American Intelligence, Canadian Technology, and the Copenhagen Climate Talks

It’s true. We don’t like to admit it, but Canadians are a nation of super-spies. Yup, our spy technology rivals that of Inspector Gadget or MI-5’s Q; at least that appears to be the conclusion of some Pentagon officials. In documents released to the AP under the Freedom of Information Act, it seems some U.S. Military brass thought Canada’s commemorative quarters that featured the red image of a poppy were actually radio transmitters using nano-technology. Pentagon officials debated in late ’06 whether they should alert their officers working up in the U.S. Northern Command. I can only imagine top secret orders going out under a file known as “Stop the Poppy,” with Peter Sellers playing the role of the Deputy Director of Counter-Intelligence.

Counter-intelligence, exactly right.

Of course, now that Canada’s flagship technology company, Nortel, has been sold for auction at a pittance of its once glorious valuations, Canadian technology has now regressed to an age known as BMS (Before Maxwell Smart). In light of that, we recently, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, lowered the national Cone of Silence to have a Canadians-only conversation. We all agreed that it's so F...ING cold up here that we will do whatever’s necessary to speed up global warming. We also agreed that we all wanted the world to think most Canadians are vehemently against warming and want to curtail our carbon emissions. Greenpeace Canada agreed to hang a big sign on the Canadian Parliament to help with the ruse. And Prime Minister Harper, God love ‘im, agreed to take on the crap the world leaders in Copenhagen would be dishing out about Canada. Those damn Europeans, they wouldn’t know 40 below if their piss froze. Harper’s gonna hold the line. Bring on the heat!

Thanksgiving in the States

It's Thanksgiving in the States; another work day in Canada. At 3:00pm I called up the family who had all gathered at one of my sister's. Turkey, cranberry, stuffing. Everyone happy, excepting, as usual, the turkey. I remember, back in elementary school, taking a day-long field trip to visit Plymouth Rock, the exact spot where the Pilgrims landed. I was expecting to see a rock right on the water's edge because it was, after all, the rock where Captain, oh darn--what was is name?--William Smyth (maybe) stepped ashore. The Rock wasn't at the water's edge; in fact, it was pretty far inland. I remember looking at the rock and trying to figure out how he stepped ashore on it. I decided they must have had the wrong rock, and so lost interest in the outing and was bored the rest of the day. Even worse, I thought if they got the rock wrong, then they may have gotten other parts of the story wrong too. History suddenly seemed up for grabs. That's when I my skepticism began--at a third grade outing to Plymouth Rock.

That said, there was something about a U.S. Thanksgiving in Massachusetts that made one feel just a wee bit smug, because we lived where it had all happened, whether it was true or not. Why the rest of the U.S. also got a day off didn't quite make sense to me. They didn't have anything to do with the Pilgrims. It's odd to think those people sailed across an ocean to the new world to escape religious persecution only to have a nation founded that enshrined the separation of church and state, only to then morph into the most religious democracy in the west. Would it be too much of a stretch to call the States a theocracy? But I digress. I couldn't understand the rest of the U.S. celebrating Thanksgiving any more than I could understand Florida celebrating Christmas. There was no snow, nowhere for the reindeer to land, and--worst of all--poor Santa would work up one mean sweat flying over Florida in his winter coat. I had a winter coat and I knew for sure I wouldn't wear it if I was in Florida. I knew Christmas belonged wherever it snowed, and Thanksgiving belonged in Massachusetts. In the geography of holidays, I figured I was in just about as perfect a place as one could ask for.

The Downfall, Collapse and End of America

Catchy title for a blog post, isnt’ it?
I figure if CBC’s The Battle of Blades made the NY Times (see November 11th) then America's collapse must be imminent. Who ever knew Canadian fluff would be attracting American viewers, particularly at a time when they have minor issues like healthcare, two wars and a banking system trying to right itself.

The latter task isn’t so straightforward apparently. Senator Dodd who is leading the charge on creating bank regulations had a meeting with the ranking Republican on the banking committee who—is this a surprise?—opposed the creating of an agency designed to “protect consumers from abusive and deceptive mortgages and credit cards.” That’s right, why punish business by preventing them from offering deceptive mortgages or issuing abusive credit cards? This is America, Senator Dodd; how about you get with the program, sir?

Of course, one Republican Senator adverse to some regulations isn’t anything to get worried about. Worry only if this sort of foolishness has spread, and Paul Krugman is sure it hasn’t merely spread, it has morphed into a dangerous virus that has legs, maybe even wings. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/09/opinion/09krugman.html?scp=6&sq=Paul%20Krugman&st=Search Yes, this is serious shit. As Krugman puts it, “the takeover of the Republican Party by the irrational right is no laughing matter. Something unprecedented is happening here — and it’s very bad for America.”

Despite all this, America still takes care of its own. And this just in over the wires proves it:
A new study estimates four times as many US Army veterans died last year because they lacked health insurance [WAIT! Hold on a minute, this doesn’t sound like the right item] than the total number of US soldiers who were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan in the same period. A research team at Harvard Medical School says 2,266 veterans under the age of sixty-five died in 2008 because they were uninsured.
Oops.

The vets might not have healthcare, but at least those currently serving have weapons like the U.S.S. New York to be proud of, a warship that has over seven tons of steel from the Twin Towers in its bow. Never mind that the ship wouldn’t have been able to stop those nutcases with box knives who flew planes into the Towers, or that the steel might have been used to make a peace sculpture or benches encircling a garden of forgiveness, what matters is that the ship looks damn f…ing scary! Yee-haw!

Not be outdone by Americans proclaiming the downfall of the States, TV Ontario’s flagship current affairs program, The Agenda, just had a panel discussing the erosion of American power. Tell that to the crew on the U.S.S. New York. Go here http://www.tvo.org/cfmx/tvoorg/theagenda and look at the program for November 11th. Though I’d like to have heard more focus on the challenges of American democracy, the U.S. received tremendous kudos for the depth of its demographics. The U.S. population is growing, and compared to the demographics of China, Russia and Europe, its demographics are sitting pretty. In the future, the U.S. will actually have citizens to do stuff, compared to Russia, for example, whose citizens die young and don't leave offspring.

So let’s see, when you put all this stuff together, what comes out? Well, apparently we’re going to have a southern neighbor with a whole lotta people, who are broke from deceptive credit cards, lacking healthcare, overrun with Republican ideology and chock full of military toys. Not to worry--at least they’ll be watching the CBC.

Sports (?) Updates

Last weekend there was a Curling World Cup tournament (though I admit I’m not sure if they call it a World Cup) and Canada won. Who’d we defeat, you ask? Another Canadian team. That’s right. Apparently Canada is to curling what New Zealand is to rugby, India to cricket, Tiger Woods is to golf (when it comes to golf, Woods counts as a country). To make a sweeping claim, when it comes to curling, Canada rocks!….(Get it? Sweeping, rocks. “Uh?” says your average American, “what’s he talking about?”)

CBC has created the quintessential Canadian competition, and I suggest all of you south of the border who want to understand Canada tune in to watch it. (That insures a viewership of about 8 people, 3 if you exclude the Devereaux family of Eau Claire, Wisconsin). Battle of the Blades is a pairs figure skating competition with a twist: while the female partner is one of Canada’s many lovely former national skaters, their male partners are former NHL stars, big guys trying to find their inner figure skater. I can only imagine the sequel—great Canadian male figure skaters paired with players from the Canadian women’s hockey team. Elvis Stojko throwing Hailey Wickenhauser? That’ll be tv worth watching. (Go to www.cbc.ca/battleoftheblades)

And this past weekend, Canada hosted its first international surfing competition. Off the shores of Tofino, British Columbia, surfers were riding the freezing waves of the Pacific on November 1st. Called the “Yikes, My Testicles!” Competition, the event favored the savvy Canadian surfers who, for many years, have illegally been injecting their family jewels with anti-freeze.

Passports

With my U.S. passport set to expire, I recently applied to get a new one. I also decided I might as well get my first Canadian passport at the same time. As if a single North American government were responsible for servicing passport requests, my new passports both arrived on the same day! These documents, laying unopened on the table, look like the same drab, functional passport that I’ve come to know since I first acquired one, but open them up and—wowee!—these are some different countries/cultures. The U.S. passport is mythology, propaganda, history and sentimentality rolled up into one official and technically advanced travel document. Canada’s passport is functional, practical and without pretension. While one declares its national mythologies at the top of its lungs, the other is little more than an whisper.

Should I do a page by page comparison? I think not, for there is nothing to compare. The U.S. passport is incomparable. It’s full of eagles and wheat and buffalo and the great quotes of great Americans. Canada’s opens with a brief message wherein the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Canada (the current occupant of said position happens to be my current Member of Parliament) requests--in the name of Her Majesty the Queen--safe passage for the bearer of the document, then there’s a couple of pages of info including the page with the bearer's picture, followed by 19 pages of nothing. More accurately, each page of nothing bears rows of small, faint maple leafs and one large one in the centre. No lofty quotes, no images of Inukshuks, no caribou or voyageurs or images of the snow- capped Rockies.

The U.S passport on the other hand…well, one hardly knows where to begin. When I read the U.S. passport I can’t help but think here’s a country that has drunk its own Kool-Aid. I mean, does anyone believe this* is America anymore? Not only is this an America that no longer exists, it’s an America that NEVER existed. It’s a series of images, iconography and juxtapositons that are so relentlessly idyllic I find it dizzying, if not outright exhausting.

After flipping through the U.S.passport, I feel plumb tuckered-out and ready to rest my weary head on the bosom of the great nation in all its wild, rural splendor. Then, after my nap, I’ll be so refreshed I’ll head on out for that frontier that’s been waiting for me. I’m gonna pack my bags, catch a ride on that steamboat chugging down the Mississipi, step off at the town where the steam train is heading west and, yesiree, find those cowboys driving the longhorn cattle just down a country mile from where the farmer is plowing up the soil with his two oxen. With a country like the one in the passport, why would you ever want to leave it or need a travel document to make the leaving possible?

And, in fact, it seems like Americans don’t want to leave it, which must explain why so few of them have the passport in the first place. Compared to Canada and Europe, the U.S passport suffers from a distinct lack of citizens who think it's necessary. Yes, the irony of ironies is that someone somewhere in the U.S. Federal government went to great lengths to create a passport that hollers Here’s What America IS…but few Americans have the ability to hear it. Wouldn’t you know it, a considerably higher percentage of Canadians have passports but there’s nothing particularly worth hearing in it! Lost opportunities all around.

*APPENDIX--The specifics of the U.S. passport are as follows, in order (some of the quotations are not complete):

--Inside the front cover, people who seem to be on an old battle ship watching the flag over Fort Sumter; above it is a verse from the National Anthem that appears to be in the handwriting of Francis Scott Key (why do I know his name?)
--Opposite that page is that quote by Abe Lincoln—Government of the people, by the people--above the official seal of the U.S.
--Turn the page and one finds one’s picture and personal information in a front of a backdrop of the large head of a bald eagle, a sheaf of wheat, and a billowing U.S. flag. The opening words of the U.S constitution top it off.
Then the pages in the following order:
--A landscape of saguro cactus as backdrop to ones personal data and passport information
--A towering mountain range behind a lake. Above it, a quote from Daniel Webster: the principle of free government adheres to the American soil. It is imbedded in it, immovable as its mountains.
--The liberty bell in front of a corner of the Declaration of Independence, beneath Independence Hall, and a quote from George Washington topping it all off:
Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair.
--A tall ship under full sail moving past a light house, beneath the statement from the Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident…
--A glacial mountain range behind a plain with two buffalo grazing and a quote from Martin Luther King: We have a great dream. It started way back in 1776 and God grant that America will be true to her dream.
--Mount Rushmore beneath JFK’s famous quote, we shall pay any price, bear any burden…
--A steamboat on the Mississippi beneath Teddy Roosevelt's words, This is a new nation, based on a mighty continent, of boundless possibilities.
--A sheaf of wheat in front of a farm scene where a farmer plows the land with a team of oxen and the words of Dwight Eisenhower: Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first come to pass in the heart of America.
--Some cowboys driving a herd of long horn cattle with the mountains behind them and Lyndon Johnson's words: For this is what America is all about. It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground…
--A steam train in the foreground that had traveled over a wooden trestle bridge with hills in the background and the words on the Golden Spike, May God continue the unity of our country...
--A bear eating a fish with mountain in the background and totem pole in the foreground and the words from a Mohawk address on Thanksgiving: We send thanks to all the animal life in the world...
--The statue of liberty with a stone table showing July 4th, 1776 and a quote from Anna Julia Cooper, The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect…
--A palm tree above and a mountainous (Hawain?) island in the distance and a quote by Ellison S. Onizuka: Every generation has the obligation to free men’s minds…
--A view of the earth from behind the moon and a spaceship above

Military Social Workers

An interesting article appeared in the Ottawa paper recently, examing the stresses place on military social workers in Afghanistan. The article is worth reading in its entirety; here is the part that touches on American-Canadian differences through the voice of a Canadian social worker stationed there:

The influx of Americans here in recent weeks has brought a new dimension to problems with which the social workers must contend.

"The problems that we see amongst the U.S. forces are a reflection of the societal issues they have. In the U.S., there's more extreme poverty than you see in Canada. Poverty comes with its own issues -- abuse, alcohol and drug problems, domestic violence. People come from much more dire circumstances. I've never seen in my practice as a social worker so many people coming from such dire circumstances. They are very patriotic as well. Canadians are not less patriotic, but our patriotism is less overt. The Americans join the military to get out of poverty. But they also do it for God and country."

The article goes on to talk about how the length of deployment also puts increased pressure on U.S. soldiers; it's not unusual for them to be stationed in Afghanistan for a year, whereas Canadian deployment lasts six months. To read the full article: http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Foot+soldiers+battlefield+mind/2013288/story.html

Abusing Eulogies

Ted Kennedy had been my U.S. Senator from the first time I could vote until his death a few weeks ago, so when I learned his funeral could be watched live on the internet, I did so. Anybody who has a beating heart would likely say the most poignant moment was Ted Kennedy Jr.’s touching story of his dad helping him walk up a snowy hill shortly after he had lost his leg to cancer. The eulogy Ted Jr. gave for his dad was lovely.

Thank God it was appreciated as a eulogy and nothing more. No one said it was a moment that proved he was ready for politics. No one declared him the “inheritor of the throne.” It was simply a son honoring his father and saying he was a great dad, I loved him and I’ll miss him (in a bit more detail, of course). If only it had been that way when Justin Trudeau gave the eulogy for his father, Pierre, a few years back. Justin also gave a lovely eulogy (though not--if I am to declare (it’s a bit gauche I admit) a “winner” in the eulogy sweepstakes--in the same class at Ted Jr.s). The problem was no sooner had Justin finished delivering the eulogy when pundits began declaring him the next Trudeau, the future leader of the liberals, the Prime Minister in Waiting.

Since when does delivering a eulogy qualify you for anything more than being declared a fine son? It doesn’t. How unfortunate then to see an article in this past weekend’s Boston Globe speculating about Ted Kennedy Jr.’s political future. At least he had a bit more time than Justin was given to remain a son rather than a future politician-savior. Of course this crowning of the next King was never about Justin or Ted Jr. but about us, about our belief that a name itself—Kennedy, Trudeau—contains magic, about our thousand year habit of putting our faith in patrilineal inheritance and the possibility that it frees us from the responsibility of choosing our King. The King is dead, long live the King…that’s easy.

I gave a eulogy at my dad’s funeral. Afterwards people came up and said how moving it was (what else could they say?), but not one of them said you’ve got a future in—take your pick— finance/ politics/broadcasting, etc.. They said, your dad would be pleased or you made your dad proud today. The next step was simply to grieve until I had no more grief left, and then to walk forward into the rest of my life. Justin and Ted Jr. deserved the same opportunity of anonymity in grieving.

Sad to say, Justin apparently believed the press after the eulogy, because he campaigned and won. He looks to be lighter than air, a fine young man with a last name who once gave a eulogy and landed in political office. I wish him well, I genuinely do. I only want us to let eulogies be eulogies and not a ticket for claiming the divine right of Kings.

If you’re interested in seeing the two, here’s Justin’s:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NINxQLY-lsYAnd here’s Ted Jr.’s: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m86jKLjV7-I

We're Not Dead Yet

Remember that classical comedy scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail: it’s the Middle Ages and a cart is going through the village with men yelling “bring out your dead, bring out your dead.” Doors open and bodies of the dead killed by the plague are tossed onto the cart, but one cries “I’m not dead, I’m not dead yet,” at which point the people pulling the cart kill the man. Well, for years, English Canada has wanted to declare French Separatism dead. What could be better, they think, than to go into Quebec with their anglo cart and holler bring out your dead, waiting to see the dream of Levesque and Parizeau and Bouchard tossed onto the cart. Of course, Anglos seem tone deaf to the response, no matter how faint, of I’m not dead yet.

Somethings don’t go away. And so, the naivete of Anglo Canadians over the persistence of separatism seems to have been matched this past week by those leaning to the left in the States. It seems they thought that the rise of Obama signaled the defeat, eclipse and inevitable disappearance of the Republican machine. Pundits everywhere declared the Republicans out of touch, out of sync, lost in the desert and doomed by demographics. Now that Obama’s popularity is coming down from the stratosphere and the Republicans are actually showing signs of life—we’re not dead yet—liberal leaning Americans seem to be surprised. Given the popular vote last fall was not nearly as devastating at the electoral college results, why the surprise? The surprise--be it on the part of Anglo Canadians or liberal Americans--would seem to be proportionate to the strength of one's yearning. Your enemies are not dead because they weren’t killed. They’re back because they never went away.

Fake Canadians Go Home

Here's nifty little article on the phenomenon of Americans travelling while wearing the Maple Leaf: http://www.gadling.com/2009/08/30/fake-canadians-go-home/

Unions

Finally the garbage strike that stank up Toronto for 36 days this summer is over. The outdoor hockey rinks that discovered a secondary purpose during the strike can regain their dignity. During the strike, city pools shut down and summer camps closed, but now current union members can rest easy knowing they still have bankable sick days. In Ottawa this past winter, the bus drivers went on strike during the coldest time of the year. People bicycled in the cold and snow, or hitched or created carpools, but now the bus drivers can rest easy knowing they retain some control over scheduling. Screw the citizens, save my benefits. Welcome to Canada.

It pains me to write those last sentences. I’ve been a union-loving lefty for a long time. I was ashamed when Reagan smashed the Air Traffic Controllers union in the early 80’s. And I’m glad Canada has a stronger union environment than the U.S. where unions never fully recovered from Reaganism. Prior to the recent global meltdown, unions in Canada grew, according to Stats Canada, by 19% between ’97 and ’07, the largest growth since the ‘70’s. That’s nothing to sneeze at. Unions are far healthier here—and accepted—than south of the border.

What is to sneeze at, however, (and what turns my crank) is being out in the cold with no buses running in the height of winter, or having to breath in the stink of garbage in the height of summer. Helloooo? Detect a pattern here? Public unions know when to strike, and they express exactly no remorse about it. Zilcho. What, me sorry? For what? As to the outrage expressed by citizens about the timing of the strikes? It’s as deafening as the remorse expressed by the union membership. In Ottawa it just so happens that most folks are in unions in the federal government, so they can’t exactly bitch when their cheeks get frostbite bicycling to work because of a municipal strike. The hand that feedeth also taketh away, depending on which union you’re in.

Active unions, mild-mannered Canadians. Thank God I’m not in France... or this rant could go on forever.

Guns, Balloons and Moons

Unsurprising News Bulletin of the Week: In a study involving researchers from the U.S., Canada and Switzerland, the Criminology and Criminal Justice journal reported this past week that the majority of handguns recovered from crimes committed in Canada comes from the U.S.

The journal could have saved a whack of time and money by asking any thoughtful Canadian: “So, Mr. Canadian, where do most handguns come from that are used in crimes in Canada?” “Well, whaddya think I’m stupid, or something. They come from the States, eh.” You see how simple that is? Presto-chango, end of research. What we have known all along has finally become an incontrovertible FACT, and it is time for Canada to stand up tall and say “well, okay, at least they’re not semi-automatics.”

In the same week, perhaps to show their remorse for all the handguns, the U.S. launched a spy balloon in Michigan to spy on the city of Sarnia, Ontario. The balloon is shaped like an airplane wing and carries a $1 million camera sensitive enough to read the name of a ship from about 14 kilometres (9 miles) away. To be fair, it has not been put there by the U.S. government but by a private U.S. company, the Sierra Nevada Corporation, that hopes to sell the technology to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS). Surely DHS will buy it once they look at the spy balloon’s footage and realize Sarnia is full of crazy Canadians wielding handguns.

Not ones to stand idly by and accept unwanted U.S. suveillance, local Sarnians have decided to protest and give the balloon company a piece of their mind. That’s right—Sarnians are planning to drop their trousers en masse on August 15th and moon the camera. What did it say it can read from 14 kilometres away?… And if that’s not enough, here's an idea: why don’t those Sarnians aim their U.S. handguns at the balloon, bend over, and shoot from the moon.

Well, it IS shaped like a hockey puck, isn't it?

It is time to take on the most significant cultural artifact in the entire country. No, it is not CBC. It is not the first recording by Celine Dion, or Maurice Richard’s jock strap, or tickets to the Stratford Festival. No, no, no. Canada’s most significant cultural artifact is, without doubt, the donut.

Canadians consume three times as many donuts per capita as Americans. The largest donut franchise in Canada, Tim Hortons, has nearly 3000 stores. Apparently there’s a donut shop in Canada for every 9,700 people (which is, sadly, a better ratio than that of doctors to patients in some countries). Canadians consume more donuts per capita than any other country in the world (which is probably one of the reasons we’ve needed a doctor to inhabitant ratio of about 1:470). Whether this consumption is admirable or pathetic, I will leave to you, Dear Reader, but let there be no doubt that Canada has another claim to being #1, numero uno, top banan, er, I mean, donut. Top donut. That’s us.

The question is why? My first theory is that the lowly donut looks an awful lot like a hockey puck. In Canada, that gives you instant street cred. Looks like a puck—gotta be good! Why else would ex-NHL hockey player Tim Horton have gone into the donut business in the first place except for a deep, unconscious desire to be around edible hockey pucks for the rest of his life. Some cultures go for edible underwear, Canadians follow a different drummer....My second theory is that if you dunk the donut in coffee, it acquires the added capability of warming you up and, because Canada can be f-ing cold, warmth is good. Also, it’s fattening and because, as I said, Canada can be f-ing cold, fat is good. Third theory: because Americans eat less of them, Canadians would naturally want to eat more. Trumping all these, of course, is the possibility of freezing ‘em, painting ‘em black and—voila!—you’re ready for a hockey game.

(Don't tell anybody, but if you look closely at the Canadian flag, embedded in the maple leaf you can notice the faint outline of a donut--honey cruller, honest.)

The American Embassy

I go to the American Embassy to renew my passport. Not having been there since before 9/11, I walk up to the front entrance only to discover a small sign that says Please enter through the Sussex Street entrance. As I start to walk around the building, I notice the amount of barriers present. After 9/11, the Embassy requested that the city put up waist-high cement barriers to eliminate an entire lane of traffic in front of the entrance. Behind the cement barriers are fat posts placed into the sidewalk strong enough to prevent a car from crashing through, and behind that is a high steel fence running around the entire building. If this is what protects the Embassy in Ottawa, I can hardly imagine what protects the Green Zone in Baghdad.

Walking around the building, I can’t help but think the barriers are a wee bit of overkill. I arrive at the back and discover there’s a small entrance where two lines form, one for people needing visas and one for Americans needing Embassy services. No one is in the American line, so I go up and the guard tells me I can’t enter with my shoulder bag. I head back to the car, toss in my shoulder bag and return, ready to be escorted into a small screening area like at an airport. I pass through the screening area no worse for the wear except I’m minus my keys (which they will hold until I come back out), pass through a small courtyard and into the Embassy.

Passport services is down the hall and to the left. A woman who provides the passport services is behind some thick glass at one end of a small waiting area. I go in expecting to see a picture of President Obama, the 44th President of the United States. There isn’t one. Was I mistaken that they had one for Clinton? Against one wall, I notice a framed piece of information. It’s from the U.S. Selective Service from 2001, and is informing its readers that there is no plan to implement a draft at this time. Uh? I hadn’t heard much from the Selective Service since I was in my teens during Vietnam. Then, on a different wall, is another piece of information, from 2002, telling American citizens to be aware of the potential threats against them because they are American. Why are they still up? I begin feeling like I have entered an edifice of fear. The Embassy seems like an homage to a single emotion. I want to tell it to relax a bit, to breath deeply. If I knew where its shoulders were, I’d give it a back rub. Has nothing changed since 9/11? Is the Embassy caught in a time warp from which it can’t escape, or is it there of its own choosing? Or am I--a left-leaning, peace-loving border mongrel--a naive soul not willing to admit we live in a dangerous world?

Days later, I head down to Atlanta on business. I notice again how the Alert Level announcements have stopped. No more Orange threat levels, no more reminders to watch abandoned bags or your fellow passengers. That's a good change. Soldiers en route are still commonplace in the airport, but what’s clearly gripping people is the economy. The TV monitors in the waiting areas are tuned to the news. Are the “green shoots” real? Is housing coming back? My bible, the U.S.A Today, is full of grim economic reports. Same diet, different flavour. What’s the cost of feeding people fear for so long?

Robert McNamara's Gifts to Canada

Though Michael Jackson’s death and funeral have dominated (or should I say obliterated?) the news of late, for many of my generation—who remember Michael when he was but an urchin strutting his stuff on TV—the death of Robert McNamara is a more resonant occasion. McNamara, forever labeled as the architect of the Vietnam War, is a far more complex and historically compelling figure than any entertainer could ever be. Though it was hard to love Robert McNamara--technocrat, rationalist, planner par excellence--he was, in his own unintended fashion, generous to Canada.

A few day ago I got together for coffee with a friend who came north as a Vietnam draft dodger. Canada had a generation of young American men who crossed the border and made their lives here. My friend migrated to Montreal, got a job loading aircraft for Air Canada, learned French, married a francophone, and has published three books of well-respected poetry. He is but one of the 20-30,000 educated youth who came north rather than be shipped to the war McNamara was overseeing.

There’s a long list of draft dodgers who contributed significantly to Canada. They were fortunate to arrive in a different era and a different politics. Soldiers who have recently sought asylum in Canada, so they don’t have to serve in Iraq, have been turned down. In July of ’08 Canada deported a U.S. soldier for the first time. What McNamara bequeathed to Canada many years ago, and Canada courageously accepted, Bush and Rumsfeld bequeathed again albeit in smaller quantities. This time however, Canada’s courage failed.

July 4th and Marvin Gaye's Star Spangled Banner

The hype over July 4th doesn't cross the border much, and that's a good thing. I don't miss it. My way of celebrating is simply to tune out all the noise about Michael Jackson and go to YouTube and type in Marvin Gaye National Anthem. There you can watch and listen as he re-imagines the anthem at the '83 NBA All-Star Game. You can also watch him sing it in '79 at the Ernie Shavers and Larry Holmes title fight. Though Marvin hadn’t fully re-imagined the anthem then, in some ways that video is its own a compelling portrait of America—two black brothers getting ready to pummel one another as a third sings the anthem in front of soldiers holding the flag. Diana Ross—whose duets with him were marvelous—was in the audience along with, of course, a whole bunch of wealthy white folk there to watch the proceedings. Gaye had opened the decade with his groundbreaking album What’s Going On, music overflowing with angst and despair and hard questions. He followed it with Let’s Get It On which became, among other things, the number one college sex aid of its day. He remained a dominant musical icon until his tragic death at the hands of his father in 1984. I can think of no better way to celebrate the holiday than by listening to one of the nation’s great artists discover--in an anthem that marching bands have long since turned into noise--nuance, redemption and soul.

Oh Ca-nadaaa, our home and tra-la-la...

I write on the eve of Canada Day. Earlier in the day a call from a colleague in the States confirmed that Americans don’t know a thing about Canada Day (okay, it's a small sample…but she has lots of friends!). Our informal poll concluded that, while probably 95% of Canadians know about July 4th, maybe 2% of Americans know about Canada Day. That’s so typical of Americans, my friend said, if it’s not about us, we’re not interested. Yes, that might sound like a serious indictment of her fellow citizens, but which is worse: not being interested in other countries or not being interested in your own?

A poll just released about how much Canadians know about Canada reveals we don’t know much. Only 31% of Canadians could name the previous Prime Minister—yikes, that’s not much of a short term memory; only 16% knew the country’s longest river (I assume more Americans would be able to name the Mississippi), and answers varied widely as to when Newfoundland joined confederation. The poll apparently didn't ask what percentage know the words to the National Anthem. While everyone knows Canadians love not-being-American, I’m not sure how wild they are about being Canadian. This isn’t new news, but there’s something a wee bit disheartening to have it reconfirmed so close to Canada Day...

Wait! Hold it, stop the presses--I'm guilty of seeing Canada through my American eyes. Canadians are wild about being Canadian. It's just that they're Canadian, so it doesn't look particularly wild. Now we're on to something! Tomorrow I'll go down to the celebrations on Parliament Hill and, watching the mild-mannered festivities, I'll remind myself this is wild patriotism, Canada-style.

National Canoe Day

National Canoe Day

Tomorrow is National Canoe Day in Canada. That’s right. National Canoe Day. It would be the equivalent, I suppose, of a National Auto Day in the States if there were such a thing, a day for celebrating that mode of transportation most defining one’s national sensibility and aesthetic.

Canada is in some respects a child of the canoe, which opened up its interior long before a rail ever crossed it. Rivers and lakes were the canoe’s highways, and though there may have been no tolls, there were hellacious bugs, bears, weather worth swearing at. The fishing was free, the maps were marginal, solace was an evening fire and some tobacco. It is tempting to wax romantic over that bygone era but then I stop and realize the era may be gone but, for the most part, the rivers and lakes remain.

Those rivers and lakes are, in fact, the reason I first began coming to Canada. No kidding. I’d guided canoe trips in Maine and in northern Minnesota and heard there was a vaster and more remote wilderness north of Thunder Bay, Ontario. Sure enough, I heard the call of that wild and went; it was rugged and empty and gorgeous. Because I wanted to paddle in places not many had paddled before, I’m now a citizen in a country that celebrates the canoe.

It is a quintessential Canadian day. It may seem a bit quirky, a bit quaint, but it is more than just nostalgia. It is a small way to recognize not only those voyageurs and aboriginals of old, but also those young Canadians who are getting ready, even as I write, to head out to summer canoe camps to learn the way of the canoe.

Perhaps they will master the artistry of paddling on a calm lake so it looks elegant and effortless, subtle, if not sublime. Perhaps they’ll learn how to draw the bow into an eddy, fry up some trout or, best of all, sit in absolute silence as the sun sets over the rocky point where they’ve made camp. And then they’ll hear the cry of a loon. And another loon will answer…the sky will darken, revealing its cathedral of stars. As the campfire crackles behind them, they’ll realize there is no place on earth they would rather be. And sitting there, they are brethren to all who’ve gone before.

Balsillie versus Bettman

Up here this is BIG news. Canada’s RIM billionaire, Jim Balsillie, wants to buy the failed Phoenix Coyotes hockey team and move them to southern Ontario. Gary Bettman, NHL Commissioner, is against it.

Let’s get back to basics. Phoenix is in a desert. It is, as I’ve said before (Dec. 21, 08 entry), the hottest city in the world with a population of a million or more. Hockey, last I looked, is played on ice. I, for one, want hockey to fail in Phoenix for the same reason I’d want beach volleyball to fail on Baffin Island: some things just don’t belong together.

Gary Bettman, American businessman raised under the tutelage of David Stern in the NBA, is simply, as most Canadians will tell you, the wrong man for the job. He gets hockey even less than me, who at least grew up in Boston when Bobby Orr was working his magic. Gary Bettman sees markets and tv contracts and dollars in places where there are lots of people but, alas, no hockey fans. It doesn’t take an MBA to know the NBA is no model for expansion.

Listen Gary, you want your dreams of NHL expansion to work? Then look to water when it freezes—that’s expansion. And it happens every winter all across Canada, on ponds and backyards, on the canal running through the nation’s capital. You want real expansion? Bring back the Winnipeg Jets! Bring back the Quebec Nordiques!...Then you'll have fans who actually know the difference between icing and a cake.

USA Today

Whenever I travel through an airport in North America, I purchase the one essential, required reading material needed to understand the States: USA Today. I turn to the section called Across The USA—News from Every State. In its brief news items, one can trace the great themes and issues of the country.

In the most recent issue I read from May 26th, the following appears:
--in Indianapolis, the state supreme court awarded compensation to two black women fired from their jobs because of race;
--in Louisiana, an eighth grader shot himself after shooting at his teacher;
--in Mississippi, Madison county is spending money to clean up its voter registration rolls;
--in Oregon, a recently released inmate is filing a federal lawsuit claiming his civil rights were violated because he was forced to attend daily religious services.

It’s all right there: race, guns, money in politics, religion and the law. Ah yes, what a country, what a paper!

I admit, without reservation or hesitation, Canadian news is boring in comparison. In choosing between two countries with a free press, which do you choose? News junkies ought to head south, but if you believe no news is good news, Canada calls.

On Cemeteries...and hockey trophies

Slightly more than a week ago it was Memorial Day in the States, and American remembrance focused on Arlington National Cemetery. Where, you may ask, is Canada’s National Cemetery? There isn’t one, is there? Canadian soldiers have long been buried where they fell or back in their home towns. A National Cemetery for Canadian soldiers? Well, I just learned there is one. It’s recent, contains a whopping five acres and it took some local Ottawa citizens to create it. It’s the five acres I love—may there never be cause for it to expand.

Thinking about Memorial Day brings me to mention The Memorial Cup. I’ve been hearing about it on the radio so much I decided to learn what it is. It’s the Junior Ice Hockey trophy awarded to the Canadian Hockey League Champion, and was given to honour the dead of WWI (which is, I suppose, a way of saying that a hockey cup to honour the fallen is the Canadian equivalent of a National Cemetery). The scores of the tournament are announced on Canadian radio well before the NBA playoff results get mentioned, if they get mentioned. So move over Dwight Howard and your Magic; step aside Kobe Bryant and the Lakers; it’s time to hear about the Halifax Mooseheads, Medicine Hat Tigers and—my favorite—the St. John’s Fog Devils (who sadly moved to less foggy Montreal).

Doctors Who Offer Abortions

When I uploaded my previous entry about Obama speaking at Notre Dame, I had not yet learned of the murder of Dr. George Tiller, the abortion doctor from Kansas. The term “abortion doctor” is unsettling. When you listen to people who knew George Tiller, it becomes clear he was first and foremost a doctor—in the best sense of the word. Is there any other doctor we refer to by their procedure? The “bypass doctor,” the “hip replacement doctor”? George Tiller was a doctor; regardless of the reservations one might have about late-term abortions, one cannot listen to those worked with him without sensing that Dr. Tiller saw his duty as providing care to the women who came to see him. His murder supports Obama’s request at Notre Dame and highlights that strand in the American tapestry of solving problems through violence, real or metaphorical (see my entry for March 16th).

Canada has had its own George Tiller, a Dr. Henry Morgentaler. The abortion debate does not, so far as I can tell, shift much in tone or content from north to south. While it is somewhat of a less strident exchange here simply as a reflection of Canadian conversation, Dr. Morgentaler has had his clinic bombed and he’s been attacked by a man wielding garden shears. The difference that I am aware of north to south is that Canada has the ability to publicly recognize pro-abortion activists. The country recently awarded Dr. Morgentaler its highest order: investiture into the Order of Canada, which is as significant as receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom in the U.S.. The choice to give the Order of Canada to Dr. Morgentaler was not without controversy: some members of the Order chose to resign their membership in protest. In any case, such a significant recognition south of the border for somebody like Morgentaler is difficult to imagine.

Civil Discourse

Though much of the emphasis regarding Obama’s recent speech at Notre Dame was focused on the controversy surrounding the invitation extended to a pro-choice President by the Catholic university, what most stood out for me was Obama’s exhortation/argument/request for Americans to engage in civil discourse on contentious issues. His moral authority was not focused on the abortion debate per se, but rather on the nature of the discourse in which the debate takes place.

In the States, we now have a President who seeks to educate citizens on how to be civil; in Canada, it’s the reverse. The lowest level of discourse in Canada happens between politicians, as citizens despair at the juvenile exchanges of their elected officials. A definition of “lacking credibility”—picture the current Prime Minister asking Canadians to be more civil.

Presidents

Bill Clinton and George W. Bush are appearing in Toronto today in an event billed as “A Conversation with Presidents.” Tickets aren’t cheap (though the word is that the economy is hindering sales and prices have been dropping). Can you imagine the equivalent occurring in the States—“A Conversation with Prime Ministers”? A double bill of Brian Mulroney and Jean Chretien--we’d have to pay to get Americans to come, or offer them free maple syrup, or an autographed photo of Pamela Anderson wearing a mountie uniform. Of course, this begs the question of why Canadians go to such “conversations” in the first place. The business class, it seems, are the ones most interested; perhaps they’re intrigued by these ultimate CEOs and Deciders who have a Rolodex (yes, I know I’m dating myself here) of the well-heeled and well-connected. In contrast, the Canadian Prime Minister rules over a northern country with a GDP of no more than the state of California, and who in their right mind would want to hear the Governor of California? (Ooops, scratch that.) The President of the day is the holder of the one political position—more so than the Prime Minister of Canada—that most influences the success of Canadian enterprises. But ex-Presidents? Paying big bucks to see ex-Presidents? I’m tempted to say, “Canada, get a life.” But I won’t.

Two Canadian Moments

Last night one of my sons, myself and a friend were walking on the sidewalk along a tree-lined street when we came to a 4-way stop at precisely the same time as a car pulled up. We waited for the car to go through the intersection before crossing. The car didn’t move. We didn’t notice at first but, when we did, we waved to him to go, as we were in no hurry; he waved to us to cross, as he was probably in no hurry as well. We smiled and then waved to him to go; he waved to us to cross. We waved to him to go; he waved to us to cross. I don’t know for how long this went on. It was as if we were caught in a “Who’s More Polite?” contest, and damn if we were going to lose! We waved to him to go; he waited and finally drove through the intersection (probably cursing us under his breath). We then strolled across the intersection thinking nothing of it…

Then today I had to cross a street and, not wanting to go where the crosswalks were, which would have been out of my way, I decided to jay-walk. I started across just as a taxi on my side of the street started doing a U turn. The cab completed its turn and ended up facing the opposite direction just as I arrived in the middle of the road and was set to cross in front of him. I waved to him to continue; he waved to me to cross, I waved for him to continue, he waved….Are you detecting a pattern here?

I also don’t know how long this episode lasted either, but when it finally resolved itself, I started laughing outloud. Without any conversations happening, here's what the conversations sounded like:

You go,
No, you go.
Please, I insist, you go.
No no, I'm fine, you go. Please.
Thank you, but please, go ahead.
Thank you, thank you, but you must know by now that I’m Canadian and I am going to stand here forever until the glaciers melt and the seas rise and the sun burns out while I wait for you to go.
Yes, yes, that’s all well and good kind sir, but unfortunately I’m Canadian too, and as you arrived at this intersection before me it’s obvious that you must precede ahead of me and I will wait until the universe expires and all matter returns back into the great void from whence it came.

I have no qualifications for saying how much time Canadians spend being polite with each other, but whatever it is—trust me—it’s too much. Could you imagine how kick-ass this country could be if it’d just stop waiting to let the other guy go? Waiting can’t do much good for the Gross Domestic Product. I don’t know if waiting is tabulated into the measurement by Stats Canada, but it ought to be. GDP? Up here it stands for Great Deeds of Politeness, one after another, after another, after...Mostly I love it, but sometimes you gotta wonder…

Mosiac or Melting Pot

As long as the differences and diversities of mankind exist, democracy must allow for compromise, for accommodation, and for the recognition of differences.

Eugene McCarthy

Lately there’s been a fair amount of talk up here about the duelling metaphors we apply to the issue of immigration: the melting pot or the mosaic. Each is, in its own way, shorthand for all sorts of complex policy issues—from language ability to job skills to the politics of one’s homeland. The argument is getting air time because the current Minister of Immigration wants a greater focus on integration: more melting pot, less mosaic. But since metaphor is far more interesting than the dull prose of policy, let me use the metaphors to suggest that Canada is destined for the mosaic.

A melting pot assumes we lose ourselves, our particular identities, into the larger whole that becomes our new identity. We leave an old self for a newer and shinier edition that many others have also chosen to own and that we will, in theory, come to cherish and honour. My great-grandfather got off the boat speaking only his foreign tongue, his son came of age and “Americanized” the family name and then his son, my father, learned only English and became like any other native-born boy. The goal was to be seen as fully American, to bleed red, white and blue. And that’s what we did. The echoes of the old country were cut from the family tree like a rotten branch.

Canada’s history, however, starts from a different place(see the April 16th blog) than the traditional American hunger for assimilation. Canada talks about the three founding nations of the country. The United States has no such equivalent. It “united” against an enemy—the old country from which it came (and to which Canada remained loyal). While Canada has “the recognition of difference” in its DNA, the United States has unity in its. I can still hear Obama saying--at the first speech where he received national attention--how there aren’t Red States and Blue States but rather the UNITED States. Every day, as a kid in my small elementary school, I recited the Pledge of Allegiance: “…one nation, under God, indivisible.” It’s indoctrination, reminder, and a diagnosis all at once.

For those Canadians who are attracted to the idea of a melting pot, now would be an appropriate time to pause and consider the lessons of the past. The visit last week by the National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations to Rome to meet the Pope is the result of a misguided attempt by Canada to push for the melting pot. Young Aboriginal Canadians were removed from their families, starting in the mid 19th century, and sent to Residential Schools run by the Church under the auspices of the Department of Indian Affairs. A legacy of abuse began, under a policy known as “aggressive assimilation,” that eventually led to both a formal apology to aboriginal Canadians by the government last year as well as the recent visit to the Pope. The goal of the policy was to teach the Indians English, convert them to Catholicism, all in the hopes of what has been called “killing the Indian in the child.”

Canada is still paying for that tragic wounding it inflicted on its native citizens. You cannot create a melting pot out of founding nations. Nations—be they Inuit, Quebecois or Cree—do not yearn to lose their heritage to become part of something new and improved. They do not need to become something other than who they already are.

Canada’s historical mosaic gives it a kind of strength to allow others to enter through its doors and slowly create their Canadian selves. The ability to both sustain one’s heritage and become genuinely Canadian is an immigrant journey that is rare and precious; Europe would give its right hand to figure out what happens here each year. When the 2nd generation goes to school, mixes with others, picks up on the cues in the environment, “Canadian” seeps into their pores of its own accord; most marvellous of all, they understand that their native cultures—Lebanese, Somali, Ukranian—don’t have to seep out. What doesn’t happen of its own accord, however, is the capacity for cultures to appreciate one another and to welcome difference without fear. These things Canada has had to learn, more than most, simply to stay intact. It is a wisdom and a way of being not to be lightly tinkered with.

Virus as Teacher

Yesterday there must have been some kind of planetary alignment:

--The Pope expressed solidarity with Aboriginal Canadians;
--Obama celebrated 100 days in office;
--Israel celebrated its independence;
--The pandemic alert went to Level 5.

So the Christians apologize to the Indians, the Jews are happy to have a homeland, a black man is thriving in the White House and a virus infects us all equally.

What’s the lesson? Difference is a problem for us. The virus? It could care less. If we can’t get it through our heads we are one people of many hues, maybe the indiscriminate cruelty of a virus will clarify the matter.

Blame Canada

Okay, am I paranoid…or is there a pattern emerging in the past few months?

--Janet Napolitano, head of U.S. homeland security, says that some of the 9/11 Hijackers came from Canada. Canada tries to straighten out the matter, then John McCain reinforces the myth.
--Natasha Richardson dies in a tragic skiing accident in Quebec and some U.S. pundits blame “socialized medicine.”
--Worst of all, a month ago Fox News featured a late night show—Red Eye— slagging the Canadian military. I didn’t think it worth commenting about at the time, as it seemed like a mindless, media wingnut spouting inanities at the wee hours of the evening…

But now it extends up to the Secretary of Homeland Security and she’s a member of the new President’s team and, and, well, he loves us…doesn’t he? So what gives?

Taken all together, I think the truth is clear. It’s been staring me in the face all these years and I haven’t noticed. As much as I hate to say this, Canada is a land of vile terrorists, gutless soldiers and incompetent doctors. There, I’ve said it. I’ve broken through my denial. Thank you America for showing me the light. I once was blind, but now I see. I’m moving back ASAP…

Iconography North and South

A painting by one of the Group of Seven is going up for sale later this month. If you don’t know who the Group of Seven are, you’re likely not Canadian.

The Group of Seven are the hero-painters of Canadian art. They paint, some would say, the Canadian soul, with an emphasis on "Canadian." One friend of mine even claims that only Canadians really “get” the Group of Seven. It’s an intriguing hypothesis. If others don’t “get” their art and Canadians do, how do we “get” it?

My friend who makes this claim has paddled rivers and lakes for many years, from the lakes of Algonquin Park to the rivers of the high arctic. He’s done a fair bit of mountain climbing too. Perhaps he is tailor-made to “get” the Group of Seven, painters who took their canvas and brushes into the Canadian wilderness and painted what they saw. But since few Canadians have my friend’s wilderness resume and yet also “get” the Group of Seven, it must be something else beside one’s backcountry bona fides. I submit that the "something else" is the myth Canadians have of Canada and themselves.

Look at this classic Group of Seven painting, September Gale by Arthur Lismer: a tree in the foreground, standing resolutely in the midst of wilderness, not a soul around, only the water, the wind, the emptiness. The colours are muted, the sky not particularly inviting. The wind has raised the water into whitecaps. It is not a day I would want to go skinny-dipping in the lake or even, for that matter, to try paddling across it. THIS is Canada, cries the myth. Believe it. Canada looks like this; the rest is just, shhhh, Pretend.

The truth of the matter is that Canadians live mainly in Pretend--the industrialised, urban centres along the 49th parallel. Canadians don’t pretend to NOT live in Pretend; they know its where their homes are but it’s not, to borrow from the national anthem, their native land; Canada’s native land is out THERE. Where? you ask. Why there, just look at the Group of Seven paintings. There! Ah yes, the Group of Seven paints what Canadians think of as their native land: those empty spaces/places that make Canada Canada. Canadians get the Group of Seven because they paint Canada (perhaps they even invented it), by golly…even if most Canadians haven’t seen it.

I began wondering what, in the visual arts, is the equivalent of the Group of Seven in the U.S. The artists in what’s called the Hudson River School did all sorts of lush, pastoral paintings where wilderness was depicted as gorgeous (rather than wild). In any case, I don’t believe their work has much resonance today. Could it be Pop Art? It has its share of iconic images, but it holds none of the nation’s mythologies. When I turn to individual artists, names like Norman Rockwell, Frederic Remington and photographer Ansel Adams come to mind. One could argue that each claims a certain piece of American mythology.

If I cast them aside, however, it’s clear that what remains is not a school of art but a singular iconic image that stands above all the rest: American Gothic by Grant Wood. I can’t think of another painting that has been more spoofed, imitated, parodied than American Gothic. When I take it seriously rather than as satire, it reeks of good ole American self-reliance. Life isn’t easy, we work hard, we’re decent god-fearing folk. We don’t ask much and know that if we work hard, we'll meet our modest needs. America likes to think this is where it got its DNA. The myth America holds of itself lies in those somber, earnest faces.

Of course it’s a description that seems to bear little, if any, resemblance to America now. The family farm has disappeared, corporations work the land, needs haven’t been particularly modest. It would seem that the iconic imagery of both countries is but faintly connected to the daily lives of its citizens.

However, that might change for American Gothic. How we see any particular work of art changes as our context changes, and America has a new and painful context. American Gothic was painted at the start of the Great Depression, and given what American is now going through, the painting may resonate again in a way that it hasn’t for many years. Suddenly what was once spoofed may become all too familiar. The painting has people at the center, standing straight (I could say as opposed to gay, but that seems too easy, so I won’t), connected to the land as cultivators, but the house—domesticity—is clearly more central than the land. We know the land must be there, but this couple is about the house…as is America. One could say that a-house-for-every-family IS the essence of the American dream. It is also one of the key players in the current economic collapse. The dream of home ownership, implied in American Gothic and acted out in the past fifteen years, has made American Gothic relevant once again

Canada's iconic imagery, in stark contrast, is a world of wilderness, without a human footprint, uninviting. There is nothing domestic about it. The Group of Seven will continue to hold the legend of the Canadian land as a place apart, as the defining inheritance of its citizens. The land hasn’t left, and as long as it remains, those of us living in Pretend will find the Group of Seven as relevant as ever.

Protest in front of Parliament

I'm sitting in a local restaurant waiting for breakfast. An old gentleman, who looks like he must be a regular, comes up to me to say hello. He has mistaken me for someone else. We introduce ourselves anyway and start chatting. He's in his early 80's and, though his memory isn't--by his own admission--particularly great, it's obvious he's thoughtful and still sharp.

Somehow the conversation takes a turn to the protest in front of the Parliament. For over a week now Tamil-Canadians have lined up along Wellington Street to protest against the Canadian government's actions (or, more accurately, the lack thereof) in challenging the Sri Lankan government to stop its military offensive against the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eeslam, a group Canada has labelled a terrorist organization. The protest includes hunger strikers, some of whom have been taken to hospital. While the protest has been peaceful, it has also created traffic problems for commuters.

The elderly gentleman is quite animated about the protest. "Can you imagine this happening in America?" he asks. "People parked in front of the U.S. Congress for a week or so, tying up traffic and being a nuisance--they wouldn't stand for it; some heads would knock, that's for sure. And Canada, what do we do? Nothing. Not a thing. How come nobody is willing to restore order?"

Somehow that sounds about right. Yeah, in the States I would guess something would happen..and it would reverberate with the potential for violence. Where I differ is in his assessment of Canada. The "nothing" it's doing is precisely the correct something. Ottawa police have been watching the protest regularly and have said it's legal; as long as people are peaceful, the protest can remain. The "something" Canada is doing is simply to allow it to happen--peaceful assembly, citizens engaged in an act of citizenship.

Canada is a nation of hyphenated Canadians (see the blogpost of Feb13th); our caring is dual. When that caring is expressed for our countries of origin, it is neither inappropriate nor unpatriotic towards Canada. Canada seems to understand this about has much as any nation. I would claim that Canada has gone further in accommodating difference than other countries simply because it has had to. Although Canadians often see the never-ending, complicated dance with Quebec as profoundly aggravating, the gift of its founding difference--French and English--is a unique capability as a nation to adapt and accommodate. That Tamil-Canadians have been protesting in front of Parliament for a week and tying up traffic is a sign, not of Canada's weakness, but its strength. It is a much more evolved kind of order than the order my new friend from this morning wanted restored, and Canada can be proud of that.

Last Thought on the Genies: Restoring the Arts to their Rightful Place

While I cannot say that storytelling is our oldest art form, I would be hesitant to argue against it. From oral traditions that pass on a culture’s lore to the written word that holds our imaginings on parchment of one kind or another to the film screen that is now quickly becoming digital, we have never left behind our need to tell and listen to our stories. Though the medium may change, the expression of our narratives remains a constant. "There have been great societies that did not use the wheel but," said Ursala Le Guin, "there have been no societies that did not tell stories." To the extent that the dominant medium for storytelling has, for good or for ill, become increasingly more expensive, countries such as Canada have to consider how its stories will be told…and heard. Perhaps the digital age will be launching us into a world where the possibility of making films becomes more democratic and less expensive, but until that possibility is fully realized, the role of government in supporting the telling of its stories must be central.

Too often governments base their support for film (or literature or music) in terms of what is the expected Return on Investment. The arts “industries” then fall into the trap of trying to provide an answer. When the government wants to cut funding, the industries show how many people are employed in the sector, how much it contributes to GDP, etc. It is an attempt at self-justification the arts communities would be better off avoiding, if for no other reason than it buys into the assumption that the arts should be measured in the same way as any other industry. Suddenly poetry and film are the same as lumber, wheat and steel. That may serve the purposes of the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) but it doesn’t serve the purposes of countries that lack the heft of Hollywood and whose stories are obliterated in the face of its marketing machine.

Nothing good can come from Canada judging the arts’ worthiness for support as we judge the auto industry. We go to our factories—and our stores and our schools and our offices--to work; we go to the arts to make sense of work (and family and community, even nation). Livelihood without meaning is not sustainable; the same can be said for nationhood. The ever elusive meaning of Canada is held in trust by its storytellers. “Telling our stories is what saves us," said the novelist James Carrol. "The very act of storytelling, of arranging memory and invention according to the structure of narrative is, by definition, holy.” The movie theatre has become the modern world’s church for narrative, film its sacred text, the audience its loyal parishioners. Somewhere in that triangle, the Canadian government has a role to play in what sacred texts are written, distributed, and read.

The Genies...the what?

Over the weekend, The Genie Awards came to Ottawa. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Genies, they are the Canadian equivalent of the Oscars. Saying that, I am struck by the likelihood that more Canadians know about the Oscars than the Genies. And that is precisely one of the reasons they were awarded in Ottawa for the first time—so just maybe the government will begin to notice an industry that is asking not for a bailout due to years of strategic errors but rather for an investment after years of success in the face of neglect. It is unlikely this government will pay much attention to its cinematic storytellers when they recently failed to gain a majority due to, among other reasons, underestimating the importance of culture in Quebec…and how, dear reader, can a federal party which seeks to run the country possibly underestimate THAT?

Canadian film, it would seem, is barely on the radar. Though the artists create successes like The Barbarian Invasions and Atanarjuat:The Fast Runner, Canada, the government, pays scant attention; Canadians, however, do, especially when given a chance. This weekend all the venues showing the Canadian films nominated for Genies had long line-ups. Surprise, surprise. You mean there might be an audience for these films?

So rarely do Canadian films make it into the large theatres that the producer of the film Passchendale, which won for best picture, actually thanked the Cineplex-Odeon theatre chain for giving it screen time. Hellooo? What’s wrong with this picture? A Canadian producer thanks a theatre chain in Canada for showing a Canadian film! Now you can see the difference: such a farce would simply never happen in the U.S; in Canada it happens, and nobody seems to think it terribly odd.

The winner walks up to the podium to accept their Genie: Thank you. I'd like to give special thanks to Cineplex-Odeon, without whose support…Art and audience need one another; how sad when they can't find each other. As Carl Bessai, the producer of Normal, put it: "Canadians don't hate our films, they're just not aware of them."

Movies, CBC, and the Erasure of Canadian Stories

I open up the movie guide to our local art house theater and discover a movie that seems quite remarkable. In French and Inuktitut, The Necessities of Life tells the story of an Inuit who is sent down to Quebec City to receive treatment for his tuberculosis. It is a quintessentially Canadian film. Will it appear on the big screen in popular theatres? Will many Canadians see it? Heck, will many Canadians ever hear of it? No, no, and no. Why? Because Canada doesn’t value its own stories nearly enough.

A movie theatre experience up here is primarily an American experience. Most stories are American stories: here’s the princess landing in Manhattan, the football hero from Syracuse, the American soldiers raising the flag. When a Canadian story makes it into the mainstream theatres—Passchendale, for instance—it’s big news, as much for its rarity as for anything else.

The media most able to compensate for the appalling absence of Canadian stories in movie theaters is the CBC. Canada is a huge, sparsely populated country, home to diverse cultures, and CBC, I submit, helps to create the ties that bind its citizenry together more than any single institution. How do immigrants to Canada “get” Canada? For me, it was the CBC.

When I first lived up here, I lived in Toronto but for all intents and purposes it was just as easy for me to live in my American mindset via American media. It wasn’t until I moved to a rural area where the U.S. stations weren’t available that I started watching CBC. Suddenly I began receiving different news told from a different point of view. Canadian politics started to intrigue me, Canadian comedy made me laugh, and CFL football was a fresh take on an old game.

And yet here comes the CBC having again to slash jobs and programming due to a nearly 200 million dollar deficit. CBC seems to be dying a death by a thousand cuts. The government looks on, expecting its national broadcaster to fulfill a mandate that it is unwilling to fund sufficiently. A study from 2005 by Nordicity Group Ltd. revealed that of 18 western countries, Canada has the 3rd lowest level of public funding per capita, ahead of only New Zealand and the U.S. And the gap between it and the leading country, Switzerland, is $154/person vs $33/person in Canada. Since that study, CBC’s funding has continued to erode.

The saddest part of this story is that Canadians aren’t particularly outraged, at least not according to the comments added to the news articles appearing on the internet. That so many Canadians think it’s not worth watching is merely a reflection that it's been allowed to become so. The CBC has become less capable of doing what a national broadcaster ought to do: to go not where the money is or where the biggest demographic lies, but to find the compelling untold story, the forgotten history, the issue that’s been shunted aside because its complex or ugly or difficult to tell. National broadcasters can introduce us to those strangers who are our fellow citizens, be they in Lunenberg or Luskville, Gjoa Haven or Prince George.

An American ex-pat pleading for the CBC—that's a sad commentary on Canada's commitment to its own stories. Canadians know they struggle with what it means to be Canadian, beyond we’re not American. The message of movie theatres is that Canadians are, in fact, American, or perhaps more accurately, wannabe-Americans, but the CBC attempts to provide some glimmers of an answer—even as its resources fall away—as to what “Canadian” might mean. Why not show it some respect?

The Dignity of the Office

Well, wouldn't you know it? Soon after I declare former U.S. Presidents would never act as panelists on a game show, the current President shows up on Late Night with Jay Leno! At least the ensuing debate was all about the proverbial "dignity of the office." Some people were all worked up about the new President not sufficiently upholding that dignity. Listening to Pat Buchanan talk afterward about the President’s egregious action, you'd have thought President Obama had peppered Leno with a series of fart jokes.

And then, thinking about the dignity of the office, I go to a local mall over the weekend and there's Canada’s current Minister of Transportation, formerly Minister of the Environment, with a booth set up to meet citizens in his local riding. It was another one of those "I'm not in Kansas anymore" moments.

Unelected, members of the Cabinet in the States don’t have to gladhand. Nobody walks into their local Sears and says, “Oh look, isn’t that Condi Rice passing out a flyer about her qualifications. Let's ask her about fixing that nasty pothole down the block.” No sir. The President’s cabinet are his knights of the round table, answering to no one but their lord and master. Sure the President can appoint fools—remember Michael Brown, head of FEMA during Hurrican Katrina (not quite a cabinet posting I know)—but the President also has the ability to bring in some serious talent.

Canada draws its Ministers, however, from the elected MPs of the party in power. It can be a rather shallow pool to fish in. Yes, there is some talent present, but generally it seems there are more positions available than talent to go around. Inevitably some minister not up to snuff does something that makes it clear why they’re not up to snuff. They return to the backbench and somebody else gets their kick at the can.

I like the democracy represented by the Canadian ministers, but sometimes—when I hear about Obama’s cabinet--I wish there were a bit more kick-ass talent and experience up here. Then again, there’s something heartening about seeing the Minister of Transportation out and about doing what democracy, with all its shortcomings, requires of any citizen who would seek to govern.

A Metaphor in America

Over the weekend Christina Romer, Chair of the President's Council of Economic Advisors, said that she agreed with Warren Buffet that the U.S. is in an "economic war." Let's hope it's not a war like the war on poverty, the war on drugs and the war on terror--none of which the U.S. has won, and a good case can be made that none of them are winnable. War, war, war. Perhaps it is time to ask if the dominant metaphor meant to engage the U.S. populace still serves the country well.

Lyndon Johnson introduced the metaphor in a big way back in 1964 in his State of the Union Address where he announced his War on Poverty. Richard Nixon brought in the War on Drugs. A few years later he even brought in the War on Cancer, and we all know about the War on Terror. It would seem America has a very limited repetoire of responses to things that it identifies as killing its citizens. And it was only a matter of time before a journalist was bound to turn the metaphor against the government, as when Chris Mooney wrote The Republican War on Science in 2005.

War is a popular metaphor south of the 49th. And why shouldn't it be? The U.S. is a country that started through a revolutionary war, then expanded its territory through wars against aboriginal peoples, then held itself together through a brutal civil war, only to arrive as the dominant world power after WWII. War is in the very DNA--to use another metaphor--of America. And so when a President or politician wants to convey the gravity of the situation, they declare war, shorthand for the more earthy "we are in some very deep shit here, folks."

The problem is that the metaphor is evocative, rather than rational, which is precisely one of the reasons it gets used. War requires a marshalling of resources, bold action, swift response. Much can be justified under the banner of war. And so America has wrecked havoc far and wide in its War on Drugs, imprisoning more of its citizens that any other country, exporting its war to Central and South America and even to Afghanistan, where that war intersects with the War on Terror and might very well be working at cross-purposes to it. War doesn't lend itself to reflective questioning; in fact, it blows right past it. Imagine if instead of declaring a War on Terror, simple questions were asked from simple facts: there are people in parts of the world who hate us so much they want to kill us. Why is that? What is it we can and ought to do to address this hatred? Different options suddenly begin to appear; ah, but this is all Monday morning quarterbacking, to use another popular American metaphor (and one from a game that has war as its metaphor...Is there no escape? As metaphor in America, war is a hall of mirrors).

Now we come to one of Obama's key advisors saying we are in an "economic war." I do note that it is not the President himself who spoke, but Romer's ready adoption of the coinage suggests the metaphor is again in play, and may yet infect not simply the larger discourse on the economy but the very nature of the actions that are taken and the attitudes that support them. How can we stop it before it takes hold?....Declare War on the Metaphor!

(Note: You will then understand how deeply, when I first came to Canada, the talk of peacekeeping struck me; I would even say touched me. I knew nothing of Lester Pearson or Canada's allegiance to its peacekeeping principles. Peacekeeping was more than a breath of fresh air to me; it was a warm and steady breeze. Canada's recent questioning of that heritage and its movement towards combat forces is a topic for a later post).

The Organization of Maple Syrup Producers

Canada's Globe and Mail had an article in the Business Section about maple syrup. You know something's up when maple syrup makes it into the business section. Nobody I know thinks of it as a business; it' s been a hobby, a seasonal ritual, a family affair, maybe even a calling. But a business?

It seems the demand for the syrup is skyrocketing at the same time that production is tanking. Prices have gone through the roof and--voila!--those folks who yearn for the combination of cold nights and warm days that make the sap run can now earn a living at producing maple syrup.

Knowing this profitable situation isn't sustainable on its own, I propose that maple syrup producers unite and form a cartel. Anything that can make Kellogg's Frozen Waffles tolerable, if not tasty, deserves a fair price. Here's the deal: Quebec, my home and, as the Globe and Mail puts it, "the Saudi Arabia of Maple Syrup," (now there's a byline to appear on every Welcome to Quebec sign)--starts the (snow)ball rolling by initiating contact with Vermont. With Quebec and Vermont as the founding members, Maine and New Hampshire will beg to get in...and what, by the way, is the value of a cartel if no one's begging to get in?

In honour of my old Vermont friends and hardscrabble Quebecers who tap trees all across the province, I'll volunteer to be the first President of the OMSP (Organization of Maple Syrup Producers). All I ask is a lifetime supply of the amber elixer for myself...and my children... and okay, for their families too, whenever they have them.

Canada's Next Great Prime Minister

Sometimes something happens up here that even now, after more than 15 years of living in Canada, takes me by surprise. This one might seem innocuous enough—it’s CBC’s show, starting its 2nd season in a couple of weeks, called Canada’s Next Great Prime Minister. It’s a show in which four former Prime Ministers act as a panel, selecting the Canadian whose prescriptions for Canada make them worthy of being crowned Canada’s Next Great Prime Minister.

It sounds clever enough—a political game show that doesn’t seek to titillate, demean or offer sensationalism. Important issues might get some significant air time with an audience who, drawn to the competitive format, wouldn’t otherwise tune in to the news. Yet I am struck by how an equivalent show like this would never, NEVER, see the light of day in the States. The simple fact of the show says something both about Canada and the States.

As an American ex-pat, I know that not one President, never mind four, would ever agree to be a panelist on a political game show. It’s a non-starter because of the often invoked, but seldom explained, “dignity of the office.” Americans, Presidents in particular, take “the dignity of the office” seriously. It’s one of the reasons why Gore wouldn’t challenge the Supreme Court’s ruling in favour of Bush. It’s why Congress hesitates to aggressively investigate presidential wrongdoing. The office is larger than the man.

Does this mean that the office of the PM lacks dignity? Let’s just say the office is less burdened with carrying the nation’s meaning (see the Post of January 4th). The PM is voted into office as a member of Parliament only by the people in their riding; in this, they are closest to being the equivalent of a U.S. congressman. They are then selected by their party as their leader. Their “term” can last but a few scant months if their government receives a non-confidence vote, and they can unceremoniously be dumped as party leader. Such a set-up does not lend itself to the office being imbued with a historical accrual of dignity. The dignity in Canada would seem to be brought to the office by the particular person serving as PM, rather than the office conferring dignity upon the person.


The other oddity is the show’s implicit, underlying premise: the regular political process doesn’t often get us great Prime Ministers, so let’s see if we can use a game show to get one. The national broadcaster—bored perhaps from years of its standard election coverage—seems to want to take a crack at discovering the country’s next Prime Minister. Once done with that, would they be willing to take a risk on the show lurking in the shadows and set aside a primetime slot for Canada’s Last Great Prime Minister?…Pause…Who WAS that? Was it one of the judges on the current show? Imagine if the current panel of judges--four former Prime Ministers: Joe Clark, Brian Mulrony, Kim Campbell and Paul Martin--would instead become contestants, making their case before a panel of citizens that they were, in fact, the last great one. Politicians pleading for their legacy--now that would be TV worth watching!

Friendships North and South

I spoke to a friend in Portland, Oregon last night who had moved down to the States from Canada about 15 years ago. Both she and her husband have become U.S. citizens. At the end of the phone call she said, "Great to talk to you. I so value our Canadian friends, they're different than our American friends." Naturally that caught my attention, a chance to pursue someone else's cross-cultural musings. "What do you mean?" I asked, wishing I had a digital recorder in easy reach.

"Well," she went on, "Canadians ARE different. They have more heart. Here it's harder to be vulnerable. Now don't get me wrong, I love our American friends, they're dears, but it's harder to go deep in those friendships. There seems to be more compassion in our Canadian friends, maybe because of the social safety net. Here, if you're needy, it's all about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps where Canadians have more of a belief in 'I am my brother's keeper.'

My friend's remarks brought me back to a conversation several years ago with a successful cousin of mine, an entrepreneurial doctor, about how I liked Canada. At the end of my response, he looked at me and said, "you know, the U.S. is the greatest place to be in the world if you have money and your health, and it's been great for me, but I know if you don't have those, it can be a real hell."

My friend's husband, also a Canadian, had recently lost his executive job as a result of the stuggling economy. I wonder if the greatest place in the world is about to morph into something else for him. And who knew, in the furnace of getting ahead in America, that one may have friendships not quite equal to the task of being your brother’s keeper.