The Unsalable Quarters

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 0:07
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 Unsalable Quarters, written by our featured guest, Sandy.

Sandy Hudson is a multidisciplinary creative, writer and activist with a talent for inspiring others to imagine just futures. The founder of Black Lives Matter Canada, Sandy also co-founded the Black Legal Action Center, a specialty Legal Aid Clinic, which provides direct legal services and test case litigation for Black communities in Ontario, Canada. Sandy is currently based in Los Angeles, and is Co-Executive Producer of the upcoming 8-part CBC documentary series, Black Life: A Canadian History, a partner with Above the Palace Productions, and serves as the Director of Strategic Planning for Wildseed Center for Art and Activism. A dynamic and matter of fact communicator, Sandy has a unique ability to distill complex ideas into manageable concepts for large audiences. Sandy has been featured in The New York Times, Newsweek, on NPR, in the Toronto Star, CTV News, CP24, Global News, Buzzfeed and KTLA. Her published work appears in Maclean’s Magazine, Chatelaine, Flare magazine, The Washington Post, the Toronto Star, and the Huffington Post, amongst others. Tackling a range of social justice issues from anti-Black racism to feminism, Sandy is a natural thought leader and has a gift for finding the common ground we need to make a better society. Stay tuned after the story for a conversation between Sandy and I, where we discuss her inspiration and writing process. Without further ado, The Unsaleable Quarters by Sandy Hudson

Sandy Hudson 2:49
The Unsaleable Quarters by Sandy Hudson.

The rays of the hot late August sun shone through her window and landed softly on her cheek, waking her. She loved waking up to the sun. This was a privilege she had rarely been afforded in that other place; her previous life. But here, in this new place, she was free to rise alongside the sun on a Tuesday.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. She was half expecting to see the surroundings of the beforetime when she opened her eyes. But she was safe and entirely comfortable in the familiarity of her home of four months.

She stretched and slowly made her way to the window, where she kept a glass carafe of water. Taking a deep sip, she marveled at the freedom she had to enjoy the whispered vibrance of the mornings; the sun illuminating her deep, dark skin.
Tuesday was a day of rest in this new place. But today she would be working. She was used to constant work; that was just life in the Administrative Region she had come from. The quality of her life had dramatically improved since she had been forced to escape one of the walled corporate territories of a shrinking Canada. Freedom; it was here all along, on the other side of the wall. And she wanted others to breathe freedom, too. And so she volunteered to help the resistance efforts, even on her days off. She had never known what freedom meant—and maybe she still didn’t know it. But here, in this new place, she felt that she could come to know it.

She tore herself away from the beauty revealed by her window, showered, dressed, and made her way to the kitchen. She put on a pot of coffee, still not quite used to the fact that it was in such abundant supply, here. She hadn’t had the luxury of daily coffee since her early twenties. It’s existence, here, in a space that she was responsible for and that housed her! Mere months ago, this was an impossibility.

“Jooooo!” she sang out. “Jo! Are you up yet? CYC Transport will be here, soon!”

“I’m already ready,” a sullen voice answered. Her only child emerged from the galleried hallway and came to sit at the kitchen bar, book in hand. “I was just reading. You know it’s Tuesday, right? You don’t have to go anywhere. You could just stay here, with me.”

“I never have to go anywhere, anymore,” she said playfully, marveling at the fact that her 12-year-old wanted to spend time with her. But she understood. Behind the wall, in the Canadian Innovation Partnership Administrative Region, things had gotten so bad, the Functional Application Citizen Unit members were rarely designated time to spend with their children by the Supervision & Efficiency Management Citizen Unit. June only really got to experience a mother-child relationship over these last few months. And what a blessing it had been to find tenderness and love between them.

“I just need to do more,” she said, kissing Jo’s forehead.

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the Community Youth Care Transport service. Since Tuesday is a day of rest, youth have some additional freedom to decide how they spend their days, rather than going through the regular education program. She was proud June had shown an interest in subjects like public creative expression and universal design; subjects she had never had available to her as a citizen born into the FACU. But here, not only was June able to engage with educators in these fields on a day off, June would also have full meals and the option to take breaks for play or for guided physical education provided by the CYC.

With Jo gone, she stuffed some supplies in her pockets and headed out the door. She exited her home and walked throughout the lush greenery of the unsaleable quarters, each step bringing her closer to the barren waste of the Administrative Region—the place of her beforetime.
This was it. This was the end. This was her last straw. It had to be.

There was much to despise here. So much grief. So much despair.

But the death of her partner continued to rip through her heart like tiny shards of glass piercing her chest in slow, agonizing motion. She had barely had time to process the news before their employer’s instant messaging service displayed the next message on her arm: “DataFrame Enterprises sends condolences for your loss. As a member of the Functional Application Citizen Unit, you are eligible for 36 bereavement hours. These hours are not transferrable to your current delinquency status. As next of kin, any existing delinquencies and debts will be assumed by you. An update on your account will be sent in the next communication. Do you understand? Y/N?”

She touched the tip of her finger to the “Y,” still numb from the pain. Still in shock. This death was entirely predictable. Preventable! It wasn’t a passive “death.” DataFrame Enterprises was meant to provide the necessities of life for citizens born into this sector of the Canadian Innovation Partnership Administration Region. This was their fault. They let this happen! They knew her partner had been living with diminished lung function since childhood. This was common among the FACU workers, who lived and worked in areas with very poor air quality, and with inadequate air filtration systems recycled from some time before the climate crisis accelerated the separation of the wealthy and the destitute.

Her grandmother, who had lived in a time before public-private partnerships had begun to supplement government and social services, had suspected that many of the FACU workers who struggled with poor lung function had a disease called asthma.

Such a diagnosis would have been devastating.

DataFrame provided services for all its workers, but at a cost. Medical appointments that exceeded the one medical check-up hour FACU workers were entitled to receive every three years would result in a time debt. The debt was payable by either increasing FACU work hours beyond the mandated 60 hours per week or by picking up “gig hours.” Each hour of gig work was worth one quarter of an actual hour, and was spent delivering food and packages to more privileged Citzen Units in the DataFrame sector. Time debt accumulated for any services workers accessed beyond the allotment DataFrame provided. Failure to discharge time debt within one month resulted in massive interest charges.

She and her partner were so deep in debt they were marked with delinquency status.

The next message appeared, warm on her skin: “DataFrame sends condolences for your loss. Your delinquency status has reached critical levels. Your bereavement hours have been reduced to the minimum of five hours. The remainder has been applied to the mandatory number of hours you must dedicate to the Partnership Administration Region by the end of the month to avoid Incarcerated Service. A final update on your account will be sent in the next communication and is dependent on the choices you make with respect to after-death arrangements. Do you wish to apply hours to a funeral service for the decedent? Y/N?”

She ignored it. The tears had stopped. She was feeling numb in her grief.

Her partner couldn’t afford an asthma diagnosis. That would have meant mandatory treatments and medicine that would cost time that they just didn’t have. So, like most other sick workers in the FACU, her partner worked through illness.

But in the last couple months, the coughing spells and the gasping for air had become terrifying. She had forced a doctor’s visit a few times out of fear. They had used both of their existing illness hours and accumulated gig hours on these appointments. They both slipped deeper into delinquency status. Neither could imagine working in the terrible conditions of the Incarcerated Service—which would mean giving up Jo—and each other—until they worked enough Incarcerated Service hours to rise out of delinquency.

She cried out as the message on her arm began to flash and burn hot like a brand, demanding her acknowledgement. She pressed the “N.” There was no way she could afford a funeral. Funerals were rare in among FACU workers.

Her partner had picked up additional gig work to try to work off the delinquency, which had started to impact Jo at the DataFrame primary education programme. Jo was no longer permitted to eat at lunch with friends the regular meals the corporation provided to FACU. Instead, the food provided was an extension of the punitive delinquency cycle: plain bread, a teaspoon of butter, and water. Jo was required to eat in isolation. ***

Jo had brought so much love to them, but was the source of so much of their pain. A child among the FACU was rare. Pregnancy was risky business, especially in the FACU sector where illness was common and the air unclean. Any complications could put you in unimaginable debt. She did her best to hide her pregnancy but experienced complications in the final trimester.

She was looked upon with scorn as her belly swelled. Selfish to have had a child she couldn’t care for, others thought. But this defiance borne of love meant everything to her. Somehow, she still had power. The power to choose differently. The power to create. The power to love. Through everything, she still had that. She would have this child.

She was rushed from work to the hospital in early labour. In the ambulance, she received the employer’s auto message on her arm once her condition was understood: “Impermissible pregnancy detected. Complex delivery imminent. Terminate or deliver? Y/N?” She chose yes, through the pain, and through the tears; and endured the long series of messages that came after, explaining that her choice would cost her deeply.
Jo was her greatest source of Joy, the debt that came from overuse of medical services during pregnancy meant that she would very rarely see her newborn. She and her partner immediately had to pick up additional gig hours to pay off the obstetric hours she had accumulated during the pregnancy. And she’d been trying to pay those hours off—on top of everything—ever since. It had been 12 years. She barely knew her child. ***

The next message came, feeling nearly cool against the burn, which still smart: “DataFrame sends condolences for your loss. The cost to dispose of the decedent combined with your current delinquency level and the accumulated delinquency of the decedent has placed you at Incarcerated Service level delinquency. You must discharge 80 hours outside of your regular 240 FACU work hours this month or face relocation and Incarcerated service level work. Do you understand? Y/N?”

Yes. She understood. She could no longer endure this living death. It was time to escape. She could not bear to watch another loved one struggle through the absurdity of this place, only to succumb to its cruelty. She had a child now. A child borne of love that deserved every risk she could take for the chance to live outside the oppression of any corporation. ***

That devastating loss was one short month ago. Now, her focus was on escape.

“Move!” whispered Remy. “If you don’t make it through these tunnels by dawn, you will be caught, and you will be marked for permanent incarceration.”

“I just need to catch my breath,” she said, from where she had collapsed into a heap on the ground. Her lungs may have been better than her partner’s, but the FACU work had taken its toll.

“Look,” Remy exhaled. “I know it’s hard to breathe down here. But we need to go faster than this. This is your one shot. We are getting you and yours out of this shithole. Do you hear me? I’ve never lost one charge, and I’m not starting with you, lot.”

“Mom,” whispered Jo. “You can do this.” Jo was her source of hope and strength. She wiped the sweat from her brow and forced herself to rise and resume her journey through the tunnels. She had to make it. ***

A day or two after the loss of her partner, she was engaging in gig work. While delivering a meal to the Supervision and Efficiency Management Citizen Unit, something strange happened. She left the package on the front of the home, just outside the mandatory anteroom that protects the privileged classes from the pollution of the outside air. She turned to leave and heard the door open. She froze and turned—why would any SEMCU worker open the door before she left? Most privileged classes assumed the FACU were diseased and would avoid direct contact.

A strikingly tall man with deep, dark skin, and a powerful presence exited the anteroom.

“Hey. You lost your partner. My condolences.”

She was stunned. “I—how did you–?”

“You have a child.”

“I–Yeah. Yes. I do.” She paused. “And I don’t have to justify—”

“Brave,” he said. Was he mocking her? “Or stupid.”

Her temper flared. She still stung from the loss of her partner and now this odd judgment from a SEMCU she was serving? “I made a choice about my life and my future by myself,” she retorted. “I refused inevitability. I chose possibility. I chose family. Call it what you want. My choice changed me. I dream differently now. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded approvingly. “Perfect. I was hoping you’d say something like that. Meet me down by the DataFrame waste disposal site at noonhour if you want to make more choices.”

He abruptly turned and disappeared back into his home.

She was stunned. Why would he hope for a response like that? He seemed almost…impressed by her. There had been rumours about resistance groups that would smuggle people out to the unsaleable quarters. Could he be a part of that resistance? It was hard to tell if these rumours were truth or wishful thinking. People in FACU were disappearing all the time. Management always said it was debt incarceration—but was it?

The unsaleable quarters was what some had begun to call the place beyond what was left of Canada. But there was no actual name. The Executive Fiduciaries of the Innovation Partnership had foretold of the death, destruction and deprivation of the world beyond the Canadian territories. It was because of Canada’s strategic partnerships with corporations that anyone had survived the climate wars of this millenium’s first century. What parts of the Internet were available to FACU members frequently described the ruinous anarchy beyond the walled territories. There was no prosperity there, Canadians were told. Nothing through which an economy could benefit anyone. Well, there was no prosperity here, either. Not for her. Not for anyone she knew. Even those in the more privileged units like SEMCU had their whole lives regimented and restricted through time debt.

There was so little in this place that operated outside of the routine that was expected of everyone. The invitation from this man…could it be her way out? As she rode the FACU-issued motorbike to her next gig, she resolved to meet him. It couldn’t be much riskier than her pregnancy and birth of Jo. And if it led to her escape, it was worth all the risk in the world.
She arrived at the waste disposal site at noon and waited. This was risky all right. This would put a dent in her gig hours, and someone surely would notice that she wasn’t logging any hours so close to incarceration. She was nervous. She could hardly control her excited breathing.

She did not have to wait long. The tall man came from around the corner with another person, lithe and sinewy.

“I see your bravery continues,” said the man, flashing a bright smile. “Meet Remy. They will be your guide to the land of the free, should you choose to accept them.”

Remy looked into her eyes with intensity. “This isn’t an easy trip,” they said. “But you follow my every instruction and I promise you, you will make it.”

She stared at the both of them, hardly able to comprehend what they were saying.

Remy took her by the shoulders. “Look, we don’t have much time. I’ll do my best to explain, but you need to go home as soon as possible and get ready to go. You leave tonight.”

“Wait, I—you—who are you?” she stammered. How could someone from SEMCU possibly–?”

“Listen to me closely. We only have time to go through this once,” he said. “I was FACU once. Now, I’m no longer defined solely by my work or productivity. I am not gasping for air every time I start the work of making the Executive classes more and more comfortable. I am here solely to free more of us.” He sighed. “I have a kid, too. This is no place for a child. I live in the unsaleable quarters. I am part of the Land & Living Liberation Resistance.”

She balked. A real resistance movement? Not defined by productivity? Not gasping for air? What fantasy was he spouting?

“Together we have freed 75 per cent of land that used to be controlled by Canada,” he said. We live and and thrive on this land. But never will we permit it to be sold again. Land is like water. Like air. It’s life. It sustains us. Its purchase leads to this destruction and dehumanization. To living death. To unimaginable wealth accumulation and destruction of life. We refuse to watch the continued destruction of our world.”

“You mean…there’s life? There’s people living beyond Canada?”

Remy flashed a huge grin. “Yes! Yes! We are winning. We have been winning the war against the corporate monsters for the better part of this last decade,” they said. “The exploiters—they lie to you. They lie to you all to keep you in line. But there is so much beauty and freedom beyond the walls. There is no concept of debt. Everyone nurtures and takes care of children. We all supply one another food…we have it in abundance. The air is still struggling to cleanse itself from the degradation that was wrought by the use of fossil fuels, but everyone is provided their own dwellings, with air filtration…and there’s even some areas where the outside air is fairly pure.”

“You are describing an imaginary paradise,” she breathed.

“Nothing about it is imaginary,” said the man. “This is a completely different way to live. We take care of one another. We live for each other collectively. Not for any one class. Not simply to avoid incarceration. We—”

“Hey! We don’t have time for this,” Remy was pacing, looking in all directions to see if anyone was coming. “I’ve managed to carve out a short window. But it’s tonight. You have six hours to get your child and meet me back here. Then I’ll take you through the escape route. Bring nothing. You won’t need it.”

“And eat as well as you can,” said the man, giving her the package of food she had brought to him earlier. “This will be the longest journey of your life.”

“Time to bounce,” said Remy. “See you in six hours. Do not be late.” ***

They made it. After the harrowing journey through the tunnels, they took a vehicle to a safehouse in the closest place with cover—a wooded area. She had never seen anything like it. Jo was fascinated, asking about all the foliage she had never seen before in the concrete landscape that was her home, her previous home. Jo’s interest sparked something in her, and tears rolled down her face. She was exhausted, but she was happy. She looked at Remy. “How?”

Remy smiled. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

They stayed at the safehouse for the night so that Remy could recharge the vehicle. And then they took the long drive to the Temporary Settlement for the Recently Liberated. Remy turned to her. “This is where I leave you.” They patted Jo on the shoulder. “Congratulations to both of you. You can finally start living. They’ll take care of you here…set you up with permanent housing, medical examinations and treatment, and whatever else you need. You’ll have the option to help supporting the resistance, to contribute to a community of your choice in the way that you want, or you can choose to take time to heal from everything you’ve gone through.”

“How can I ever repay you?” she asked Remy, tears in her eyes.

“Repay?” laughed Remy. “So many of you say that. What does that even mean? There’s no need to think like that, here. What I do is necessary for all our survival. That’s what we do in this place for one another. If you require food, we have it in abundance. It grows out of the ground. If you require space, we have it in abundance, it is for everyone to enjoy and benefit from. If you require air, breath deeply. It’s yours. If you require education, we will share what we know. If you require care, or your child, or your kin, we will support in any way that we can. If your health falters, we will provide safety. This is the way of the unsaleable quarters. You should want for nothing.”

Remy turned them over to a slight, young person, who was working on intake of new arrivals. “Hey, Dawud. They’re all yours.” And with that, Remy gave a wink and left.

“What are your names?” asked Dawud, with a warm smile.

“Jo,” said Jo, timidly.

“Welcome, Jo! And you?” Dawud turned to her.

“Me?” She reflected on how little she had been asked for her name in her life. It didn’t matter what her name was in DataFrame’s Canada. But here…upon her arrival, it was the first thing she was asked.

“It’s Omnira.”

“Welcome, Omnira.”

Omnira looked to the sky, took a deep breath, and smiled.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 30:13
So thank you so much, Sandy, for reading that story, and taking us into this other world, this other space. And leaving us, I think wondering what is about to happen next? Tell us a bit about what we’re dreaming into with your story. What world have you imagined for us here?

Sandy Hudson 30:36
What I was really trying to do was to imagine two different places, one in which there has been some success on the part of people who are really trying to radically change the world and to make it something different. And I wanted to show the reader what that world could look like, doing a little bit of imagining, in a way that I think a lot of activists and artivists are always called to do. Like, let’s imagine a future. And then I wanted to juxtapose that against a future that we may not be very far off from, if the ugliest parts of the world that we currently live in, are able to continue to flourish, unabated. And so I wanted to show these two worlds and put them side by side, so we could see from our own vantage point, what’s at stake, and what’s possible.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 31:44
So how did you go about – because we started talking about this project a while ago, it’s been, you know, this period of upheaval and change, and in many ways, revolutionary action in the streets since, you know – when did we start talking about this? 2020? 2021? You know, I’m wondering what your process was to create this world? How did you begin? How did you begin when you got this invitation: dream into the next 100 years. And what made you sure that this was the story that you wanted to tell?

Sandy Hudson 32:20
Ooh, really good question. I think, what brought me to this world and processes of thinking about this, in – gosh, we came together at this time, during the pandemic, where we had a lot of time. It felt like for a moment, that we were going to be able to use time in a different way, that we were going to have access time. But the realities of the capitalist system that we live in, I mean, gosh, it was very efficient at reworking itself, to be able to take up all of that time, and to really, you know, force us to now, instead of like, the commuting time that we had, make sure that we have meetings that are, you know, just right adjacent to each other, where we didn’t really have a lot of breathing room to even process what was happening to us on an international scale.

And so I started thinking about time, and the idea that, you know, money or economics, like the way that money works is it’s really just a corollary for time, and what it would look like in a world where the powers that be wanted to be even more efficient about that and take out this sort of middling mediator, which is, you know, cash money, the income that we make, and just have it be time. And so during, you know, during the pandemic and having time shift for me was really how I started to think about this world in which everything is still hyper capitalist. You know, work is the common denominator and, you know, the exploitation of people’s work and who they are, but really mediated through time. And then showing the difference of a place where, you know, what’s important is care and showing the different services that could exist in a world like that. That people in this story are very much still building. And that was the process for me, it was really, you know, COVID inspired in some ways.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 35:11
I love that. And I love this idea that somehow, time and care come together. And I think that that’s so interesting and this idea of these unsaleable quarters, that you describe, that you sort of talk through, you know, this relationship between, you know, these two young people, like these folks who are coming together. And just what happens through this process of trying to get free. I love this world that you’ve created, where we see as you’ve described, you know, where might we be in a couple of years, or a couple of decades if we don’t transform or change the road that we’re on. And so this, this sort of Canada, that is articulated in this space, where I think, you know, the main character says, you know, she’d never been asked her name, you know, it literally didn’t matter. But then when she gets to this safer place, you know, being asked her name, and we finally get to hear it at the end of the story. And I just wonder, you know, you’ve done so much work around justice and changemaking here, north of the Medicine Line, here in Northern Turtle Island, you know–how has your activism here inspired this story?

Sandy Hudson 36:40
Oh, entirely, I don’t think I could come up with a story like this, if it wasn’t for my activism, because, you know, my activism is really quite hopeful. It’s an optimistic endeavor. And it requires imagination and requires, you know, I have someone that I work with, who calls it a little bit of delusion, haha. It requires looking in the face of such … so many institutions, so many structures that are set up to say, you cannot live in another way. And it’s actually not possible to even think about challenging this because it will transform and it will meet your challenge. And it will make something even worse. It takes a lot of flexing of a creative muscle, to continue to be optimistic in that space, and to also believe that you can create something different. But that is a necessity, I think, for an activist because otherwise you’re just going through the motions, and it can be, you know, coming at activism from a very pessimistic place can be very demoralizing and harmful, I think, for the soul.

But the brand of activism that I tried to make sure that I’m immersed in is one that is eternally optimistic and eternally believes that differences are possible. And so, being able to flex that muscle of those possibilities that I’m constantly engaging with, and to create something real (even though it’s not real), but like the vision of something real, on paper, is fully informed by the type of activism that I do. And then, on the other side of it, the other world that’s created here, it’s a similar thing. You know, my activism is catalyzed by all of the worst parts of what’s happening in our world right now. But it’s also the fear of things getting even worse. And so, everything is because of where I’m at now, where we’re at now collectively, and trying to imagine in both directions, in a way that propels us forward.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 39:21
But I love this idea of going back and looking forward and this idea, you know, from the Adinkra symbol for Sankofa, you know, with the goose from the Ashanti people in Ghana in West Africa, where the goose is walking forward but looking backwards at its tail. And this idea of the sort of reciprocal relationship we have with both the future and the past and the responsibilities that we have to both the future and the past. And, you know, I’m really reminded of a time in 2022 when we got a chance to do a workshop together for the Toronto Biennial of Art, and we set that workshop in the year 2050. And I can remember having a conversation with you at that time, about the liberating possibilities of just that simple thing: setting the workshop in a different year in a different time, because of what was then possible. And I think that what you’re describing here with this, you know, commitment to hope, and to the possibility that as Assata Shakur reminds us, we can win, that we will win our liberation. You know, what are you seeing in this medium, speculative fiction, sci-fi, you know, dreaming forward into a future that doesn’t yet exist? What’s possible for you in this medium? And what’s made, I guess, what has been made possible through imagining forward 100 years or whatever?

Sandy Hudson 40:52
Beautiful, beautiful question. Yeah, I think, you know, one of the things that, like, made me upset when I was writing it like, frustrated, but realizing that this was something that truly was possible, was this idea that we would be so regulated, so regulated on our ability to provide worth through our time and work, that even the agency over whether or not to have a child would I mean, in so many ways, that’s already the case. But to take that to its natural conclusion, if we push it all the way, and, you know, that made me really frustrated. And so it was also really good to think about what would the total opposite be, and perhaps the name is too on the nose, but you know, for a place where you can’t sell things, you know, like it is literally unsalable. You cannot purchase one’s time, you can’t…you know, the importance of taking care of children and making sure that they’re taken care of. That people have time to really consider who everyone is in their lives, what their needs are, the importance of leisure, like, this is what I really wanted to… Like, she gets to enjoy the sun, you know, coming through her window–like, what an amazing thing.

And I think that for this world, and you know, we don’t quite get into it in this story, what would be one of the most important things is the time that they now have for themselves to create something else. Because I do think, often times when we are, as activists challenging something that is unjust, people are like, “Well, what do you want it to be? Like, what do you really want? Like, figure it out!” And, you know, part of it is that I just want the time to actually figure it out. And the ability to contribute to it because, you know, capitalism wasn’t figured out in one day, and it is continuing to figure itself out and is allowed to grow and shift and change. Setting this in the future and saying, you know, they still don’t have everything figured out. But they do get time to enjoy the sun, you know, and they can still build what they’re building while they’re doing that. And part of what they’re building is a way to rescue people from a place where you can’t do that. And so I really do think one of the important things is like, this space to understand that there is no finish line to human civilization. You know, we we are constantly learning and relearning, shifting how we relate to one another, and how we live together and it should be that way, shouldn’t it? We should always be thinking, is there a better way to do this? And responding to that. So you know, to me it’s really important that with whatever we’re shifting, we’re carving out time and we’re not just implementing something that is like, readymade because I guarantee it won’t… it won’t do the job.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 44:52
I am so excited that we get to hear more and more stories coming from you about the future, because it sounds like this is just the beginning of more stories that may be coming. Is that true?

Sandy Hudson 45:10
Yeah. I mean, I have so many ideas and ways to critique what’s happening right now. And, and so much of my life has been dedicated to doing that through, you know, activism and being involved in policy. But I always, you know… I think the most impactful ways to critique what’s happening right now is to tell stories in a way that people can see the consequences of what’s happening right now through the journey of someone else, or the journey of a different world. Because, you know, Octavia Butler did that for me, you know, like, I have that in my head all the time, like, the different ways that we can talk about a particular situation. And, you know, I don’t think we can imagine a future unless we put energy and time into thinking of stories that tell us what that future can be like. And so yeah, I’m full, I’m full of stories. And hopefully, you’ll be hearing a lot more of my stories. So, you know, thank you for again, for allowing me to be a part of this project and sharing this particular story with folks. And I hope it helps people to think through some of those issues that we are, you know, we’ve dedicated our lives to confronting and talking about.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 46:40
I’m wondering if you were sort of leaving the listener with one thing that you hope that they leave with or take with them after hearing your story, after reading your story, what is that one thing that you hope that they take with them?

Sandy Hudson 46:57
Ooh, I really would love for people to take the idea that your time is important. And there are things in this life, like ideas that people will throw out at you: that you know, you always need to be productive, that leisure isn’t important, you got to work hard if you want to get somewhere. I kind of want people to think about things differently. Like, leisure is very important in your life. And I think that we don’t prioritize that enough as like, a culture, as a society. And you should be able to like, enjoy your life. That includes you know, the joy of meeting someone. And you know, this idea that she’s only told her name at the end is because nobody cares to meet her, nobody cares who she is. They only care what she can offer. Well, that is so true in so many ways in our society right now. And I want people to know, like, this time that you can take to get to know someone, to discover them. You know, we’ve all had those moments–like, the joy of discovering someone. And then we train ourselves to like, not do it. I hope that people take from this story, that it is really important to take time to enjoy your world and to enjoy other people and the communities that we have that support and bolster our life.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 48:40
I love this and I am dreaming of a future time sitting in the park under the sun, getting to just spend those moments together, getting to tell stories to each other for each other with each other. And getting to dream together into a different kind of future. Sandy, thank you for all that you do in this world. Thank you for the story that has taken us to a different place where we can imagine and maybe be prepared for what we need to plan for, for what is coming. It’s so wonderful to get to dream into the future with you. And thank you for sharing this story.

Sandy Hudson 49:20
Thank you again, it’s been such a joy. And thank you for the work that you do and for bringing all of these stories together. I’ve just, you know, I feel so honored to be a part of it. So looking forward to that day in the park with you.

Dr. Syrus Marcus Ware 49:38
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.