Peter, a former public housing tenant in Werrington in Sydney’s west, talks to Paul Farrell about the campaign of harassment, victimization and death threats he endured from his fellow tenants.

Some people are swapping computer screens for silk screens and stencils and getting their hands dirty in the process. Clarizza Fernandez writes.

Steve Woods and Laura Walsh use an old-school method of screen printing. Image: Orion Mitchell

There’s a do-it-yourself culture rumbling through the inner-Western suburbs of Sydney. At least that’s what 43-year-old designer, printer and director of Arcade Screen Printing, Steve Woods thinks. He believes everyday lives are so computer-centric that people want to go back to “getting their hands dirty”.

“I feel there’s a real movement, especially amongst people 18-30 years old,” he says.

Woods runs a hand screen printing company called Screenhaus, one of only four continuous pattern printers in Australia. His office-studio in St. Peters is an artful mess; a converted warehouse sprinkled with paint and in the middle of this is his office. While most people would run a printing company from a separate room, Woods has no qualms about getting a bit of paint on his keyboard – a clear reflection of his ‘hands-on’ philosophy.

Arcade Screen Printing is the name of Woods’ t-shirt printing and supplies shop. Launched last December, Arcade Screen Printing has been host to a live t-shirt party, screen printing competitions, impromptu gigs and held a number of successful weekend workshops called Arcade Start-Up.

Woods says he started the workshops because he felt there was an elitist attitude attached to printing on textiles and fabric.

“I’m a graphic designer and when I was at university, everybody wanted to print on t-shirts but we found it too hard to do.

“The industry would try and not tell us things because it was all their ‘tricks’ and the whole idea of Arcade is for me to open the door; we show you the tricks that took us years to figure out so [you] can get back to doing the art.”

In fact Woods’ weekend workshops that he runs once a month with apprentice Laura Walsh has seen many creative collaborations; several prints produced at the Arcade Start-Up classes will be featured at the Design Institute of Australia’s annual ‘Interwoven’ exhibition at the Gaffa Gallery. Attracting a range of participants, the workshops aim to equip people with both the supplies and knowledge to print on textiles.

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Walsh, 25, says she would rather be called a ‘screen printer’ than an ‘artist’. With a background in design, Walsh insists that she prefers to know how to physically create something rather than send her designs off to be made elsewhere.

“I don’t like the idea that you’ve just sent your designs away and someone makes it pretty while you think ‘that’s my work’.

“I’d rather be the one who can say I physically made it,” she says. Walsh enrolled in weekend classes to learn how to print on textiles and called Woods’ asking if he needed an apprentice. Working alongside Woods, she claims has given her the practical experience she was looking for.

Woods says Arcade Screen Printing is a business he has always wanted to start. “I love street culture and so starting this business is me indulging myself. I don’t really know how else to put it.” And what Woods wants is to grow a screen printing community.

“I’m really inspired by American band merchandise – posters and t-shirts that come out of the [United] States. I think it’s pretty amazing and Australians are pretty good but we could learn a lot.”

Taking a slightly digital approach to printing is The Rizzeria, a non-profit collective based not far from Wood’s Arcade. Their front office space called the ‘Workshop Showroom’ is also located at St. Peters.

The Rizzeria opens their space to designers and artists who want to use their stencil press-printing machine called the Riso RP3700.

Jo Ellis, 36, a member of the collective who co-ordinates open print workshops says: “It’s a digital screen printing kind of process so we can print things in two ways.

“We can use it like a photocopier; copy something off the glass or you can send a file from the computer which prints an image onto a wax-like paper that you can use as a stencil.”

She claims there’s still an element of manual labour when it comes to printing with the Riso; it only prints one colour at a time. This means the ink cartridges need to be changed for each colour required, an element that surprises many graphic artists.

“We often get people to separate their colours by using tracing paper”.

“We did a workshop with a whole bunch of graphic designers and they sort of struggled with that. Although they are used to colour separation using the computer, doing it manually with tracing paper was a challenge . . . it takes a while for people to get their head around it.”

As recent artists in residence at The Paper Mill, The Rizzeria ran a number of workshops including screen printing and zine making. Ellis agrees there’s a renewed interest among graphic artists in going back to traditional ways, pointing to knitting and etsy as an example: “There’s been an explosion in knitting that’s been going on for quite a while and websites such as etsy where people sell handmade things.”

“I spoke to a cartoon artist called Chewie (C. Chew Chan) who’s in residency at The Paper Mill. He was saying he didn’t get any work for a while because he didn’t really use the computer [to illustrate] that much. But now he’s finding that people are saying ‘oh wow, you can draw, nobody does that part of the process by hand anymore,’ and suddenly people are interested.”

The Rizzeria is currently featured at The Paper Mill’s ‘Printed Matter’ exhibition until June 25 and Arcade Screen Printing will be on exhibition at ‘Interwoven’ at the Gaffa Gallery, which opens June 16 until June 28.

Chanting “we’re not going to take it any more,” around 600 mostly young people joined a nationwide protest on earlier this month against escalating drug gang-related violence in Mexico. Melissa Kitson reports.

The anti-violence protest sought to highlight innocent victims of the government's war on drug cartels. Image: Melissa Kitson

The protest was quickly called via social media outlets in response to the murder of Juan Francisco Sicilia Ortega, the son of noted poet Javier Sicilia, on March 28 in Cuernavaca. The anti-violence protest was held the following week on April 6.

Ortega was found dead with signs of torture in a vehicle with six other bodies. The death of the 24-year-old student prompted his father to write an open letter stating “Estamos hasta la madre”- translated best as Howard Beale’s famous outcry “We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.”

Encompassing a wide spectrum of social classes, the protesters, dressed predominantly in white, began gathering at the Glorieta Niños Heroes in Guadalajara at 6 p.m. Several poems were read aloud and participants spoke of the need for non-violent measures to tackle the drug problem in Mexico.

“You cannot fix a social problem with violence,” said student Mariana Reyes Garcanza.

“It only leads to an endless spiral of violence where one violent act is countered with another and another. Violence is not the answer.”

In contrast to other protests held recently in Guadalajara, the rally sought to highlight the innocent victims of the government’s war on the drug cartels – something that is rarely talked about in the media.

“It’s not just the criminals that are being killed.

“Innocent people, 15-year-old kids who have nothing to do with anything are also being murdered,” said Reyes Garcanza.

Encircling the monument were 62 human cutouts each with the story of an innocent victim and the statement, “I am a victim of collateral damage in Mexico.”

Signs reading “No more blood,” “Not one more victim” and “Mexico wake up!” were posted to bicycles and t-shirts and waved passionately in the air.

“We are here to voice our frustration and disapproval with the government’s strategy to fight organized crime – or rather their lack of strategy,” said Alejandra Aguiler Rios, professor at the Center of Investigation and Higher Studies in Social Anthropology.

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“There is no plan; there is no strategy. The numbers of deaths are never-ending. And it’s not only murders that have risen. All forms of crime, kidnapping and drug abuse have also increased.”

Despite the unity and passion of the demonstrators, there seemed to be little accord as to how to address the problem.”

“(President) Calderon must resign,” yelled one protester. “The military is to blame for all of this.”

A humanities student argues: “We need systemic change. While there is inequity we will never have justice.”

Political science graduate Ana Isabel Enriquez Vargas adds: “Yes, the narcotraficantes (drug traffickers) are to blame for the violence but there is so much corruption within the government. The criminals have impunity. They’re given a free pass and so the violence continues.”

A three-minute period of silence followed by a roll call of the drug war’s innocent victims brought the two-hour protest to an end.

Guadalajara was one of 38 cities across Mexico that held anti-violence demonstrations earlier this month.

In Mexico City, thousands swamped the Zocalo; in Oaxaca, writer Araceli Mancilla led marchers to the city center and in Chiapas protestors lay on the ground to symbolise the victims. Although the scale and scope of the protest was said to be unprecedented, the tally of Calderon’s three-year war against the illegal drug trade creeps closer to 35,000 deaths.

Thousands gathered across Australia this week to rally against the potential budget cuts to medical research. But money was not the only concern for scientists. Eugenia Lee reports.

At least ten medical research institutes were present at the 'Rally for Research'. Image: Eugenia Lee

On Tuesday, researchers left their labs and headed to Belmore Park as part of a nation-wide stance against the rumoured $400 million cuts to the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) budget over the next four years.

Their message was clear – save medical research to save lives.

“This is not just for medical researchers. This is for the health and life, and long life, of Australian people,” Professor David James, director of the Diabetes and Obesity Program at the Garvan Institute, told the crowd.

Professor James revealed for the first time that before the age of eight, he had lost his father, aunt, and grandmother to cancer – none of whom had the benefit of modern day treatment.

Representatives from other research institutes also expressed concerns that cutting funds would result in higher healthcare costs and a loss of jobs.

The crowd was told that 35,000 employees and 15,000 PhD students would be affected.

In particular, young people are expected to feel the brunt of the budget cut more than others.

Bob Graham, executive director of Victor Chang Cardiac Research Institute, said cutting the budget would result in a ‘brain drain’ as students and young scientists looked overseas for funding and work.

“Any cuts at all will affect new grants. It will affect all the young people.”

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Charmaine Leng, a PhD student at the Garvan Institute, said some of her friends have already gone overseas to find work and the funding needed for their research.

“It’s just hard to explain and express how many discoveries really are on the brink,” she said. “It affects not just us. I mean, we don’t do research for the money; we really do it because we want to help people.”

But she said cutting the budget would only make future research initiatives more difficult for young scientists.

“If my lab can’t get a grant, or friend’s labs can’t get a grant out of the NHMRC, and other grant budgets, there’s no work here,” she said.

Approximately one thousand people attended the rally organised by the Garvan Institute, with researchers coming from as far as Western Australia.

Similar protests were also held in Melbourne, Adelaide, Brisbane, and Canberra to support medical research.

“It’s not just financial, it’s personal,” Professor John Shine, Executive Director of Garvan Institute of Medical Research said. “It’s about the quality of life for us, our parents, our kids, our grandchildren.”

Medical research in the past has contributed to cardiovascular disease, mental health such as Alzheimer’s, indigenous health, cancer treatments, and other preventative medicines.

According to Professor Graham, the proposed cuts, which save the federal government $100 million a year, is less than 0.17% of the total health care budget.

“You may not realise this but the Federal Government generates $100 million every 2.85 hours,” he addressed the crowd.

“Would it be so terrible if the Gillard government just delayed balancing the budget for 2.85 hours?”

For many, winter is the time you head indoors but for New York’s Polar Bear Club it’s time to take a dip at Coney Island. Laredo Montoneri was there to capture it.

The water temperature sometimes is warmer than outside. Image: Laredo Montoneri

Every Sunday, from November to April, the Polar Bear Club come together and swim in the icy Atlantic ocean. And they have been doing so since it was founded in 1903 by Bernarr McFadden.

McFadden, whose now considered the “Father of Physical Culture” believed a cold dip in the ocean could boost an individual’s stamina, virility and immunity. Although considered by many as a “charlatan” in his time, his club has lived on with many of his legacies and today it’s the oldest winter bathing organisation in the world.

Since 2007 the “bears” have organised an annual New Years Day swim called “Freezing for a Reason” which raises money for the charity, Camp Sunshine. Thousands of people join the “bears” in their freezing swim and to date they have raised over $75,000.

These pictures capture  the challenge, the freedom, the comradery, the “shivers” of life spread through their bodies, shaking them.

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As winter power shortages shroud Nepal in familiar darkness, Deepak Adhikari unravels the country’s hydro debate.

Nepal's Himalayan river system has potential to generates abundant hydropower but very little has been exploited. Image: Oxfam International

With winter in full swing, the spectre of planned power cuts, euphemistically called “load shedding”, is haunting Nepal’s electricity consumers. The country’s citizens dread this time of year, which not only brings the Himalayan chill but also the inevitable power shortages, beginning in October to November and continuing until the monsoon arrives in June or July. By February the cuts are expected to intensify to 16 hours a day.

It’s a pattern that is fueling the country’s debate over hydroelectricity – as well as frustration with the failure to move forward with dam projects. With a government eager to build large-scale schemes pitted against an active civil society keener on small-scale hydropower, progress has stalled. And a middle way is needed fast.

Nepal was not supposed to be like this. Or so its people were led to believe. Almost all educated Nepalis know the official magnitude of hydroelectricity that the country’s 6,000 rivers (many of them snow-fed) are capable of generating: 83,000 megawatts. But in a nation that produces a meagre 698 megawatts of hydropower – far below demand – such extreme estimates are increasingly questioned.

In a recent article on Nepal’s energy sector, two researchers sought to dispel the “83,000 megawatts” hydro-myth: “A Russian Masters level student, who, unfortunately, was not able to travel to Nepal for his research, came up with this number,” they wrote, referring to Dr Hari Man Shrestha, who carried out his research at the Moscow Power Institute. Citing two other contradictory figures (40,000 megawatts and 200,000 megawatts) that feature in discussion of the sector, the authors opined that a thorough study to establish the country’s true hydro potential was badly needed.

At a recent seminar on strengthening the Nepal Electricity Authority – a government body that buys, monitors and supplies electricity in Nepal – the energy minister, Dr Prakash Sharan Mahat, sounded cautious but optimistic. Reminding the audience of the ministry’s goal to produce 10,000 megawatts in 10 years, he said: “We’ll have to wait for four to five years, then we don’t have to face load shedding.” When a participant questioned the usefulness of a seminar conducted in a luxury hotel, he replied, “We should think big.”

To think big or small is at the heart of the hydro debate in Nepal, a country rich in biodiversity but also endowed with fast flowing rivers that surge through the Himalayas. The coalition government, like its predecessor, the Maoist government, has promised to cash in on the nation’s “liquid gold”. Though most of Nepal’s hydroelectric power can be generated using run-of-the-river systems, large dams, some argue, are inevitable for a nation only just emerging from the shadow of a decade-long civil war and desperate for development and growth. Government policy therefore remains large-scale and export-oriented. But Nepal’s “big thinking hydrology” has seen strong opposition from a vibrant civil society, especially since the restoration of democracy in 1990. Indeed, Nepal’s quest to exploit hydropower potential mirrors the political upheaval of the past two decades.

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The early 1990s marked the World Bank’s infamous withdrawal from the 404-megawatt Arun III project located on the eponymous river in north-eastern Nepal. On the basis of a petition filed by members of the local community and activists, Nepal’s Supreme Court ruled that the World Bank and Nepalese government must provide information on the project to the public. There were several criticisms of the scheme, including the fear of a rise in the electricity tariff (the project’s estimated cost was US$5,400 [36,800 yuan] per kilowatt), the ecological impact of the plant on the rich biodiversity of the Arun Valley and the claim the project was too big for Nepal (the cost was equal to the country’s entire annual budget).

These concerns eventually forced the World Bank to back out, a phenomenon often equated with the shattering of the dream of prosperous Nepal. Writing a decade later in his book In Defence of Democracy: Dynamics and Faultlines of Nepal’s Political Economy, former finance minister Dr Ram Sharan Mahat rues the project’s demise: “Arun III was lost, and with it the attractive financial package whose benefits included the huge social profit potential to boost the national revenue also vanished.”

Then came the Mahakali Treaty between Nepal and India in the mid-1990s, which envisioned the 315-metre high, multipurpose Pancheshwar dam, with water-storage capacity of 12.3 billion cubic metres and a 6,480 megawatt power house. Nepal’s Supreme Court determined that the treaty required ratification by a two third majority of the parliament. After intense debate, the agreement was finally ratified on November 27, 1996, but deep disagreement split the main opposition party (the United Marxist Leninists). The treaty stipulated that the detailed project report (DPR) would be completed in six months, but more than 10 years after signing it, India and Nepal have failed to make significant progress.

What could be the reason behind the initial euphoria and the now dormant status of the treaty? Some hydro-watchers say that India is not interested in exploiting and developing Nepal’s hydro potential and is, rather, thirsty for water. The critics says that the Indian side is eager to build the 269-metre high dam at Barahkshetra on the Kosi River, a major contributor to the Ganges in India, as a solution to the annual floods in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, its two most populous states.

Prashant Aryal, a Nepali journalist who has written extensively on Nepal’s hydropower sector, says that India is drawn by water and irrigation, not electricity. “India imports power from Bhutan, its friendly neighbour; it has signed nuclear deal with the US; and has its own hydro capacity in north-east and other parts,” he says. “So, it would be incorrect to say that it is eyeing Nepal’s hydroelectricity.” Electrical engineer Bimal Gurung disagrees: “India, which is increasingly drawn into the climate-change debate, can’t use thermal plant,” he argues. “It would be cheaper to import from its geographically close neighbour Nepal than from remote Bhutan.”

But the Bhutanese model, in which India builds the project and then imports the power, has drawn criticism from experts in Nepal. In an article published in Himal Southasian magazine in August, leading water-resource expert Dipak Gyawali termed the model, a “neo-colonial path to power”. In the much discussed article (Bhutan business news editor Tenzin Lamzang has responded in the Bhutan Times), he writes: “A rent-seeking, royalty-earning model might enrich governments, politicians and senior bureaucrats for some time, much like the Arab sheikhdoms, but it does nothing to develop national capacity – which is what development is, in the true sense.”

The sentiment is echoed by Ratan Bhandari, a coordinator of the Water and Energy Users’ Federation Nepal (WAFED), an organisation that questions the utility of big dams and says that it fights for the benefit of the local people. “We are not anti-dam or anti-development per se,” he clarifies at the outset, before elaborating on the disadvantages of big dams: “They displace many thousands of people, destroy local environment and benefit only the rich.” In fact, Bhandari’s own involvement in the protest movement parallels the development of a hydro project in his home village in western Nepal.

The 750-megawatt West Seti project has been through many ups and downs, culminating in the sudden withdrawal of its Chinese investor early last year. Initially conceived as a 77-megawatt run-of-the-river project, it was later optimised to a 195-metre, concrete face rockfill dam capable of producing 750 megawatts of electricity. But, if it goes ahead, it is feared the dam will displace the people of four districts. The reservoir will cover 25 square kilometres and have a volume of around 1.5 billion cubic metres. “No project can be successful without the inclusion of the local communities,” Bhandari argues. “We should make sure that the projects are for our benefit not for some foreign investment company.” He says that the very concept of exporting electricity to India is flawed because it is only raw material, not a product to be exported.

Can Nepal itself develop the hydro projects that require huge investment? Bhandari and Gurung, who stand on opposite sides of the hydro debate, agree that there is money in Nepal but lack of security is hindering investment. Gurung argues that, since most of Nepal’s hydro plants would be run-of-the-river, and if care is taken to construct earthquake resistant facilities, even big dams are realistic. “The structure should be designed properly,” he says. “For rapid growth, big projects are what we need at the moment.”

According to US-based NGO International Rivers, 400,000 square kilometres of land has been submerged due to the construction of 40,000 big dams in the past 50 years. Critics of such dams say that there is no compensation for the social, economic and environmental cost of these projects.

How can these opposing development narratives for Nepal be reconciled? Perhaps there is a middle way after all. As Bhandari says, “Not all big dams are bad and not all small dams are good.” The solution may be promoting micro hydropower as well as investing in environmentally friendly and sustainable medium-sized and large-scale projects.

This article was first published in the China Dialogue.

Against the backdrop of political violence in Uganda, mountain gorillas are fast depleting in numbers. Janeece Keller reports.

In the mountainous region of the Virunga Conservation Area, the Myakagezi gorillas live isolated as a family group and do not interact with other wild gorillas in the park.

While violence in Uganda’s capital city Kampala stopped local government voting last Thursday, the south-western corner of the country witnessed no unrest.

Ten kilometres from the border of Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) is the town of Kisoro where its locals voted in both national and local elections in the same week without issue.

“Here it has been the most boring elections possible in Kisoro – it’s a pretty small place,” says local resident and hotelier Jan Wudkamp.

Scattered along the roads throughout the farming villages, polling booths were manned by election officials lazing in the shade. Occasionally their rest would be disturbed by a farmer arriving to vote and have their fingernail painted with henna to indicate they had cast their ballot.

But I wasn’t in Kisoro to monitor the elections. Rather, to see Uganda’s primary tourist attraction – the critically endangered mountain gorillas.

We drive to Mgahinga Gorilla National Park. Almost 34 square kilometres in size, the park is part of the much larger Virunga Conservation Area which includes national parks in both Rwanda and the DRC.

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When the gorillas cross the border out of Uganda, it’s not possible to track them in Mgahinga and as a result the park sees fewer tourists than the nearby Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.

“It’s hard at Mgahinga when the gorillas cross into Rwanda, because then the tourists can’t see the gorillas and we don’t know when they will come back to the Ugandan side of the park,” says Uganda Wildlife Authority and gorilla guide Allem Uwihoreye.

“At this time, we can not guarantee, but it is likely that they will still be on the Uganda side for about three months because they are close now and they don’t move very fast.”

Last year, a census by conservation groups revealed there are only 786 mountain gorillas left in the world. That’s approximately one gorilla for every nine million people according to a sign at Mgahinga Park headquarters.

All remaining mountain gorillas live in the Virunga Conservation Area and Bwindi National Park. There are 480 in the Virunga mountainous region and only one habituated group in Mgahinga.

It takes two years to habituate a gorilla group. But work doesn’t stop there. Once they are in the wild, they must be closely monitored and protected from tourists.

Only eight people are permitted to track them each day and for only a short amount of time to ensure minimal disturbance on their lives.

“The gorillas don’t eat while we are watching them so we can’t stay more than an hour,” says Uwihoreye.

“The gorillas like us but we have to let them be wild and not scare them with cameras and a flash.”

The only people who can stay for more than an hour are the wildlife trackers.

The Myakegezi Group are monitored daily by Uganda Wildlife Authority trackers who set out at 7am each morning to spend the day with the gorillas and return after 5pm.

“It is important that we stay with the gorillas all day because if they are sick or if there is a problem then we know and can get help from the vet,” explains Uwihoreye.

It also makes tracking for the tourists much easier the next day. Mountain gorillas typically move between one and two kilometres a day which means a couple of days away from them would significantly increase tracking time and reduce the likelihood of finding them.

But tracking is no easy feat. Along with three other tourists, I leave the park headquarters at 9am and spend the next two hours clambering through the forest and along buffalo trails tracking the Myakagezi Group.

Once there, we see eight of the nine group members relaxing and playing in a small clearing. Two infants spin around in circles, much to the amusement of two Silverbacks who watch them fall over in dizziness.

When they see us, the 10-year-old Blackback male Rukundo pulls away the vines obstructing our view but continues grooming his older brother Mdugutse, unfazed.

But in the presence of other wild gorillas this is not the case. The Myakagezi gorillas live isolated as a family group and do not interact with other wild gorillas in the park.

“If the gorillas meet other groups they fight. It happens sometimes and we can’t stop it but it is better if they don’t fight too much,” said Uwihoreye.

Even after dark Mgahinga Gorilla Park is watched over by conservationists.

Funded by both the Uganda and Rwanda governments, a group of seven national rangers from both countries work together as a singular team for week-long assignments, removing snares and arresting poachers when needed.

The one hour we spend with these gentle giants that share 97% of our genes is not enough. Time flies by.

We leave the mountain gorillas and drive eleven hours back to the capital city Kampala where armed presence is even more noticeable in contrast to the tracker presence in the mountains.

Whilst protectors of both kinds wear khaki uniforms and carry guns, the people protecting the mountain gorillas flash wide smiles and engage eagerly in conversation.

The soldiers and police in Kampala are, however, stony-faced and refuse to even give directions to the nearest bank.

Mexico is known to put the “m” in manly – or is it womanly? Melissa Kitson finds out.

Many Mexican men travel to the US for work, leaving the women to get resourceful. Image: Rosalind Reinhard.

Scan a list of Mexican icons and you won’t see many women’s names.

But in this macho-dominated country the tiny village of Tecalpulco has converted itself into a quasi-matriarchy, with the women of Artcamp leading the charge.

Artcamp is an organisation of female rural artisans (artesanas campesinos) who design, produce and sell Mexican craft. Hidden in the mountainous regions of Guerrero in Central Mexico, the communities of Tecalpulco and Taxco El Viejo have continued these traditions for generation after generation. Located near the silver-mining town of Taxco, the group itself has been running for 20 years.

“It was not a very united community. Campesinos are not united people,” says Hilaria Lopez, coordinator of Artcamp distribution.

“We wanted to create a stronger community, to help the economy, to share designs and materials.”

Supporting the community has become particularly important in recent years. For every family there are approximately two or three men who have left to find work in the United States, according to Artcamp production leader Reina Godeck. In the wake of the exodus, the women have rolled up their sleeves and picked up the slack.

Selling their hand-crafted jewellery enables the women to fund community support. Image: Melissa Kitson.

“At first they laughed at us,” says Artcamp member Maria Alaniz.

“In the 1970s, it was only men who worked in artesania. The women helped out or packed boxes. But now it’s almost all done by women.”

Artcamp principally makes Mexican jewelry. The women purchase stone flints that they then cut and arrange in colorful patterns on pendants, hair clips, bracelets, earrings and rings. The insides of Coke cans are also used for tiny silver detailing. One earring, which the cooperative sells for 15 pesos, can take up to an hour and a half to produce.

“It’s difficult to say how much time each piece takes because each piece is different,” Lopez says.

“It’s made with our spirit, with our hands. You don’t think about time.”

For mothers left alone with small children, Artcamp is one of the few ways they can maintain their broods. They can work from home, and if they fall ill there is much more lenience. They also have creative control of their designs.

“There is a lot of solidarity within the group, a lot of respect for one another,” says Alaniz.

All profits are shared equally and money is also put toward community projects, like the purchase of hospital equipment.

In face of the influx of Far Eastern products, Artcamp is also an important way of preserving traditional Mexican crafts, notes Godeck.

“If in the future there is no one who wants to, or knows how to (make the crafts), there is the danger that Mexican artesania will disappear. This way, the children who watch their mothers will hopefully want to learn.”

Women in Mexico take social and financial networking into their own hands. Image: Artcamp

Another goal of the cooperative is to increase work opportunities for the men of the village. Due to lack of jobs, many men who do not head north end up working in dangerous conditions in local coal mines.

“It’s more about creating work so they don’t have to leave. Here they’re doctors or artists and they wind up in the States cleaning floors or working in McDonald’s. We want to say, ‘come back here and work in what you enjoy, in what you’re want you’re meant to’,” says Alaniz.

Lopez admits that for many men who have already left there is little chance they will return.

“They make the mistake of marrying an American woman to get papers. It’s very difficult to return. Imagine if they have a wife and four children?”

For now the women of Artcamp continue their pursuit of making high quality, handmade traditional jewelry and other crafts while supporting their villages.

They hope to participate in more art fairs around the country and to generate more interest in their products.

The growing sub-culture around ‘fixies’ – or fixed-gear bicycles – has come to mainstream attention with a recent gallery exhibition in Sydney. Dave Drayton and Jackie Leewai delved into the fixie culture to find out what it’s all about.

Bow Jia at the Sydney Sunday Sessions. Image: Jackie Leewai

Approaching ‘Robo-Cog’, it feels as though you have finally been accepted into the elusive ‘it’ group. A dozen or so modern-day Fonzies tinker casually on bikes. They work mostly without looking, presumably undergoing routine maintenance that has by now become second nature.

An array of tools that are made available to anyone who cares to come along are wielded by the more experienced riders present. The fresher faces watch; learning.

This is one of the hubs of Sydney’s burgeoning fixed-gear bicycle scene.

Haus, a Thai ex-pat who has been living in Australia for eight years began Robo-Cog in February this year. After a knee surgery forced him to stop skating four years ago, Haus turned to fixies, as they are affectionately termed, and has found himself at the centre of a growing trend.

“After surgery I was like, ‘I gotta find something to do.’ I mean, personally, I think everyone loves riding bicycles, you know? But this trend is going crazy.”

Haus tried fixies out of curiosity, not expecting to become as attached to the bikes as he did. Before too long he was holding regular sessions in his house, providing tools for other riders to use, and a point of commune for a scene that establishing itself as a close-knit community.

“It started at my house. Everyone was just coming to my house and using the tools and it started getting too crowded,” he says with a laugh. Not wanting to have his house destroyed, but needing a meeting place for the riders to hang out, Haus established Robo-Cog with fellow fixie enthusiast Jet.

Sydney Sunday Sessions – photo gallery

The time is nearing 5.15pm on Sunday and like clockwork, a cluster of fixed gear bike riders are hanging about the entry to Martin Place off George Street.

Sydney Sunday Sessions – or SSS – started as a small collective some 2 years ago, organised to allow ‘fixie’ -fixed-gear bicycle – enthusiasts to ride and socialise in Sydney. The group continues to grow in size and stature, attracting skateboarders, lapsed BMX riders, and general followers of street trends.

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Haus directs me to the mission statement of Robo-Cog – “The workshop is for like-minded cycling enthusiasts to gather and share ideas as well as modify and repair their bikes using the tools provided” – and the junkyard treasure chest of spare parts littered between the assembled fixie aficionados suggests success.

The garage space is rented by Haus and Jet each weekend, all that they request in return is a gold coin donation from the people using the tools they provide.

“Everyone who comes here and uses the tools shows a little respect. They give us like three dollars so I can have money to pay rent, and keep up with the tools. Some people aren’t paying but that’s cool, you still have friends come round. At the end of the day it’s about fun, that’s the main thing,” says Haus.

No matter who you ask about the Sydney fixie scene you can be guaranteed a response that highlights its laid-back friendly attitude. With the exception of the egos associated with a lot of bike messengers (one rider at Robo-Cog suggests “The couriers are like ‘We’ve been doing this for years and you’re all just hipsters jumping on our bandwagon’”), it seems that Sydney’s encompassing nature is something that sets it apart from the highly-strung riders in Melbourne and Brisbane.

“Sydney’s is a really friendly scene, you know, there’s not much arrogance which exists a lot in a lot of the other scenes,” says Darcy, a mechanic who volunteers his services at Robo-Cog each weekend. While he works as a mechanic during the week, Darcy is happy to donate his time and experience to aid newer riders on the weekend, and enjoys being able to give something back to the scene.

“The idea is that you can come and use the tools and use the knowledge, but it’s also like a clubhouse. Everyone from the scene just comes to hang out so its fun to spend your time here, it’s not work,” he says.

The assembled people revolve through conversations, seamlessly swapping between languages. A collection of three Thai riders converse in their native tongue before disbanding, joining other friends, and reverting to English. Grease covered hands occasionally reach for long necks of Coopers beer or cider, they are wiped on rags and extended warmly. The subcultures and cliques within in an already niche group do not create tension.

Darcy has witnessed the group’s growth, and the rise in the sports popularity, “You can see now, its growing up because, compared to last year when it started it was only ten people or so, and now its hundreds – more even.”

There’s good and bad aspects to the increasing popularity. Their passion catches the ephemeral attention of the mainstream, momentarily, and perhaps unwillingly becoming bombarded with hordes of trend hoppers and new recruits. “But it’s like with skateboarding, with anything, the hardcore guys stick it out. We’ll see next year, it will be quieter.”

For now, Darcy is content to find like minded riders, people with an interest in the scene, what ever their motivations. “Even if they’re just getting into it for the fashion or whatever. At least people are getting into it; at least people are riding bikes. Just enjoying it, getting off the couch,” he says.

The fashion Darcy mentions is a big part of the scene. More than just bikes, this is a culture that these riders live, breathe and wear. Teik Chew is owner of Halfsleeve, a street-wear store in Surry Hills located a few blocks away from Robo-Cog. After starting up around the same time fixed-gear bikes started to pick up in popularity in Sydney, Teik says they have been immersed in the scene. The store, a self-proclaimed clothing and lifestyle store, caters to the riders. There is a uniformity in the street-wear of fixie riders – part hip-hop, part op-shop, it is the uniform of a new sub-culture.

“We opened a year and a half ago and since day one we’ve had fixie customers. Most of the fixie guys are ex-skaters. I guess they’ve changed their mode of transport but they still kinda rock the same clothes,” says Teik.

He’s happy to be a part of a scene which he describes, similarly to so many others, as incredibly hospitable. “The riders here don’t take themselves so seriously. Groups like the SSS (a crew of riders called the Sydney Sunday Sessions) are massive, they encompass everyone.”

“So part of riding is the whole look of it as well, and that’s where we come into it,” he continues, spreading his hands around to indicate we are immersed in the culture as we speak.

Halfsleeve is one of a select few stores that form the supply chain for this growing trend. Teik mentions Deus Ex Machina and Hell On Wheels, talking about the businesses as though they are partners aiding a common cause, not rivals targeting the same market. It is the same camaraderie that exists through out the scene in general.

Deus Ex Machina is a cycle and motorcycle boutique retailer with stores at Camperdown and Oxford St. Teik believes they too understand that there is more to the fixie scene than just the cycles. “It’s not solely a bike store; they’ve put out their own brand, which is kinda heavily influenced by what is comfortable to ride in, and the fashion there,” he says.

Looking to give something back to the riders who had taken refuge in the store Halfsleeve organised an alley-cat race in June this year. Alley-cat races are popular within the fixie scene and have evolved from the messenger riders, it involves reaching a series of checkpoints before crossing the finish line. DC Shoes and SE Bikes collaborated with the store, providing one BMX cruiser and one fixed-speed bike as prizes. The two companies run collaboration every year, and sought out Halfsleeve specifically. “The DC rep in Australia thought we had a connection with the scene,” says Teik.

Despite only riding for the last two years Teik has been involved in the fixed-gear scene for even longer, with friends in his native Japan jumping on the bandwagon much earlier than their Australian counterparts.

“I used to live in Japan – that was about five years ago – and they were everywhere. And now I’ve seen it slowly been creeping into Australia.”

Teik says that the scene in Tokyo is strong, embedded in the culture there, but he continues to be surprised by the passion and friendship displayed in a rapidly swelling Sydney scene.

“In Tokyo you can get everywhere quicker on a bike. Everything is set up; the culture is much more developed there so you have heaps more stores, heaps more choices of brands and things. It’s small here, but I can only see it getting bigger and bigger.”

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Sydney Sunday Sessions

By Alix Piatek

The Walk Against Warming protest has been held in the capital cities every year since 2005. Image: Alix Piatek

Yesterday the unpredictable Sydney weather was an ominous backdrop for the annual Walk Against Warming.

Despite the sporadic rain, Belmore Park hosted an estimated crowd of 1 500 people who marched along Elizabeth street and Castlereagh street to convince political leaders to take action on climate change.

Kelly Dent, a member of Oxfam said: “This weather is a prediction of what is to come if nothing is done about climate change.”

Walk Against Warming was estimated to attract 10 000 people nationally and was sponsored by various NGO’s including Greenpeace, The Wilderness Society, World Vision and Climate Action Network Australia.

Chris Washington-Sare, head of fundraising at Greenpeace said the political parties are struggling to realize what they need to do.

“Politicians are in the pocket of the coal industry, we need to wean ourselves off fossil fuels and move to a clean and renewable energy future,” he explained.

While the event advocated putting a tax on carbon, no new coal fired power stations and a guarantee to cut pollution over the next term of government it was also aimed to inspire and motivate the community to push for change.

PHOTO GALLERY – Click to enlarge

Judy and John Ebner, veterans of the event, have attended every year since its inception in 2005. Mrs Ebner said it wasn’t the biggest turn out she had seen, perhaps due to people’s frustration with the lack of action.

Despite this frustration, Mrs Ebner said the event not only raises awareness but inspires people about climate change: “If you can get young people involved, instead of sitting there and feeling terribly depressed about the future of the planet, it does have a positive effect.”

The Nature Conservation Council of NSW (NCC) organised the event and placed an emphasis on the lack of climate change discussion in the Federal election campaign. Pepe Clarke, CEO of the NCC reminded protesters that evidence of climate change surrounded them.

He encouraged people to act by voting next Saturday. He said: “Today and for the rest of the week we need to send a strong message to our federal political leaders that we want firm action on climate change in the next term of Government.”

The NCC arranged a petition to be circulated and hopes to get over 1 000 signatures from the people at the event. The petition will be presented to the political leaders before the election next Saturday in an attempt to encourage further debate about climate change.

An NCC climate campaigner, Su Fei Tan, said the aim of the protest was to challenge politicians to generate concrete policies and a pathway forward in reducing our carbon footprint.

Ms Tan said that people have become frustrated with politicians and while the issue is a difficult one, our political leaders cannot be afraid: “We need leaders to stand up and say this is my plan and to follow through on that plan.”