The Crow Book

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 0:08
Hello beloved listeners and welcome to No Future No Cry. My name is Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware and I’ll be your host as we deep dive into the wild imaginings of leading artists, activists and thinkers, who are all dreaming us into future worlds, while reckoning with the reverberations of the one that we all collectively inhabit and have inherited. Join us as we explore a series of short stories and speculative interpretations that engage with all that could be, and all that has been. All of these stories are set within a century from now. And these stories offer us a way of surviving and growing into something not yet created: the apocalyptic, the beautiful, the hopeful, the sacred. Today’s story is entitled, The Crow Book, written by our featured guest, Genki. Genki Ferguson was born in New Brunswick to a family of writers and grew up in Calgary. He spent much of his childhood in Kyushu, Japan, where his mother’s family still resides. Fluent in Japanese and capable of making a decent sushi roll, Genki currently lives in Vancouver with his fiancée, one hamster, two chinchillas, two gerbils, five spiders and three frogs. His debut novel Satellite Love from McClelland & Stewart in 2021, is a story of a teenage girl in Southern Japan who falls in love with a satellite. This was on the 2022 Canada Reads Long List. Online you can find Genki on Instagram @genki_ferguson. Otherwise, he’s most likely to be found browsing the shelves of Book Warehouse on Broadway, looking for his next read. Stay tuned after the story for a conversation between Genki and I, where we discuss their inspiration and writing process. Without further ado, The Crow Book by Genki Ferguson.

Genki Ferguson 2:12
Ding told me that, a long long time ago, there used to be these things called “crows”. “Similar to pigeons,” he said. “But way bigger. They have red eyes, a thick beak. They’re completely black, too. Kind of like a drone.” I didn’t want to believe him at first—Ding tells me many things, most of them lies. Like how our geography teacher is a spy, or how when he was seven years old, he accidentally killed his cousin by pushing him into a pool. At least, I hope they’re lies. “I’m being serious,” Ding said. “I have proof.” It was a sweltering summer day, and I didn’t have any energy for Ding’s games. To tell the truth, he was only vaguely a friend of mine. But his dad worked weekends, and his mom was out of the picture. Which, of course, made his condo an ideal hangout spot. Not to mention that his dad was big on retro stuff. He had these old VR systems that would make your eyes hurt, a collection of movies on blu-ray, a library filled with books. And it was in this study that Ding showed me proof of crows. He must have been digging through his dad’s library without permission. Normally, Ding wasn’t allowed anywhere near that climate controlled, windowless room. Still, he remembered to put on a pair of gloves, lest the oil on his fingers damage those yellowing pages.

There’s a certain smell these old books have, which even at fourteen years old filled me with a vague warmth. In the past, the pages were made of trees, apparently, not bamboo. They were a little rougher to touch, and smelled like the forest they came from Encyclopedia of Living Things. Page 187. Crow: A bird of the genus Corvus. Typically a glossy black, they were once found commonly around the world, but are now considered a critically endangered species. Only the corvus brachyrhynchos of North America remain.
And there it was. Just like Ding described. A large, thick billed, black bird. Red eyes. Social creatures, crows typically live and hunt in structured families. They are known for their exceptional intelligence, with some species capable of basic tool use, using sticks to pry food out of holes. As omnivores, they are known to kill and eat small animals. Examples of inter-species relationships between crows and humans have been historically documented. At times, crows have traded with humans, exchanging pebbles and small objects for food. There have also been cases of known “grudges,” a crow repeatedly attacking the same human over the course of months or even years. Crows typically live to thirteen years old.

“Birds can hold grudges?” I asked. What did birds even get upset about? The only “bird” I’ve ever seen were pigeons. Not exactly the brightest creatures. And even those were rare. “The world used to have secrets,” Ding said. He was leaning back, wearing a smug smile as I poured over his father’s encyclopedia. “They died out before anyone could really study them. Who knows how smart they were?” I turned the book over, making sure this wasn’t a forgery, an elaborate prank of Ding’s. On the other pages were more birds. Creatures called cranes, swallows, hummingbirds, peacocks… all listed as endangered, whenever this old book was written. Of course, none of them would exist now. I tried to imagine what the sky above our city looked like, so long ago. You can barely see the clouds now, for all the buildings and skyscrapers crowding your view. Back then, was the sky filled with birds? “Do you think our parents ever saw one?” I asked Ding shrugged. “I dunno. Jealous?” “A little.” And Ding smirked. Here, finally, was what he’d invited me over for. “I can show you one, if you want.” I looked back to the book. “You have a video?” “Even better,” Ding laughed. “I have a real crow. The last one in the world.”

Ding is rich. The richest in my class. I’ve never said it before, but I’ve always been jealous of him. I think he knows, but he never says anything either. Truth be told, he’s difficult to be around. With all the money in the world, you’d think a guy like him would be the most popular kid in eighth grade. He could practically buy friends. But his condo—way too big for one teenager and his workaholic dad—is almost always empty. As he led me to the crow room, it was like we were the last two people in the world. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Even from outside the door, I got a sense that there was an animal inside. Ding was keeping the crow in the guest bedroom, where I sometimes stayed over. But before he even turned the light on, I heard a rustling, like fabric. Or feathers, adjusting. In the dark, there was no way to see it. But I could smell something rank, almost rotten. A living, breathing creature. An animal.

Dung hit the switch and there, huddled above the bed, was a crow. It was almost exactly how he described, though with a few exceptions. Black feathers, red eyes, thick beak, yes. But it was enormous–were crows supposed to be this big? The encyclopedia never mentioned anything about size, but the crow I was looking at was larger than me, for sure. While it was huddled up around itself, its wingspan would easily outstrip my own. Three legs, too. Was this really a crow? “Of course it is, dumbass,” Ding said. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. “Where did you find it?” I asked. “It showed up on my window one day. It was tiny, just a baby.” He held his hands half a foot apart. I wasn’t sure if he was exaggerating. “The more it eats, though, the bigger it grows.” Crows sometimes eat small animals. Like rats? Ding nodded. “Yeah, rats. But also human flesh.” “You’re lying,” I said. The crow was real, yes, but Ding was playing some sort of joke. I was sure of–

The crow suddenly shook itself, a violent shudder, sending one or two feathers floating to the ground. The sound caught us both by surprise, and we jumped back. Even Ding was afraid of his own pet. At its feet–these long, knobby talons–was a strange bundle of twigs, dirt, and some sort of fiber. Its nest. Ding dusted himself off. “I’m being serious about the flesh,” Ding said. “Watch.” Carefully, as if treading on a tightrope, Ding approached the crow. This room belonged to the animal, I realized. Ding had lost control. In his left hand, outstretched, Ding held his phone. He was showing something to the crow. The bird finished ruffling its feathers, and stared at that glowing screen, turning its head slightly, as if in thought. This was an intelligent creature, terrifyingly so. Taking one last look at Ding, the crow shook itself off, hopped over to the window, unlatched to lock with its beak, and disappeared. It moved fast–again, like a drone–and within moments was no more than a black spec fading into the clouds. “What did you do?” I asked. Ding smiled, passed me his phone. I felt myself go cold. It was a photo of Jan. The biggest–and meanest–kid in our school. One of our bullies. “Crows are amazing,” Ding said. “Like security cameras, but completely analogue. Or organic. They remember faces.” “It’s looking for Jan?” “You’ll see,” muttered Ding. He took a glance out the window. “You’ll see.”

Maybe it was the black feathers, strewn about the floor, but it felt like the crow had never really left, like we were instead sitting in its shadow. The atmosphere in the room was oppressive, almost unbearable, and neither of us said a word. Instead, I kept staring at the crow’s nest, trying to understand what it was made of. What was that fiber? What were those clumps of black? After about a half hour, maybe more, there was a sound. A great, piercing screech, like air being wrung out of some alien instrument. It was loud, and echoed between the buildings of Ding’s neighborhood. Kaa! Kaa!

Ding sat up, alert. It was the crow. He opened the window again–we’d closed it because of the smog–and that black shadow swooped back into the room, over my head. I felt its claws graze me, and wasn’t sure how to feel. The crow landed, strutted around in a circle, then, as if remembering why it had returned in the first place, dropped something at Ding’s feet. I came over to look. A clump of black fibers, with something mushy on the end. Streaks of red. “Behold!” said Ding. He kicked the clump over to me. “My revenge on Jan.” It was a piece of our bully’s scalp, with the hair still attached. I tasted bile in the back of my throat. This clump of hair, the crow’s animal smell, the heat radiating from outside… It was all too much. “There’s no way,” I said, fighting down the sickness. “There’s no—”. “The crow remembers every face I show it,” Ding said. “And he goes out, circles the city, and waits for them to appear. That was faster than usual, so Jan must have been out already. Sometimes it takes the crow days. But he always brings back a token of his attack. Usually, he goes for the hair.”

For effect, Ding tugged on his own. “Amazing, right? A weapon that can’t be traced back to me. It’s a way to get revenge, completely anonymous. And since no one knows what a crow is, they have no idea what hit them. Just a burst of pain–bam!–and the crow’s gone.” “How many times have you done this?” I asked. Surely, people would eventually clue in. “Just once or twice,” Ding said. “What’s with that look? I’m not asking the crow to kill anyone. It’s just a small way for me to fight back.” He lifted his upper lip. He was missing a tooth there. Just last year, Jan had taken it from him. “I guess so,” I said. “‘I guess so,’” he mimicked. “Whatever. You’re being a wimp. I gotta take a piss,” Ding went to leave, and I nearly followed. The idea of being alone with the crow was terrifying. “What?” Ding asked. “Nothing.” Ding shrugged, left, closed the door. I took a glance at the nest. It was almost entirely made of human hair. Ding had lied. He’s probably been using the crow for months, I thought. It was enormous, after all. But did my friend really have that many enemies? The crow stared. Red eyes, unblinking. Trying to determine if I was a friend or foe. If Ding had brought me here as a target.

At times, crows have traded with humans, exchanging pebbles and small objects for food. Out of self preservation, I started digging around in my pockets, looking for something–anything–to give as an offering. What did birds even like? I was terrible at giving gifts to humans, let alone animals that no longer existed. The best I could do was a silver button, sewn into the pocket of my pants as a spare. I placed it in front of the crow, my head up the entire time, lest it decide to swoop. The crow stared at the button, then at me, then back to the button. Then, taking a half step forward, it took my offering in its beak. Placed it delicately in the nest. Ding still hadn’t returned. But I found myself feeling sorry for this poor crow. They were intelligent, right? But intelligence didn’t have to mean hatred. Did the crow even know it was being used for revenge?

The last crow in the world. Was it lonely, too? I considered opening the window and letting the crow escape. Instead, I acted as a coward. I’ll never understand why, but rather than let this strange connection I felt take root, I ran. I opened the door, fled down the hall, past Ding in the bathroom, through the elevator, and into the muggy, smoggy air. The entire way home coughing and running out of breath. Through skyscrapers which looked like shards of glass, reflecting a colorless, birdless sky.

The crow was following me. I could feel its shadow. Hear, faintly, it’s cry. Perhaps Ding had grown tired of me, and shown the crow my photo. I couldn’t tell. Instead, I ran through the rich neighborhoods, then the middle class apartments, then the block housing where my family spent our lives. The entire time I prayed that the crow wouldn’t find me. Or that it would show mercy, somehow. But before I could enter the front door, I felt the crow graze the top of my head. I braced myself for the pain that was to come, having a clump of hair torn out of me. Instead I felt nothing more than a breeze. And there I was, in front of my home, under a setting sun. I stood face to face with a six foot crow.

It slowly strutted over to me, as if it had all the time in the world. And I suppose it did. There was nothing I could do to escape. But rather than attack my flesh, the crow bowed. It touched its beak to the asphalt road, and left something on the ground. Then, giving me a quick glance with those red eyes, it lifted itself, and flew away. It had left me a gift. An offering in thanks for the button I’d given it. I had run away before he could return the favour. I approached the gift carefully, afraid that it might be another clump of hair. Instead, I found a strange, smooth stone. Surprisingly light but a little rough to touch. Like the pages of an old book. The crow had given me an egg. They stood there for a while, despite the smog, not yet wanting to go inside, unsure what to do with this offering. The crow had sent me a message, one I couldn’t understand. That bird wasn’t a male afterall. She had given me one of her children. But why? Many years time this egg would turn into a crow of my own.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 16:52
So Genki, thank you so much for that story. And for taking us on that journey. Before we even get into the questions, I have to ask: the crows –

Genki Ferguson 17:04
Right.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 17:04
Friend or foe? I mean, on the one hand, I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing necessarily, to have a crow who’s able to go and do some of the things that the crows in the story do. On the other hand, I certainly wouldn’t want them coming from my scalp. So yeah,

Genki Ferguson 17:20
Yeah, I would… I would say friend overall. You know, I wrote the story while I was in Japan. And the crows there are significantly larger than the ones we have here and well, anyway, we’ll get into it later I’m sure, but yeah, I’ll say friend. I’ll give him the friend.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 17:38
Thank you. So what are we dreaming into with your story? And what worlds have you imagined here for us?

Genki Ferguson 17:46
It’s not necessarily a happy one. There’s kinds of hints throughout the story of maybe a world that is on, not even on the brink anymore, but thoroughly into a climate crisis. And is kind of like really suddenly dystopian world, maybe a realistic dystopia. But I kind of like the idea of nature reclaiming some piece of the future, in its own, maybe slightly twisted or kind of odd way. And in this case that takes place through the crow. So yeah, I guess I was kind of looking at like eco futurism or eco dystopia. I don’t know if those are the correct terms. But, that’s what I’ll go with for now.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 18:11
And I remember there’s a moment where they have the window open, and they normally keep it closed because of the smog. Or these just reference points where you’re like, oh, you know, things are decidedly poor, you know. We are worse off, things are headed in a certain direction.

Genki Ferguson 18:41
Yeah, at least for maybe the economic status of the characters. Maybe if you’re rich in this world, you can be in a nicer climate sphere, a place with better air, but I think most of us wouldn’t be.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 18:53
I loved that you brought class into it. And that, you know, you have this direct, you know, that, you know, talking about Ding’s class and status and wealth and access to economic justice. And, you know, bringing that into speculative fiction is so beautiful, right? Because it’s this way of really saying, if we’re going to go forward, one of the things, I hope that we’re going to be able to figure out how to do is to talk about money. And talk about money more and more. I’m interested, you say you were in Japan when you wrote this. Can you take us back into that process of writing this story and creating this world. So the prompt was, you know, to create something that was set in the next 100 years. And that was really quite open, after that. So what happened and how did how did this story come to fruition?

Genki Ferguson 19:41
Yeah, it was actually perfect timing because, so, Jesse reached out to me and asked if I would be interested in contributing a story around the theme of anytime–I think it’s within the next 100 years or sorry–within a period of time 100 years from now, just envisioning what the future could look like or what forms the future could take. And I was very lucky in that I actually was able to travel 100 years of time during that time, in a very physical way. And what I mean by that is, when I got that first email, that first ask, I was in a small diving village called Shima, specifically Nakiri, but Shima was kind of the larger name of that community. In Japan, I was doing research on ama, which are female freedivers, predominantly female freedivers in Japan, who dive without any sort of like, equipment or masks or anything, harvesting abalone, sea snails and occasionally pearls. And I was doing research for a separate project, but my roots are in rural Japan. My family isn’t from that village, but from a separate farming village. But I’ve always really felt an affinity for the countryside, for the really quiet Japanese landscapes, the small towns, the very traditional way of life, you know, the rice and grilled mackerel for breakfast kind of thing.

So I spent a couple of weeks there, I was doing my own research for the project. And Jesse sent me that email, ideas for this project were kind of percolating. And then after I finished the research portion of my trip, I went to Tokyo, to spend a couple of weeks there with my girlfriend who also flew in from Vancouver. She was just able to join me in Tokyo. And Tokyo is like a world class city. I don’t know if you’ve ever been yourself, but it’s overwhelming in every sense of the word. It’s a sensory overload. It’s all the best and worst visions of the future imaginable. It’s incredibly crowded. It’s, you know, for me, I’m from Calgary. So I moved to Vancouver–Vancouver felt like a big city. But going from Vancouver to Tokyo was just like a whole other level. But it was really like whiplash. Yeah, it was like whiplash going from the small, small, small farming village sorry, a diving village, to the metropolis that is Tokyo. And I think that’s kind of where the idea of, you know, what is the ecological? Or what does the future look like? And where does nature fall into that category? In a way, that’s not just a side comment about, you know, nature not being good anywhere, or something like, I wanted to really bring it into the narrative, rather than just be a part of the background.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 22:20
That’s incredible. And I can only imagine, I’ve never been to Tokyo, but I’m excited, I’m actually going to be going this summer, and I’m really looking forward to getting there, so I will definitely have to hit you up

Genki Ferguson 22:35
Yes, hit me up for some tips. I’ll tell you where to stay.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 22:38
Excellent. But yes, this idea that you’re bringing the natural world into this conversation that is about so many other things also that are happening at the same time. I’m wondering, you know, now, given a little bit of distance, you know, it’s been a moment since you wrote this story. Here we are in 2023. And, of course, we’ve just reached the two degrees global temperature raise that, you know, when I was doing my Environmental Studies PhD, they said, if we reach that, we’re really kind of toast, you know. Or we’re, you know, we’re really going to have to turn exactly one AD in another direction to sort of bring us back. So, I’m curious, here we are in 2023, here we are in the conditions we’re seeing now. We’ve had a November like none other, here in Northern Turtle Island, north of the medicine line with warm temperatures everywhere; with, you know, unusual weather everywhere. And also just changes in the natural world. And I’m thinking also about the ways that the sort of economic crisis and you know, rents now being astronomically high and people being pushed out of cities. And so much has happened–here we are in 2023. What has changed? And how has your dreaming evolved since writing this story?

Genki Ferguson 24:04
Since writing this story? Yeah, that’s like an intermediate amount of time, because I guess it’s been a little bit less than a year, change less than a year. Um, well, I guess since writing this story that I’ve come back, and I’ve kind of gone back to my regular mode of living in Vancouver. And I quite enjoy the city. I think it’s a beautiful city, and it’s fun. But if you talk to any Vancouverite, for more than three seconds, they’ll start hitting you with all the justifiable complaints about the rent and this and the weather. So I think, you know, that period of time where I was kind of embodying different cities or different towns and writing this story, and I was kind of really thinking about space.

And then since coming back here, you know, I don’t know if it’s, like the nice thing to say, but I feel like my worlds gotten smaller again. I think you know, when you you live in a situation like so many of us do, where if you’re worried about rent being due, and the fact that it’s like, 20-something degrees in November, and that you can walk outside in a t-shirt and shorts, when it should probably be snowing or raining, and all this other litany of, you know, concerns and worries, which are all connected. It becomes harder to think about the future. I don’t know if I would have been able to reach for it in such a way, if I was still worried about my own, you know, my own one bedroom apartment, or as to speak to that. I think that also speaks to what kind of art we experience, what kind of art we see. I think it’s, on one hand, a shame if artists–not just artists–if everyone is so concerned about the immediate, short term, the immediate future, the 20 years from now, the 50 from now, that we’re not quite able to reach for it and maybe push ourselves as creatively. I’m kind of seeing this more from a robot arts perspective, maybe both.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 26:07
I’m so interested in this idea of using a creative lens to kind of, yeah, what would it look like? And I wonder, what would it take to get us back to that imaginative, you know, carte blanche, anything is possible space that we seemed to collectively shift into, in the uprisings of 2020. And during, you know, some of the great things that happened. I mean, the pandemic was so awful in so many ways, but there were these moments where we came together, and we saw organizing in new ways. And we saw activism in new ways. And there was a lot of discussion about abolition and a lot of discussion about class justice, and just things being different. It seemed that we were in a dream state where we were dreaming into futures that hadn’t yet been written. And it does seem now that there’s been this very strong pendulum swing to the right. And I think that, you know, there are reasons for that. And I think that, you know, perhaps it’s a sign of how successful some of those movements of 2020 were. But I do think that in this moment now, where we’re sort of, under this heavy blanket of conservativism and violence and war, it does seem hard to be in that speculative dreaming state. So perhaps that’s why now more than ever, we need these stories. We need the stories that you’ve created, like this one, to remind us of what it is to be in an imaginative state.

Genki Ferguson 27:39
Yeah, I think so. And you know, at the time, especially when we were all in like heavy, heavy lockdown, it was a really weird state of being, really strained kind of mental state. But at the same time, it was free, and not a lot of us, not all of us, you know, some of us were in precarious situations, especially those working in service or health care. But the reality is, you know, really large bulk of the population was experiencing life without work for a little bit. And that kind of gave rise to some interesting conversations.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 28:10
So here we are, we’ve just had a chance to hear the story with your voice, you know, taking us through. We have this relatively chilling moment where the crow has given over this egg. And, you know, there’s this potential for, I think they say, a new piece of technology, something that could be used for gifts, but also for revenge. And so, I’m interested in this moment that we find ourselves and I’m wondering, what you are hoping that people leave with after hearing this story or reading the story?

Genki Ferguson 28:55
Yeah, I mean, you know, I think it’s always more interesting to me to end a story on the question rather than an answer. It’s more realistic too, I think we very rarely get the answers we want for anything. Or if we do, they’re just replaced by two or three other more difficult questions. But um, yeah, I think with that specifically, it was both a kind of call for the future, a question of where we go from here. You know, it’s a question throughout history, not even just now, although now more than ever, in recent history, maybe. But we’re always having to question and think, every new generation, with any new technology that comes out, with every new kind of social shift, where do we go from here? What does the future look like? How do we shape the future to kind of represent what we want it to be? And I think that’s kind of a lot of the dreaming into the future that the story was kind of meant to portray. And in a more literal sense too, I’m personally a little tired of talking about it, but we have all these crazy AI tools coming out as well. And then of course as with any technology that comes up, the question is, how is this going to be used? Because the people who want to push it forward only ever talk about the benefits and then those who are more fearful only talk about the possible negatives. And ultimately, it does come down to us to decide what we want the future to look like and what values we want that to represent. So that’s what the crow is asking the audience that also the the boy in the story.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 30:23
It’s fascinating that you mentioned that because of course, I wonder, you know, these stories were conceived of pre-Chat GPT, pre-AI photography, pre-AI dupe videos. It’s really interesting to think of this human dreaming in a moment, pre what we now experience, where so much gets filtered through. Even in our imaginings, I think about all of the AI generated, sort of like, architectural room design that you see on Instagram. I don’t know if I just have been chosen by the algorithm to keep getting fed that content, but how it sort of starts to shape your idea of what furniture looks like, even though, you know, human-made furniture doesn’t look like that. And just how, anyway, just how much it’s affecting our lives. And I think you’re right, there’s, you know, certainly for someone like me, who knows little about AI and about computer science, who was sort of grew up on more of a Terminator 2 relationship to the idea of AI and Skynet. You know, I certainly have been more on the fearful side, but that’s because I really don’t know a lot. And so it’s interesting for me and my work, I do get to engage a lot with artists who are directly working with AI, sometimes as collaborators or in sort of new and interesting ways, who are, you know, reminding me that there are other sides to this conversation. And so I’m interested in what would a compilation today, written in this year, in this moment, be like, also, because as we’ve also mentioned, the world has changed a bit.

Genki Ferguson 32:17
Yeah, you’re asking, like, what the story would look like, if I would write it now, or…?

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 32:21
Well, no, I was just sort of, I suppose maybe it’s not even a question. I’m like, oh, I wonder–you know, just because, for so many of us, we’re really in this other time frame now with AI. And these stories were pre all of that. So, it’s kind of fascinating.

Genki Ferguson 32:41
Well, it’s odd to find myself on the other side of a technology. For all of my life, I thought I was young. Because you know, I’ve not been alive for too, too long. And then this whole AI thing starts coming out. And I realized that, oh, I’m kind of starting to understand my dad a bit more. I get it, like, I get his kind of like, slightly knee jerk reactions against the hot, cool, new shiny thing. I think I’m with you on this one in that I’m a little bit more fearful. Yeah, I have a younger brother, who’s Gen Z–Generation Zed or Zoomer, or however you want to put it–but he’s only five years younger than me. But even in that gap, there’s just such a different understanding of technology, or at least our relationship to technology is so completely different. I think a large part of that, too, is that when the pandemic hit, I was leaving school, I graduated from my post secondary program, whereas he was entering it. So we have very different kind of social experiences with isolation, with pandemics, with really kind of, polarizing states of existing too. So yeah, I think that’s, I guess, slightly transitioning to maybe an unrelated topic, but that’s another thing I’ve been kind of thinking about is, how fast and how harsh generational differences can appear. And I think the pandemic was a catalyst for that in a very real way.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 34:08
It’s so interesting, I was doing something, I think I was maybe putting on, I think I was putting on liquid eyeliner, that’s what I was doing. But I had water running, I had the water running. My daughter, she’s 12, she came in and turn the water off. And it was just this automatic reaction where she is just, like, the first thing that she’s going to do when she hears water running is to go and turn it off. Because water is a precious resource. And of course I know that too. But I’m Gen X, you know, we were the latchkey generation, the ones that like, you know, it’s a wonder that we’re still here because we were just sort of feral and, you know, left out very unsupervised. And there were certain things, behaviors that we, you know, learned to do that are were not the best for the planet and she was having a very different reaction. So I do really understand the generational divide. And then of course, my parents were baby boomers. And, you know, we had that whole, you know, Gen X and baby boomer thing.

So, you know, there are vast differences, even in the last five years in what has happened in relation to climate, in relation to racial justice, in relation to Future Possible and what is happening in terms of Systems Change, in terms of revolutionary action. You know, so much has happened. I would argue even really to go further back, you know, from the beginning of what might be considered like a BLM post, like a BLM moment after BLM emerges in 2014. So much changed in terms of activism and organizing, and, you know, this was on the heels of other very successful moments of organizing.You know, here in Tkaronto, there was incredible organizing around Sri Lankan, the war in Sri Lanka, and justice, and some new kinds of activism taking over highways and other things that planted the seeds for what we saw in the last 10 years.

So, you know, so much has happened. And so if you were born in 2012 versus 2000, a lot of different things would have been in your your sort of vision of what has happened in the world. So it’s interesting to imagine, where might we be in the year 2123? And if we were sitting down Genki, for a conversation in that year, I’m so curious what we would be talking about and what kind of future stories we would be writing from that vantage point. So, I look forward to joining you. Yeah, I suppose, in 100 years.

Genki Ferguson 36:32
We’ll be just two like, brains in a jar with like, speakers hooked up. That’s how we’ll be communicating.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 36:40
Absolutely. Well, thank you so much for your time today. I really appreciate the chance to chat with you. And thank you for your story. And I will be thinking about this story every time I see these beautiful black birds, flying through the sky in my community, in my hometown. So thank you.

Genki Ferguson 36:57
I’m very glad to hear. Make sure you give them presents too, get them on your side.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 37:01
Haha, I will.

Genki Ferguson 37:03
Thanks so much.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 37:05
All right, everyone, thank you so much for listening. Please be sure to like, follow, subscribe, and of course share. No Future No Cry is a collaborative production of Visitor Media and 221A, a nonprofit organization that works with artists and designers to research and develop cultural, ecological and social infrastructure based in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Original Music and Sound Design by Dominic Bonelli, Podcast Production by Krish Dineshkumar, Production Management by Afua Mfodwo, Editorial and Creative Production by aeryka jourdaine hollis o’neil and a special thank you to New Sound Production Music Studio for their recording services, to Sean O’Neill and Anni Spadafora from Visitor Media and to Tao Fei from 221A.