I know I said “Desperately Seeking Socialism” would be continued, but I need to interrupt it with this important bulletin about Rob Ford.
Just kidding. It’s not important. It’s not even a bulletin. Cripes, Rob Ford doesn’t even seem to be much of a problem, now that council has voted to strip him of his powers.
What was the big hairy deal, anyway? Seems like a “no brainer” as Stephen Harper would say, except about approving a pipeline that could wipe out a country’s fresh water supply.
It’s so fishy, though, that Rob Ford hasn’t been charged with any of the crimes he’s known to have committed, isn’t it. I mean, there’s no way he wouldn’t have been noticed drunk driving when the police have been tailing him for months.
So I can’t help thinking he’s cut a deal, mostly because of how he went on in that video about not being a rat. Seems like a weird thing to say, even if you’re Rob Ford.
And the way he said it, I dunno, like he was trying to convince himself, “I’m not a rat”.
Also, if I had to pick a Shakespearean character he most reminds me of, it would be Lady MacBeth.
Yikes, I just got a chill up my spine reading that over. Oh well, that’s what I get for being a conspiracy theorist.
Anyway, now that I know council can also strip Rob Ford of his budget, I’m a little annoyed that it didn’t get around to this earlier.
Geez Louise, what kind of damned lefty pinko council is it, anyway?
Oh yeah, the kind that would let a garbage strike go on for an entire summer and give out thousands of metro-passes to people who can afford to buy their own and tickets to the zoo to see the elephants that shouldn’t have been living in Toronto in the first place and subsidized lunches as if they’re not all local to the city and able to brown bag it.
Still, hard to imagine how anyone thought Rob Ford would be an antidote to stupid shit that mayors do.
No, seriously, if I go missing, check Rob Ford’s trunk.
I apologize. When I argue politics with middle-aged Conservative men I turn into a little girl, railing and flailing at all those middle aged-Conservative men back in Sault Ste. Marie, who denied my reality and then pulled rank because they could.
They always won because the system belonged to them. You always win because you don’t care, you inherited all that you need from their system and now you don’t need it anymore.
Maybe I don’t either. I hope not. Certainly your politicians tell me often enough that they don’t work for me, although instead of a break in my taxes, I get called derogatory names and put on a no-fly list.
Okay, that last part isn’t true. I’m not on a no-fly list, not that I can afford to fly anywhere anyway. I don’t want to, to tell you the truth. The last trip I went on I felt like the 1% and couldn’t enjoy myself. It’s like as soon as I left Ottawa I turned into Chris Hedges and could only see wanton inequality and brazen destruction as far as my myopic eyes could see.
Like I keep saying (and it’s about me so stop reading if you’re not a fan, just go, tend to your knitting, eff off, I don’t want you following me around anymore) the wolf’s not at the door, but I do need to be able to make money some how. I don’t have much by way of a pension, and life isn’t getting any cheaper, is it.
Or is it?
I can see a day down the road when older citizens will be lining up to be humanely euthanized, which is why I’m not comfortable with legislation allowing it. Not now, not when elderly ladies with Alzheimer’s can be tasered to the ground by young male police officers because it’s the cheapest way for them to do their job.
That’s all it is, you know, it’s not like police officers suddenly became psychotic, but time is money, and it’s not like they meant for her to fall and break a hip, they just wanted to, you know, move on.
No, not now, not ever. Ask an aged friend to kill you so she’ll be looked after in a nice new prison. That’s our future, isn’t it, brought to us by Stockwell Day who loves the unborn and Vic Toews who sleeps with teenaged girls.
No, that’s asking the wrong question, as Rob Ford would say, isn’t it – slept with a teenaged girl. But I guess we should move on, shouldn’t we, so he can be a respected judge now. Vic Toews, I mean, not Rob Ford. Rob Ford don’t need no stinkin’ respect.
If not for a missing woman, Jaclyn Dawe, 35, I would almost be prepared to thank Rob Ford for his service, such a rat’s nest of privilege and exception has he revealed. I think he’s our Lady MacBeth, although I won’t hazard a guess as to who MacBeth is. You know me, shy with the guesses.
That’s a joke, by the way, I blog in feelings, not facts. That’s why you should buy a newspaper if you want journalism. Or watch The National and support news we pay professionals to gather for us from around the world, through our taxes.
Or don’t watch it, but you’re still paying for it through your taxes, and you can argue that that’s not fair, but since you then argue that we should be paying for media to spin the news gathered by the CBC in favour of your Conservative politicians, you’ve canceled yourself out of the argument.
I didn’t do it, you did, but I can’t articulate that during the argument because what’s fun for you isn’t fun for me and my blood pressure interferes with my firing synapses and it’s systems overload. So I’m saying it here.
CBC isn’t biased, you are.
I was hoping the baby boomers would turn old age into middle age and disappear death, but it looks like they don’t even want to pay what it costs to keep up with the 70s.
I can’t say it often enough that my mother, who is 89 and in good mental/reasonable physical health, has the last of the great public service pensions, but she can no longer cover the rent at her seniors’ residence. It’s not dire, because one of her children can make the necessary top up, but she has four and it seems somewhat telling that only one of us can do it.
We’re all of the much ballyhooed middle-class, too, although three out of four of us are no longer of the middle-class of our youth.
I’m the least educated with only an honours bachelor of arts (honours just means four years of university as opposed to three, by the way, my transcript is so embarrassing even I can’t bear to look at it, so I’ll be damned if a 25 year old manager in the public service is going to get a gander) but I have a lot of experience working in a variety of offices.
I get it now, the right to work, the real right to work, though, not the right to work being peddled by the Koch brothers and their enablers.
Are the Koch brothers real, do you think? Or are they just an excuse: “The Koch brothers made me do it.”
Here’s a question (or two): I want to work so that I can make enough money to support myself, so why aren’t I employed? And not to sound spoiled, but why do I have to look for employment? Why isn’t it there for the taking?
Okay, that was three questions. Honestly, I’m not kidding when I say I didn’t get it before when people who were having trouble finding employment would complain about it, as if employment was some kind of human right.
Employment is a human right.
I’ve grown up hearing sister and brother citizens grumble about cradle to grave socialism all my life, but where is it? If we had it, who gave it up for us? Because I want it, I want cradle to grave socialism. I want a government that looks after me when I can no longer look after myself.
Don’t you? Don’t you want to be looked after when you can no longer make money? But enough about you. What about me right now? I can’t make money because no one is hiring me. Why isn’t anyone hiring me?
I had an interview recently that I’ve blogged about already. Millions and millions of tax dollars are about to be released to a little known task force that I won’t name because even if I did you can’t find it using google. It falls under Natural Resources, but you won’t find it on the website, either.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I could have done the job, too. It’s a disgusting job (tarsands propaganda propagation) doling out money to the government departments that dream up the best sales pitches. I mean, really, just stop with the attacks on environmentalists, cut the bullshit about reforestation and drinkable tailing ponds, and sell a compromised world on weaning China off coal by tiding it over with the oilsands.
I didn’t get the job because I’m not already in government but I wanted you to know about it so you wouldn’t think I’m holding back.
I’m holding back. Oh boy, what I’m holding back. Lucky for you I’m a lady.
Still, there’s a freebie for you. Our tarsands developers may have an entire media empire devoted to advertising their product, but it doesn’t have a wide enough audience, so they need more. And your government wants markets to be there for their tarsands developer friends after the pipelines are built, so it’s shoveling more good money after bad to tell the world: Oil good, socialism bad.
They’re ideologues first, salesmen last, so they can’t help but blow it.
But that’s not what this entry is about because this entry is about Andrew Coyne and a surprising piece of his that appeared in the National Post. It’s about what he calls the Rob Ford mess, “a monster born of divisive and condescending populism”.
I say surprising not because it’s by Andrew Coyne, who has been fairly consistent in his increasing disgust with Conservative politicians these days, although I always took him to be kind of, well, Conservative, but because it was in the National Post, which, correct me if I’m wrong here, but, was also “born of divisive and condescending populism”.
Was it not? I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of the venture? To cut the liberal elite down to size and give a voice to the little guy? I mean, sure it was Conrad Black’s idea (and we all know where Conrad Black ended up – that’s right – prison – and reality television) but you’d never know he hailed from one of the richest families in Canada to read Mark Steyn go on about how we’d all been had by the elite but, oh boy, his boss Conrad Black was here now to take it on for us.
I’d love to see Zoomer but I can’t afford cable.
It took a couple of read throughs, but then I got it. Mark Steyn was talking about me? I’m the elite? Really? Is this some kind of joke?
He’s still doing it, too, just not for the National Post, I don’t think. But don’t quote me on that. I just read Andrew Coyne and Christie Blatchford when someone posts their columns.
The National Post, here at last was a voice for the people, just in time for the bipolar world of internet politics, where people like me would find ourselves defending the right to religious practice, ferchrissakes, so topsy turvy mean and stupid did it all become.
It was a newspaper that told me I should be at home having sex on demand with my husband and producing white babies to save my race from the Islamic Menace that would enslave me under Sharia Law, and that it would serve me right because I’m a Feminist, and I would know the REAL patriarchy my white male Conservative Christian betters had tried to save me from. It was a newspaper that called me an anti-Semite for not cheering when the Israeli Defense Forces bulldozed Palestinian homes and brave idealistic young American activists. It was a newspaper that called me a traitor and a terrorist stooge and a useful idiot and an elitist and a member of the chattering class because I didn’t support the War on Terror. It was a newspaper that accused me of betraying women elsewhere in the world, of being a phony Feminist, of not caring about poor people, of not caring about human rights because I believe women should be able to terminate unwanted pregnancy. It was a newspaper that called me naive and unknowing and an obstacle to everything that is good and right because I wouldn’t get on board with the Commonsense Revolution of Mike Harris, the revolution that was nasty, brutish, but not short because his disciples are carrying it on across the country now led by Stephen Harper.
Okay, I’ve blogged enough for now, I’m mad, sad, but I don’t accept that I’m not supposed to care, just because you don’t, so, to be continued…
I don’t know about you, dear Sooey Says reader(s), but I’m kind of appalled by the staggering hypocrisy of Rob Ford’s former supporters. I mean, good grief, it’s not like they weren’t there the entire time he was being Rob Ford.
And thank heavens for his boozing and drugging or we might never had learned of the murdered and missing.
It was in the forecast surplus!
Did anybody else find it wincingly embarrassing that the Harper government is donating a mere $5 million to the Philippines in the wake of the latest climate change disaster that has killed thousands and thousands of citizens and left millions of survivors facing a hopeless future?
Meanwhile, Alison Redford is off to Washington again to lobby on behalf of billionaire multi-national corporate welfare bum, TransCanada, for the godforsaken pipeline tarsands developers are insisting Obama approve.
I think TransCanada should be made to kick in the difference between $5 million and $1 billion on our behalves. Cripes, those bastards have had more government representation in the past eight years than you or I have had over a lifetime.
Won’t somebody please kick a tarsands developer for me today? Thanks. And don’t stop, just keep kicking. The needs of the many outweigh the wants of the few, after all.
Ford Maniacs spent the day misdirecting protestors away from a rally at City Hall, claiming the organizers had canceled it and were sending a letter instead.
Actually, that is kind of funny. Good to know the overgrown/possibly murderous frat contingent can pull off harmless pranks, too, and not just make marginalized women disappear from public view.
Jaclyn Dawe, 35, was last seen in February.
Apparently, the much ballyhooed problems with the Obamacare website are the result of deliberate sabotage. I mean, really, at this point, governments disliked by Conservatives of all races, creeds, and colours (although almost exclusively white, Christian, and male) are just asking for it if they don’t factor in such shenanigans (or terrorism, as it would be called if anyone other than white, Christian men got up to it).
Oh dear, that reminds me of when the NRA counseled Albertans (now running the Canadian government) in how to sabotage the gun registry to the tune of billions of wasted tax dollars.
I don’t get it, but they’re in charge, and somebody must be making out alright. Not me. In spite of Jim Flaherty’s latest fiscal forecast I’m just as unemployed as I was more than a year ago.
Who are the Canadians supporting the Conservative Party of Canada? How many crimes must it commit before Conservatives stop sending it their hard-working family hard-earned tax dollars?
What are they getting out of this government by way of corruption and incompetence that I’m not?
Jason Kenney has been caught cheating now, too, by the way. I was hoping he would because he’s as guilty as h e double hockey sticks but it’s small comfort since nothing will happen about it and meanwhile he’s in charge of our employment insurance fund, which will soon disappear into privately held wallets.
Mark my words. These Conservative bastards didn’t cheat this hard to win so that they could make the world a better place for you and me. That money’s gone as good as yesterday.
Sigh. Hang on to your hats, it seems our brother and sister Canadians are determined to take us along on a bumpy ride to the Apocalypse.
Here’s a freebie for all you political analysts who think Justin Trudeau “gaffed” when he said he admired China for its ability to turn its economy around on a dime.
Sure it gives all and sundry a chance to complain about what an unholy dictatorship China is.
Oh and good luck with that not-made-in-China Christmas shopping, by the way, so onward Christian soldiers marching as to war with visions of sugar plums dancing in your heads and all that rot.
Sooey Says it was a calculated and well thought out assurance to his main donor base – wealthy Liberals and Conservatives (New Democrats?) doing big business in China – that it will all be good, business as usual, maybe we can even sell it to the Greens that China can teach us a thing or two about going solar now that its air is unbreathable.
And it reassures Conservative tarsands developers that he’ll keep it friendly and fun with China’s dictators, not to worry, its army will always have a Canadian source of fuel, should the Chinese people ever have enough of corporate communism and want to breathe again.
Really, it’s not rocket science, it’s just good old Canadian greed.
But of course Remembrance Day has been politicized. Why wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, it be.
Someone on my Facebook page posted a commercial of a teenaged boy phoning his grandfather to thank him for his service. Bell, I believe. He was moved by it but I rolled my eyes.
It reminded me of The Simpsons and how Homer and Marge seem to be based on their parents but have the same cultural milestones as their creators.
My son had a grandfather who fought in the war, but he died in the early 60s, and if he was still alive he’d be in his late 90s. Growing up, I had lots of friends whose fathers were too young to enlist, very few had seen any action.
Later in life I met people whose fathers had been ruined by war, though, either because they couldn’t go or because they could and were injured. One friend talks about his father having lost a leg in WWII and spending the rest of his life fighting government bureaucracy, trying to get proper compensation. Another friend talks about her father not being allowed to enlist because of his eyesight, and being left to defend himself at home.
My mother always told us that the war was probably hardest on the of age men who couldn’t fight for King and country for whatever reason. A more recent friend has a grandfather who emails unsolicited conspiracy rants to all and sundry.
He developed a jaded view of the whys and wherefores of his bombing missions in WWII. That must be a terrible thing, the guilt of knowing you’re responsible for the deaths of other people and their future generations, wondering if the truly brave, the real heroes, chose prison instead of the call to duty.
Do heroes follow orders?
I don’t know this for sure, but I believe my father got a free education after the war. He never talked about it, according to my mother, but she had no interest in it, so maybe that’s why. I do know that I enjoyed a special status, having a father who’d served in the war.
Why? Why did I enjoy a special status? Or did I just imagine it? I’ve always thought I was special, maybe it’s just the result of growing up fatherless when everybody else had one.
I only recently realized that losing a father I can’t really remember may be why I unbond in a panic whenever anyone I care about talks about going away. I read all that self-absorbed psychological analysis claptrap, too.
I can’t stand to imagine what soldiers with post-traumatic stress disorder don’t know about themselves.
Last night one of of the “Three to Watch” panel on the National ranted a bit about Afghanistan and how society needs to accept that when it comes to soldiers, we’re in for a penny in for a pound. He didn’t put it that way but that’s essentially what he meant.
He’s angry, like we all are, that governing politicians continue to get away with it, using the call to duty when it suits them and denying it when it doesn’t.
I don’t think any war after WWII should be commemorated, myself, although I don’t know much about the Korean war. I agree that we should care for all veterans until they die, but I believe we should do that for everyone, regardless of whether they signed up for a tour or two or three or four in Afghanistan.
The fact is, even I’ve thought of enlisting. I’m unemployed enough to do it, quite frankly, and I could probably pass the physical with a bit of upper body strength training.
Don’t worry, it was just a passing fancy, and I could never adapt to the hierarchy, although I’m a great team player.
I’d get caught mimicking the sarge behind his back. Or worse, to his face.
And, of course, I’m with the white poppy brigade now that a few brave veterans are speaking truth to power and turning their backs on politicians laying wreaths.
I think they’re showing us the way and the least we can do is follow.
But you may feel differently and that’s okay, too. We’re a big grown up country with lots of room for politics.
I had to do a basics grocery shopping yesterday because I’ve taken to baking while my son lives with us. Also, I make my own granola because I need it to be better and to last longer than what’s on offer commercially.
The trick to making a good granola is to stir 1 cup of oil (sunflower) into 10 cups of oats (I just use Quaker), and once every single oat is coated and whatever other ingredients like coconut, flax/sesame seeds, stir in not quite a cup of honey (I buy a fancy expensive brand that will soon be out of existence because the bees are all dying). I may have to switch to maple syrup soon, also prohibitively expensive, but I’m not ready to go down to brown sugar yet.
Spread the mixture, having broken up any lumps, on tinfoil on a baking sheet (you’ll need two) and bake for an hour or so at a low temperature, say, 275. 300 at the most. Then, after it’s cooled, add raisins, dried sweetened cranberries, etc.
In other words, don’t bake the fruit. I add a big bag of deluxe mixture to the cooled granola that contains all sorts of dried fruits and nuts. Okay, okay, full disclosure, I also add chocolate covered popped quinoa.
Then I have a small bowl with a bit of buttermilk because, really, I am unbelievably spartan at the end of the day. Also at the beginning and in the middle.
If you like dessert but nothing too sweet I recommend my brownies. Mix 1/2 cup unsalted butter (no one likes unsalted butter on toast and sons will go without and just spread peanut butter on toast rather than unsalted butter, so there’s always unsalted butter in the fridge for baking brownies) with 1 cup sugar, add two eggs, then 1/2 cup cocoa (if I’m feeling flush I buy Camino), 1/3 cup flour (I reverse the cocoa to flour from a traditional recipe so they’ll be more chocolatey).
Spread into a double layer cake pan and bake at 300 until they don’t jiggle. Then, and here’s the cool part, do seven (or whatever) grinds of salt over the warm brownies. Seriously, so much better than icing. You’ll be lucky if the Queen doesn’t drop by and scarf down the whole pan they’re so friggin’ sophisticated.
Food prices have gone up quite a bit I’ve noticed but I’m having a hard time matching my shopping habits to my reduced circumstances. I’m not in trouble, but I’m living on savings and not making any new money to replace my used savings, and I realized in an argument with a Conservative who was accusing well-heeled socialists of speaking for a working class (true) it doesn’t understand (truer) that he thinks I’m a well-heeled socialist, when in fact, the working class has it all over me.
Anyway, I did notice the price of honey in particular because I’d been wondering if the demise of the bee population would have an effect on the price of honey, or if the market is so senseless that it wouldn’t. And it’s not just the high price of the special honey, it’s the scarcity of the regular Billy Bee and no name stuff that I noticed.
I honestly thought there wasn’t much chance of Canadians revolting against our more or less democratically more or less elected leaders, but I’m starting to think we may yet get hungry enough to do it. Not necessarily the working class, either, but rather the class that cares about having affordable choices in life.
I don’t want to have to eat food products. I want to be able to eat real food.
That’s the other thing, Friday night we spent two hours on and off public transit trying to get to a friend’s house. I suppose we could have walked there, but it would have taken about an hour and a half, so less time but it’s really too far for me to walk. I can do it (I walk the dog for an hour after all) but I’d rather not.
And the whole time we were standing and waiting (it was really cold Friday night in Ottawa, too) I was thinking about all those people who depend on public transit to get to work and how it’s become increasingly unreliable, inconvenient and expensive. It’s been in the back of my mind as I apply for jobs I won’t get because there’s no one at the other end to actually process the application (I’m guessing it’s all just a make-work project for private agencies – I hope the applicant-to-job matchers don’t work on commission).
It’s frustrating. The mayor of Ottawa was actually teary-eyed over plans for a super duper lightrail system down the line (so to speak), but the people who will be paying for it are trying to get to the jobs that are left in Ottawa on an inadequate, deteriorating, and increasingly unaffordable public transit system now. And, of course, we know that no matter how good the lightrail system may eventually be, it won’t be good enough to get people out of their cars and on it.
You’re not stuck in traffic, you are traffic.
It’s like this, back when I was a new mom, there was a lot of pressure to use cloth diapers or hire a cloth diaper service when disposable diapers work better, cost less, and are readily available for legal purchase. My friend came to visit, saw me crumpled in a defeated new mom heap on the floor, and went to the grocery store to buy disposable diapers for my baby. And I cancelled the service and gave away the cloth diapers to a better new mom and that was that.
I even wrote to Michelle Landsberg of the Toronto Star about it and she referred to my dilemma in one of her columns, speaking of well-heeled socialists. She took my side that the environmental movement (which included both of us) was beating up on new moms when it should be going after corporate polluters.
At the end of the day, and at the beginning, and in the middle, what’s the point of an individual doing anything right at all if the tarsands are going to be developed anyway and fracking is going to be legal and Ford Nation, which is really just an excuse for bad behaviour, is going to vote for Rob Ford all over again?
I am so tired of millionaire politicians and their stunt pundits in the media referring to jobless on-the-margins-of-middle-class me as “The Elite” because I am critical of the criminal behaviour of certain governing politicians.
And no, I don’t have to criticize them all equally. And no, they aren’t all the same. And no, government isn’t the problem.
Stop changing the subject.
You know who you are.
It’s not the drugs, it’s not the mother, it’s not the system, it’s the wealthy and powerful men without care or conscience playing politics with people’s lives for greed and profit.
Rob Ford is just Stephen Harper is just Mike Harris on bath salts.
Dave commented about the discrepancy between how Rob Ford is being treated by his people, as opposed to how a homeless addict would be treated by Rob Ford’s people.
What is it about us that the more money we have, the less we believe we should suffer for our behaviour?
I didn’t grow up with Ford family money, my mother was a teacher. But my father had been a lawyer, and although he was dead for almost all of my life and could only have practiced law for about a decade (he got his education after he came home from the war) he was highly thought of, active in the Liberal party, member of the Lion’s club.
A future Canadian Attorney General even articled for him.
I didn’t know that until recently.
After he died, though, my mother didn’t really have a place in the world she’d been living in with my father. A pretty widow with four little kids to support didn’t match up with the wives of the other lawyers in a city the size of the Sault, and so she quickly found herself back in the world of teachers, courtesy a besotted (from afar) superintendent, where she stayed until her retirement.
I grew up with teachers, of all ages and sexual orientation, around our house, after school, on weekends. My mother was renowned for her staff parties and our house was often overflowing with teachers, but she also had a handful of young teacher friends with whom we (my younger sister and I) spent a lot of time. Liberal people, all high school teachers, who were above the sexist and/or racist attitudes of maybe some other adults at that time.
In other words, gay.
Once, she forgot all about a party she had scheduled, and was off at Vic Tanney’s, working out, when teachers started arriving at our house. My Gram used to sit in the breakfast room pretending to be the hired help not allowed in other parts of the house (she was as famous for her passive aggression as my mother was for her staff parties) so my little sister and I started getting the teachers drinks.
We’d seen it done often enough that we knew what to do. Finally, my mother’s friend showed up (they’re still friends, living in the same seniors’ residence where my mother’s friend was once the vice-principal, it having been converted from my old high school into the residence several years ago) and took over bar duties.
If you’ve seen the commercial where the girlfriend shows up at her boyfriend’s apartment and he’s hosting a steady stream of strangers arriving to try the Tostitos chips and dip, it was kind of like that, except with drunken teachers everywhere.
We witnessed a fair bit of sketchy behaviour and heard a lot of stuff not intended for young ears but I have to say, far from being damaging, it held me in good stead, and I went through life for a long time believing that I was insulated from injustice, that false accusations would not stand, and that corrupt authorities would ultimately be overruled.
My father was a saint, my mother was a teacher. It was a pretty rarefied existence, which was lucky for me because I believed myself uniquely qualified to pronounce on anything and everything to anyone and everyone, much as I do now.
As soon as I was aware that there was inequality in the world I was indignant with outrage. It started before I even went to school, when I noticed economic disparity on my own street. But once at school, which I walked to but which was outside our neighbourhood and in a much tougher one, I was outraged indignation. I personified it. I had no choice, injustice reigned, it rained injustice.
Any adult who comes from a family where at least one parent was a professional is lying and/or in denial and/or deluded if s/he doesn’t admit that s/he had every advantage over kids who came from other circumstances.
Although perhaps their survivor’s guilt is such that they can’t admit to the truth of birthright.
I also had an exaggerated sense of insulation because my mother was so formidable, and in later life once scared the crap out of a companion I didn’t realize was FLQ (honest!) and a drug dealer (honest!) when I mouthed off to an undercover narc who threatened to “float his body down the Bow River to Canmore” (we were in Banff) that he’d regret his behaviour when I wrote a letter to the editor of the Globe and Mail about it.
Sigh. Really. I’m lucky to be alive. I really and truly am. There, but for the grace of billions and billions of stars, go I.
But we’re not that society anymore, are we. Teachers, for instance, are vigilant as to how their students are treated, which is to say fairly, and parents are almost irrelevant, as they should be. It’s considered grossly unprofessional to discriminate against a child for any reason, let alone how a parent happens to be making a living – or not.
Although Ottawa not so long ago went through a bit of retro finger-wagging when an exotic dancer mom’s donation to one or another elementary school fundraisers went unappreciated by moms in Lululemons.
It was not so back in the day and I witnessed it so don’t tell me it didn’t happen. Kids, even little ones, were pigeonholed by adults in the worst way imaginable, told they would never amount to anything because the old man hadn’t and left to fend for themselves with entire bureaucracies of authority figures lined up against them all telling them the same thing.
You. Don’t. Matter.
Our society is better today because it’s more egalitarian and kids not only have rights but they know their rights. Nobody has to put up with discrimination for any excuse, let alone how they make a living – or not.
Still, I can’t imagine how terrifying it is to be a person unknown, more or less, even today, a sex trade worker perhaps, maybe with a drug and alcohol problem, who, for whatever reason/no reason, finds herself in the way of someone like Rob Ford.
Because, deny it or not, Rob Ford can get away with an awful lot and it’s all because of who his father was.
If Rob Ford was Joe Sixpack or Sally Housecoat, he’d be dead or in jail or dead in jail.
It’s a fact. A Canadian fact.
- December 2013
- November 2013
- October 2013
- September 2013
- August 2013
- July 2013
- June 2013
- May 2013
- April 2013
- March 2013
- February 2013
- January 2013
- December 2012
- November 2012
- October 2012
- August 2012
- July 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
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