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.)