Living on a Fault Line
The other day I had a long phone call with
a friend of mine who was scheduled to be in Edmonton this week to deliver a talk about modern
technology and its impact on various aspects of society to an audience of assorted
deputy ministers and policy wonks. His message will be something of an
admonishment; our leaders and authorities have been too slow to embrace its
possibilities and opportunities, let alone keep pace with the velocity of the
digitally loosed arrow.
Civilization is currently floundering
somewhere in the primordial quagmire of a new historic age, one worthy of a
proper noun in the future annals of human progress. The Industrial Revolution
is over. Something else is happening right here, right now. I’ve been trying to
navigate my way for a few years but I feel I’m baked into the middle of a Black Forest cake, I can’t discern the layers of
enlightenment for the candied cherries and the cream trees.
Evidence of this period of transition is
all around me, in my neighbourhood and on my street. The city’s livery firms
are more responsive to my needs because they realize I can summon Uber instead
of a taxi but I have to leave the neighbourhood to shop because our district’s
modest commercial corner proffers brown paper window coverings and dust. Who
pays the property taxes due on dead retail space and how does the City assess the
value of a vacuum when ‘location, location, location’ really doesn’t matter
anymore?
Blocks surrounding the Crooked 9 are undergoing
neighbourhood renewal. The immediate area is clustered with machines,
steamrollers, cement trucks, mustering crews and their own private vehicles.
The project is a decade late, if only because Canadian cities are handcuffed by
a legal inability to raise revenues for building, maintaining and expanding
their required infrastructure. Anyway, I got mine just in case Edmonton
hits that Detroit
city flat-line. The gas company and a couple of telcos were ripping up what the
City had just repaved, upgrading their hardware. Any soul on my street in a
neon safety vest blends right into the occupation.
Two weeks ago one of my neighbours’ homes
was broken into. Property crimes in the area are spiking. Employment in Edmonton is usually
stable because it’s a government town anchored by a major university. Still,
some sectors of the economy are suffering and idle hands… I was outside that
afternoon, mowing the lawn and then repainting a stick of furniture in the
garage. If I saw something, I didn’t know what I was seeing. Something else
struck me too: I do not know the people in my neighbourhood as well as I used
to. Here was the new gig economy at work.
There is always a stream branded courier
van delivering Amazon wares. There are sub-contracted couriers too with magnetic
decals on their car doors. Food is delivered by grocery stores, specific
restaurants and app drivers who pick up meals pretty much from any place with a
functioning kitchen. There are dog walkers and maid services on regular
schedules. There are hired gardeners and landscapers, snow removal services. Nobody
seems to possess a whit of inclination to do anything themselves.
Paying another to perform one’s mundane
chores adds up. Consequently many homeowners in the area have developed
basement or garage suites to ease existing expenses even as mortgage interest
rates rise. Back lanes are crawling with legitimate strangers entering and
exiting through side and rear entries. Tenants come and go. I never get to know
them. There’s someone in the alley. So what? Around the front, some tenacious
door-knocker is looking to raise funds for a soccer team, a jazz ballet club,
an elementary school or some disease only an unlucky few acquire.
So unless the bad guy is masked and decked
out in a Beagle Boys black-and-white prison outfit I’ve no clue who’s
suspiciously treading in my patch on my watch. I am as mystified and confused
about the new reality as those politicos my friend was engaged to lecture. I
can sort of see a sea change but can’t make any sense of it. The lesson is
simple: being blind in these times, ignorant, just won’t do.
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