (domestic)

labour obviously has a powerful cul tural

expression – surprisingly enough, people

real ly dig i t – however i ts economic power

rears i ts ugly pimple in a swift and furious

way as soon as you try to transgress i ts

cul tural power.

When your economic responsibi l i ties

increase (needing more space in which to

l ive, chi ld care, industrial tubs of peanut

butter etc. ) and the amount of labour you

have to exchange for cash decreases

(because of the explosion of the unpaid

labour in your l i fe), suddenly the reasons

so many people choose to l ive l ives in the

vast Austral ian working class suburbs start

to feel al l a l i ttle bit too, wel l , reasonable.

The cheap skanky sharehouse (with only

one room that comes up at a time), casual

work (with no carers leave), relying on

scabbing your mate’s car: al l the things

that can make l i fe that l i ttle bit cheaper

and fl exible and – cough, ‘radical ’ – these

strategies al l start to get that l i ttle bit

harder to achieve.

That your mates and your co-parent are al l

at work (or sti l l asleep) whi le you do the

bulk of your parenting is the other thing

that seems to inescapably make up part of

Loving on Share Housing(and John Dog)

by Sonny Boy

27

the isolating circle of l i fe as viewed from

pride rock.

There is one strategy, however, for trying

to resist these pressures that I ’ve found

over the last few years to be bl oody great.

Share housing. I love share housing with

my kids. Fucking love it.

I know it’s a massive cl iché – as a mate

mentioned, i t’s pretty Brady Bunch – but i f

you can make it work, i t real ly, real ly

works.

Me and my co-parent Eve first discovered

just how good sharehousing with a sprog

could be when we moved into a beauti ful

old house in West Footscray with Ned

(then just over a year old) and our mate

John Dog. John Dog, i f i t weren’t for

l iving with you that year, I don’t know that

I ever would have known just how good it

could be.

I t was real ly, real ly good.

J Dog had been a close friend of mine

since I met him intermittently slugging

whisky, talking continental phi losophy

and booty dancing at some benefi t gig five

years previous, and he and Eve had been

mates even longer.

The idea to l ive together was first floated

when me and the gang had just got back

to Melbourne from a spel l l iving in South

Austral ia, and J Dog was l iving in some

random Brunswick sharehouse with a

tragic up and coming human rights l aw

warrior-princess and the ashamed son of a

disgraced pol i tician. I don’t know the

detai l s of what J Dogs reservations about

our gang were at the time, but suffice to

say they weren’t compel l ing enough to

keep him away.

I t’s not l ike i t was al l smooth sai l ing. We

had other housemates come and go from

the spare room, and there was some

dispute over the droplets of piss on the

floor beside the toi let (you’re wrong about

that, by the way J Dog).

But these difficul ties were kicked to the

curb of an evening as me, J Dog and

Nedlet meandered down past the hospital

to our local supermarket, Big Bad Sims, to

buy Dorri toes and caul i fl ower, and say

hel lo to al l the neighbourhood cats.

J Dog didn’t do much ‘babysi tting’ of Ned,

in that i t wasn’t real ly that often that me

and Eve would go out whi le J Dog and

Ned kicked it in the ‘scray (al though for

al l those times that you did, thanks heaps J

Dog). When he did, i t was often a very

straightforward affair, more or l ess

involving us leaving the house

spontaneously after Ned was already

asleep, J Dog’s responsibi l i ties amounting

to remembering Ned as he was fleeing the

burning house.

28

The real gold was in our day to day l ives

as housemates. The hundred moments

each week that Ned and J Dog would

hang out in the house just doing whatever:

googl e image searches for the hottest new

thing (cows, spaceships etc. ); Ned busting

into J Dog’s homework sessions to

harangue him into playing the piano

together; or racing cars across the kitchen

floor.

Having another grown-up in the house

that l oved him, and loved hanging out

with him was so awesome for Nedlet. He

loved J Dog, and even more than just that,

i t made his l i fe so much more fun. Often

were the nights that ei ther me or Eve

woul d be in the kitchen trying to cook tea

and basical ly tel l ing Ned to suck it in, get

out from underneath our feet and entertain

himsel f, when J Dog would swoop

through the door to excited woops of joy

from Neddie.

I t was al so a transformative experience for

me and Eve, both as co-parents and as

lovers. We weren’t occupying endl ess

domestic hours as a nuclear fami ly. Those

dreary stretches - of a morning and

evening, feeding kids and washing dishes

- were broken up with the presence of our

mate, tel l ing bad jokes and singing the

same l ine from a pop song over and over.

This made it so much easier for us to

demarcate a (precious) non-domestic

space in which to maintain a rel ationship

more about pashing than washing.

I find it precariously exhausting trying to

T-up opportunities to ‘catch up’ with

friends after work or on Dad Day, with

kids in tow. When I don’t, then I run the

risk of quickly spiral l ing down into the

lonely sand pit at the bottom of the

sl ippery dip. I t’s a tricky conundrum. I t

wasn’t a panacea, but whi le I was l iving

29

with J Dog, the whole issue was often

diminished to a debate in Big Bad Sims

over whether spaghetti bolognaise shoul d

have heaps of fancy spices or just a can of

Dolmio. I t’s hard for me to overstate how

important that was for me J Dog (al though

on that question too, you are wrong. I f i t

aint broke, don’t put rosemary in i t).

Eventual ly the social real i ties of our time

caught up with us, and we al l made

decisions that peopl e l ike us do. J Dog

went to Paris chasing an elderly neo-

communist, and me and Ned went to

Sydney chasing Eve.

That time in Footscrasy wi l l always be

with me. In and of i tsel f, i t was a peak

share housing experience: a warm, fun

and functional house that faci l i tated al l of

us l iving our l ives with more oomph. The

whole episode also irredeemably

cemented my conviction to, where it’s

doable, always share house. Especial ly

whi le I ’ve got l i ttl ies.

Our gang has now grown by one Bi l ly

Rose, and we l ive in an inner west Sydney

share house with our crasy and beauti ful

housemate C (Dog) and her 3 y.o. ratbag

Squid (Ned’s ‘house brother’ and room

mate). Again, i t hasn’t been without i ts

chal lenges – a steep learning curve about

the relative meri ts of biting your friends,

for example. Violence aside, so far, true

to form l iving with C and Squid has been

bloody fantastic and I woul dn’t change it

for anything (al though it’s gotta be said,

Stanmore aint no Footscray).

I ’m pretty resistant to ‘radical parenting’.

I t makes me think of teenage mutant ninja

turtles and eating pizza for breakfast.

The notion of a ‘radical community’ i tsel f

kind of makes me squeamish. As a term

it just feels too l imiting, too sel f

consciously about reproducing a one

dimensional and sel f-serving identi ty

instead of grappl ing with the complex,

shifting and imperfect relations that

everybody must negotiate. I al so

associate i t strongl y with some

unfortunate episodes of moral istic (and

sel f righteous) posturing.

Having said that, I am eternal ly grateful

for what my network of mates, comrades

and fel low travel l ers have made possible

for my day to day real i ty. There is heaps

of other possibi l i ties that have been

enabl ed by these crasy people and their

wi l l ingness to take the world by the

horns, but the one that has real ly stood

out for me as a parent, has been the

chance to l ive with a mate and my kids,

and for that to have been such an

amazing experience.

I highly recommend giving it a go.

30

Review by Adam

Communication is such a huge part of

how we can view the world. The methods

and practises of communicating that get

embedded in al l of us shape how we

approach problems, see others, and I

woul d also argue how we view pol i tical

change.

The authors wanted this book to be more

than just a discussion about how

parents/caregivers communicate with

chi ldren, they wanted it to be able to

provide practical exercises so people

could real ly grasp its concepts. The

authors have hosted many a workshop on

communication with chi ldren and see this

book as being something that people can

take away and continue on with the work.

The book itsel f presents i ts point in a

wonderful ly simple, clear, and

entertaining way. The use of comics to

Reviews

31

How to Talk so Kids will Listen & Listen so Kids will Talk

Adele Faber & Elaine Mazlish

demonstrate si tuations is a fantastic idea,

as not only does i t make it easier to fol l ow

but i t takes i t beyond words on a page to

what you could imagine the si tuation

actual ly being. Whi lst I didn' t wri te up

responses to the exercises at the end of

each chapter, they were also a great way

to picture how you would communicate

and begin to re-evaluate. I think this is also

a great attribute of the book, capital i sm

loves to teach us not to empathise, not to

consider other people' s points of view, so

much so that i t can be extremely difficul t

to break the habits of sel f-centred

responding. The exercises in this book are

a good way to start to check ones own

habitual responses to si tuations and al lows

you to see if that' s the way that you

actual ly want to respond.

This book focusses on opening up

communication with kids that takes into

account the point of view that they have.

This approach emphasises encouraging

cooperation, al ternatives to punishment,

helping kids deal with their feel ings, and

freeing chi ldren from playing roles.

I must confess that my l i ttle one isn' t quite

at the ful l blown-l inguistic conversational

age yet and whi l st good communication

habits must be establ ished early, some of

the examples and si tuations that are used

in this book I can' t relate to. I f there' s one

thing I ' ve learnt from my short time being

involved in bringing up l i ttle folk, i t' s that

you don' t real ly know what i t' s l ike unti l

you' re there and I think this has tainted my

view of what some of this book covers.

There were some suggestions for

communicating in this book that I wasn' t

sure that I agreed with, they sometimes

sounded too much l ike directives that

indicated that the parents/caregivers were

always setting the boundaries within

which kids could operate. Whi lst I know

that' s general l y the case and there are

those types of responsibi l i ties that have to

be set, this seemed at times beyond that

and that the ' power' of parents was

coming across. I found Naomi Al dort' s

book on this topic “Raising our Chi ldren,

Raising Ourselves” more in l ine with what

is my preferred approach.

Again, to re-i terate, I ' m not at that stage in

my relationship with my l i ttle one yet so I

guess I ' l l have to go back to the approach

that the book starts with “I was a

wonderful parent before I had chi ldren”. I t

was great to read this book and I think

others should too. Maybe I should write

another review in a couple of years to see

what' s changed under the pressures of

real i ty.

32

Tricycle Zine Distro was created to distribute and inspire the writing of radicalparent/ing* zines and other zines/resources useful to parents, caregivers and al l ies.

I t i s a project that aims to chal lenge the norms of parenting (and other norms l ikegender, race, class, sexual i ty, age, abi l i ty and capital ism) and explore al ternatives;inspire writing as an act of rebel l ion; support radical parenting, pol i tics and action;value parents/ caregivers/ chi ldren as integral to bui lding communities of resistance;create col lective knowledge and networks of support and mutual aid amongst parents,caregivers and their al l ies in Austral ia.

I f you have a zine or resource which you would l ike to distro through Tricycle pleaseemai l tricyclezinedistro@riseup.net For orders or more info go to tricyclezinedistro.org

Some zines in stock:

* Radical Parenting is an imperfect term and is meant here as inclusive and diverse – an

exploration of parenting styles that value respect, trust, autonomy, difference, non-oppression,

learning, love and revolution.

CuntasticFireweed TenaciousDon't Leave Your

Friends Behind

33

MiscellaneaRad Dad: Dispatches from the

Frontiers of Fatherhood

Rad Dad: Dispatches from the Frontiers of

Fatherhood combines the best from the

award-winning zine Rad Dad and from

Daddy Dialectic, two kindred publ ications

that have explored parenting as pol i tical

terri tory. Both have pushed the

conversation around fathering beyond the

safe, apol i tical focus and have worked

hard to create a diverse, mul ti -faceted

space to grapple with the complexity of

fathering.

Today more than ever, fatherhood

demands constant improvisation, risk, and

struggle. With grace, honesty, and

strength, Rad Dad’s writers tackle al l the

issues that other parenting guides are

afraid to touch: the brutal i ties, beauties,

and pol i tics of the birth experience, the

chal lenges of parenting on an equal basis

with mothers, the tests faced by

transgendered and gay fathers, the

emotions of sperm donation, and parental

confrontations with war, violence, racism,

and incarceration. Rad Dad is for every

father out in the real world trying to parent

in ways that are loving, meaningful ,

authentic, and ul timatel y revolutionary.

Contributors Incl ude: Steve Almond, Jack

Amoureux, Mike Araujo, Mark Andersen,

Jeff Chang, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jeff Conant,

Jason Denzin, Cory Doctorow, Craig

El l iott, Chip Gagnon, Keith Hennessy,

David L. Hoyt, Simon Knapus, Ian

MacKaye, Tomas Moniz, Zappa Montag,

Raj Patel , Jeremy Adam Smith, Jason

Sperber, Burke Stansbury, Shawn Tayl or,

Tata, Jeff West, and Mark Whiteley.

Taken from:

http://microcosmpubl ishing.com/catal og/books/

2 2 3 9/

Submit! call outs, announcements, letters,

etc. to this section: email

tricyclezinedistro@riseup.net with subject

heading "miscellanea"

34

Contributors

Adam Wolfenden i s new to being a father and learning a lot in the process. He has

worked on economic global isation issues for a whi l e now and sometimes makes zines, as

wel l as comics, but mostly spends his time perfecting his terribly unfunny ' dad' jokes.

Connie Murillo i s a peace and revol ution-lovin' anarcho-mama, lover to Q, zinester,

bel lydancer, discgolfer, and a working-class col lege graduate. She is a member of

confl uence media col lective and co-founder/co-editor of the red pi l l :

http://www.gjredpi l l .org. Her mama-zine, the peep show wil l soon be resurrected with a

new name yet to be announced, stay tuned.

Lara Daley i s a parent among other things. She has a number of radical parenting related

projects on the run, including Bui lding Blocs, which you can check out at

raisingrebel l ion.wordpress.com or tricyclezinedistro.org

Mai'a Williams i s a visionary healer and media maker. She' s l ived and worked in the

Middle East, southern Mexico, and east Africa with refugee and displaced women under

threat of violence, and has organised and accompanied communities and persons within

the U S/Canadian urban landscape. Living in Cairo, Egypt, she' s a freelance

writer/poet/journal ist/zinester/photographer/performer and outlaw midwife.

Sonny Boy i s a Victorian ex-pat sti l l trying to cope with the badlands of the inner west of

Sydney - how can you be short on short shorts in Apri l ?!

Call forSubmissions

Bui lding Blocs is open to contributions from parents, caregivers, kids and al l ies. The

theme for the next issue is "Spectrums", but don' t let that l imit what you want to share.

How can parents/caregivers support a spectrum of gender identities?

How do you create safer environments for your kid's emerging sexuality?

What has parenting/caregiving brought up around your own gender or sexual identity?

What are your experiences as transfolk and/or queerfolk who are parenting/caregiving?

How do cis-gendered people better support the transfolk parents/cargivers in our midst?

How can straight folks be better allies to queer parents/caregivers?

or contribute to one of the regular segments:

Make a mix tape or review a book/zine/film!

Put together this issue's feature project!

Submit art for the cover!

Deadl ine for submissions is 31 st Jan 201 2 . Please send contributions (of any length) to

tricyclezinedistro@riseup.net with a bio and any pics/images.

Don't miss out! To order copies or to be notified as new issues of Bui l ding Blocs

become avai lable, emai l tricyclezinedistro@riseup.net