Creepy cameras

Now this is just creepy. England is weird. I mean, Orwell wrote 1984 there, but this still seems to appeal to them. I know, I know, I know, cameras are everywhere these days, but I find the idea they're taping me at the ATM a lot less disturbing than the idea that some government-appointed Jiminy Cricket is staring at a monitor waiting to shout me down if I pick my nose or don't excuse myself after burping. This crosses a line for me.

From the Beeb:

'Talking' CCTV scheme expanding

Talking" CCTV cameras that tell off people dropping litter or committing anti-social behaviour are to be extended to 20 areas across England.

They are already used in Middlesbrough where anyone seen misbehaving can be told to stop via a loudspeaker, controlled by control centre staff.

Home Secretary John Reid has earmarked nearly £500,000 to add speaker facilities to already-existing cameras.

Critics say the cameras are absurd and an intrusion into everyday life.

Mr Reid told BBC News there would be some people, "in the minority who will be more concerned about what they claim are civil liberties intrusions".

"But the vast majority of people find that their life is more upset by people who make their life misery in the inner cities because they can't go out and feel safe and secure in a healthy, clean environment because of a minority of people," he added.

The example they give:

1. Pedestrian is spotted leaving can on bench.
2. Talking camera: "Please fetch your can."
3. Talking camera: "The bin is behind the phone box."
4. Talking camera: "Thank you for using the bin."

How it ought to go down:

1. Pedestrian is spotted leaving can on bench.
2. Talking camera: "Please fetch your can."
3. Though morally a douchebag, pedestrian exercises his free choice and gives camera the finger.
4. Assholes all around, but a blow for liberty is struck!
5. Next time, pedestrian realizes he was being a jerk and "bins" the can on his own. Hopefully.

Montrez-moi l'argent

Folks, I've figured it out. This whole Quebec 'fiscal imbalance' thing? Solved. Listen: all Quebec has to do to suck more mon— uhhhh, to alleviate the aggregious injustice is simply to open a chain of convenience stores across Ontario and start 'selling' lottery tickets. Et voilà!

clipped from www.theglobeandmail.com Mr. Marin said the lottery corporation has introduced some measures to better protect consumers since his office launched an investigation last October, following a CBC television program that alleged that more than 200 ticket retailers or clerks won prizes of more than $50,000 in the past seven years. But well before the fifth estate program, the corporation was only too aware that it was easy for its retailers to steal winning tickets, the report says.

Sam, don’t help!

[A small, quiet room, containing a few chairs and a table at which an Iranian man is seated. A door opens, and two Anglos enter.]

John (sitting at table, reaching across to Hassan): I’d like to thank you for agreeing to see me today.

Hassan (shaking hands with John): It is my hope that we can resolve this issue between us… uh… who is this gentleman with you?

John: Oh… um… that’s Sam.

Hassan: I don’t understand… why is he here?

John: Well, he sort of insisted. Just got in the car when I was heading over.

Sam: Listen, Hadgi—

Hassan: My name is Hassan, actually…

Sam: When you mess with John, here, you mess with me! Got it?

John: Sam, please. You promised.

Sam: Just watchin’ your six, Johnny.

John: I appreciate it, but it might help if you were to sit down and try to be pleasant.

[Sam sits, folds his arms, scowls at Hassan.]

John: Now, as I understand it, you feel that some of my crew were on your property…

Hassan: Your people are everywhere, John. If I don’t take a stand, no one’s going to respect my property. I mean, are they?

John: I understand that, old chap, and you’re perfectly right about that. It’s just that my crew are adamant that they did respect your property and the fellows you have hadn’t—

Sam: Hand ‘em over, ragtop! We’re not telling you again! Next time we’re talking with knuckles, dig?

Hassan: Who is this man?

John: Sam, please, this isn’t constructive!

Sam: You want constructive? How about I use my boot to construct a shoeshine box out of his ass?

Hassan (rising): I feel that we are finished here…

John: Hassan, please, wait! Sam, for the love of God, shut up! You’re not helping!

Sam (sitting, fuming): Cripes, John, you didn’t actually check your nuts at the door, did you?

Hassan (sitting again): Perhaps the dialog would be more fruitful if your friend were to wait in your car.

Sam: Plenty fruity already, I’d say.

John: Sam, I’m trying to get my boys home to their families. Please. I appreciate your support, but it’s not your place to involve yourself.

Sam: I don’t need your permission anymore, Your Majesty. For nothing. Remember that.

John: Yes, how could I possibly forget. You make me watch The Patriot every time I come over.

Sam: Masterpiece of historical accuracy.

Hassan: Perhaps you gentlemen could first come to a consensus and inform me when you’re ready to talk with one voice.

Sam: We’re ready to talk anytime you like, towel boy! Just ask your neighbours!

[Hassan leaves.]

Sam: Are you just gonna let him treat you like that? That guy has no respect for you, you pipsqueak! No respect for you at all.

John: I wonder why.

Tune in next time when Sam borrows billions of dollars from Chang and Kenji to kick Hassan’s ass, same stupid time, same stupid channel!

"Fed" up

I know you’ve all be dying to hear what I have to say about Quebec’s recent provincial election. Well, okay, here it is.

I’m tired. I’m absolutely tired and fed up with Quebec.

I’ve been around the boards and newspaper commentary areas and the whistling in a graveyard out there among anglophones is shrill to the point of deafening. So many of them are crowing about the rising star of Mario Dumont. Ha ha, they’re saying, the Parti Quebecois is dealt a mortal blow! No more separatists! Hurray for Dumont the federalist!

Yeah, except he isn’t. The guy is just one more Quebecois weasel who’ll do and say whatever’s going to squeeze the most sap out of Canada till the tree shudders and falls over. He was a front man for separatism in the 1995 referendum. He’s come right out and told us he’s not a federalist, but so many people want so much for this nonsense to be over once and for all that they just clap their hands over their ears and sing “O Canada” in French that much louder. Worse, he’s a conservative. At least the PQ were fairly left-wing. This chap leads that deep, quiet, but omnipresent strain of Quebecois nationalism that’s tied not so much to ideas and principles as it is to race. It’s not enough to speak French; you have to be French. White. Original stock; pur lein. That kind of thing. The Quebec of the backwoods that never really participated in the Quiet Revolution, but is asserting itself again. The ugly xenophobia that’s been building since multiculturalism robbed Quebec of its understood status as the other society in Canada. Now we have to deal with that. And you people are happy?

Look at this map. See those red areas? That’s all that’s left of Canada in Quebec. Anything in blue is practically foreign soil. You are not welcome there. You are not one of them. They do not want you there; they do not want to share a nationality with you. You are foreign. You are alien. You are either born one of them, or you aren’t. And if you aren’t, you can never be. And the dark blue areas voted for the ADQ. Why are federalists so happy?

I understand Quebec’s aspirations, and I’m not sure they can be realized within Canada. I wish they could, but there are limits, even in a federation. I think we’ve done a good job to accommodate them in recent decades, but apparently it’s not enough. I’m not sure the centre can hold. I hope so. But I’m not seeing any evidence of it. Quite the contrary. When I was a boy, Quebeckers voted for the same parties as the rest of us, at least federally. There was a separatist party provincially, and they did come to prominence, but at least on the national scene, they participated. That’s changed in recent years, thanks at least in part to Brian Mulroney’s ass-hatted, ham-fisted attempts to trump Trudeau and remake the Constitution in Quebec’s image. “I rolled the dice with Canada!” he trumpeted. Yeah, and lost. His party blew to smithereens for 15 years and gave birth to a separatist party at the federal level, and prompted the 1995 referendum that nearly carried the country off into the dustbin of history. Yes, thank you, Brian. Please go to hell, and soon.

All my life, and for several years before, English Canada has been working, consciously, to accommodate Quebec. Changing. Adapting. Asking questions, listening to the answers, and acting on them, at least as far as practicality allowed. And with every step, every turn, we’ve flung our arms wide, hoping for the embrace… that never comes. No, what follows is always one more step away from us, and the demand that we must take another step… and another… and another. But Quebec must never embrace us. No, to do that, to participate, to engage in this thing we’ve built together over centuries: that would be humiliation. Diminishment. Abject surrender.

I’m not asking Quebec to love us, and I certainly don’t ask or want them to kiss our ass and call it ice cream. But for God’s sake, 1759 was a long time ago. We’ve been on the same team for a long long long time now. Can’t you find a little pride in the uniform? The games played, the championships won (and sometimes lost)? Does it always have to be sulking on the bench, screaming to be traded, a free agent, while expecting all the perks of being on the team? That’s really, really getting old, folks. Honest. Yeah, we’re all tired of living with a reluctant roommate who feels free to help himself to whatever’s in the fridge but doesn’t feel the need to pitch in, help out with anyone else’s dishes, and expects everyone else to forgive him his share of the rent this month cause he had to buy a cool new stereo… that, of course, no one else is allowed to touch. And all the while, moaning about how hard done-by he is, and dreaming loudly of the day his family finally gives him his inheritance so he can move out to some glorious condo filled with mirrors, while shafting the rest of the household with the bills.

I’ve never had cancer… God forbid. But I have to imagine that in less lucid moments, having cancer as part of your body must be a little like having Quebec as part of your country. It saps your strength, taking resources from other organs, always demanding more as it grows and grows on what it’s already taken from you. You live in constant pain, and every waking moment is consumed with the knowledge that, sooner or later, it’s probably going to kill you. Except this cancer talks. It taunts you, mocks you, makes demands under blackmail. Tells you you’re abusing it, neglecting it, and that’s why it’s a cancer. It talks gleefully about how it’s one day going to spring from your body as a whole other being, while you drop dead without it. It threatens to kill you all the sooner if you don’t give it what it wants. There is no winning. No real bargaining with it. No satiating it. It will just take and take and take until it decides the time is right to finally destroy you in its own selfish interests. And people are celebrating the rise of Mario Dumont… a whole new tumor. A metastasization to other parts of an already troubled organ.

I’m tried of it. Tired of being scared, of making deals, of initiatives that not only go nowhere but are actually resented. How dare we try to pressure them by spending money to convince them we’ve changed, we like them, we accept, we understand? How dare you bring me roses and ask where I’d like to go to dinner? You creep. I don’t know… maybe it’s too little, too late. But damn it, I can’t help feeling that the effort deserves recognition. A kind nod of the head, even if it is too late and divorce is inevitable. But we don’t even get that.

So, fine. You want to go? Go. Just say so loudly and distinctly, without promising your kids they’ll have access to my bank book. Insure us free transit back and forth between Ontario and the Atlantic provinces, take your share of the debt and your share of all the federal infrastructure, planes, ships… and bon chance, mes vieux. Have fun setting up your embassies, your laws of cultural orthodoxy, your neo-‘White Australia’ immigration system to protect you from women in veils… And when you can’t pay the freight for your social safety net (sorry, the transfer payments end when you split) and your population rapidly ages and shrinks because next to no one wants to move to a Quebec without the advantages of being part of Canada, and when you can’t get imports in French anymore because 32 million virtual francophones nationwide the world would grudgingly service have been reduced to only six million real francophones who represent a market small enough to be told “like it or lump it; speak white”, and when it snows on what should be a beautiful sunny day in May, well… I know you’ll all still be blaming les anglais and their wicked, evil, Quebec-ruining ways, far, far into the future. It’ll be our fault for centuries after you leave, I know. It’ll never, ever be your fault.

Except it already is.

We tried. You didn’t. Adieu.

Lest I forget

Yellow

And I will see my dream come alive

I've never understood those people who didn't like the original theme of Enterprise; folks who wanted one of those pompous, overblown, meaningless orchestral bowel movements like all the other Star Trek series from TNG on up. They've always been eye-rollingly, wincingly bad. But I'm sorry, guys... if you can watch the original Enterprise opening and hear those simple words and not feel the swelling of pride, a lump in your throat, and even mist up a little, hey... you ain't got nooooo soul. :)

What flag? Our own...

In today's Globe and Mail, there's an article asking under which flag we should honour Vimy Ridge. Vimy Ridge was a huge battle in France in the First World War in which Canadian troops played the central role. It was a rare breakthrough victory, and it has often been said that Canada, as a nation, was born there.

So the question is asked, under what flag should these soldiers lie? The battlefield is, actually, Canadian territory. It was ceded to Canada by France — a gesture I have always found moving and wholly amazing. Protocol dictates that the only flag that can fly on Canadian federal territory is the Canadian flag... that is, the Maple Leaf flag.

The problem is, that was not the Canadian flag in 1917. At the time, the official flag of Canada, as part of the British Empire, was the Union Jack. But tradition of the day had made the Red Ensign, a red flag with a combined coat of arms made up of those of the provinces in the fly, and with the Union Jack in the upper left corner, the unofficial flag of Canada of the day. The Maple Leaf, the flag that we have come to know as ours today, wasn't instituted until 1965.

Some veterans are championing the 1917 flag as the one that should fly at Vimy Ridge. I can see the point, but I respectfully disagree for a couple of reasons.

First of all, while I recognize that Canadians fought and died under that flag, and that it meant a great deal to them, it was not really even technically the flag of Canada. It was never officially sanctioned; its use was merely a convention. More importantly, it is certainly not associated with Canada today. Anyone arriving on Vimy Ridge and seeing it atop the flag pole might be forgiven for assuming it was a battle site of the colony of Bermuda, whose modern-day flag it most closely resembles. "Canada" would certainly not spring to mind, especially in the absence of the universally recognized flag we have today. If this monument is meant to memorialize Canadian soldiers, it ought to first and foremost unequivocally identify them as such. A forgotten flag from a century ago does not.

Secondly, Canada is not just an object or a moment in time. It is a continuum, threaded through millions of lives and across centuries, that existed before them, was sustained through them, and continued beyond. Those men fought and died for a country that lives today. Its emblem to the world was declared, definitively, in 1965. This flag is the heritage of those men; in part, it exists as the result of what they did. They earned this flag. They helped make real the nationality that proclaimed and upholds it. Every Canadian, living, dead, or yet to be born or join us from abroad, has a right to have their flag upon that soil. It is no disrespect to the men who lie there that the flag of their country as it lives should stand over them, even if time has changed it. It stands as the banner not of dead men, but of the living pride they inspired, now and into the future. In fact, in denying these men the representation of the flag of their living country, we are saying to them, "You are something else; something from the past we have left behind. We do not recognize you as part of this living nation. By our choice of symbols, we divorce you from it. We relegate you to history." The idea saddens me deeply.

If it must be one or the other, then it must not be Canada as it was and is no more, but Canada as it is, and will continue to be.

A long train runnin'...

P-Doug and I met up again yesterday and went back to The Bishop and the Belcher. Towards the end of our sojourn there, I noticed they had some encyclopedia yearbooks on the shelf behind him. He hauled down the one for the year 1972. We read the section on Canada... we read Mike Pearson's obit and reflected on just how much the country had changed thanks to the changes he had (quite recently, back then) instituted... entirely for the better, in my opinion.

But what really caught our eye was a mention, somewhere, of Ralph Nader. A picture of him as a younger man, still fresh from his struggles with GM. The caption under the photo said that he was warning of a dangerous trend in the United States Congress to knuckle-under to the Executive branch, and forecast an increasing usurpation of congressional power by the Presidency.

This was 1972. Before Watergate had played out, before Reagan, before Bush-Cheney. It was like finding out Teddy Roosevelt had warned of a coming attack by the Japanese on Pearl Harbor.

Jim Morrison, we hardly knew ye

A couple of nights ago I was at a professional meeting where someone left behind some books, free for the taking. I had a quick browse and noticed a couple of paperback volumes of poetry by Jim Morrison. I was intrigued; I picked them up.

What I know about Jim Morrison you could comfortably write on the back of a stamp, lick it, and never get ink on your tongue. Here it is: he was a rock singer with The Doors, he took drugs, he died of an overdose in Paris. I've heard something about how he saw a dead Native American as a kid and it did something to him spiritually, but I'm pretty vague on the details. Okay, maybe enough to get ink on your tongue, but just.

Subjectively, I know that I like the handful of songs by The Doors that I'm privy to. I rather like Touch Me; it's upbeat and kind of a departure from all the rest, except maybe Come On Baby Light My Fire... except Touch Me knows to leave the party while it's still welcome (I'll never forget hearing Light My Fire on the radio in grade 11 shop class in the mid-80s, when one of the metalheads finally begged, "Somebody shoot the organist...").

Anyway, I've started reading the poems.

My God. This guy is jaw-dropping. It's as though, 35 years later, his ghostly finger can reach down into me and press little buttons I didn't even know were there. Poetry is always a matter of taste, but wow, does Jim Morrison ever plug into me. Or vice-versa.

From the second volume, there's a poem from a collection called TAPE NOON...

YOU MUST CONFRONT

you must confront
__your life
which is sneaking up
__on you
like a rapt coiled
__serpent

snail-slime

you must confront
________the inevitable
____________eventually
Bloody Bones has got you!

This poem can be interpreted in so many ways. Is it about death? Some unattractive aspect of modern living? For me, it reads very much like a warning to an unborn soul, drafted to be conceived and delivered into life. The snake is phallic, snail-slime a metaphor for semen, and "Bloody Bones" the living body, flesh-wrapped bones, that will imprison the soul. Heaven knows what Jim may have intended, but I'm a deconstructionist... whatever you get out of it, you largely bring to it yourself, and this is what my mind fills this container with.

Listen to this from the very beginning of the first book, a "self-interview", as he characterizes it. This man was in his mid-20s when he wrote this; you'd expect this kind of clarity from a person much older. My parting comment on this score is Jim Morrison's own...

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.

...and that's why poetry appeals to me so much — because it's so eternal. As long as there are people, they can remember words and combinations of words. Nothing else can survive a holocaust but poetry and songs. No one can remember an entire novel. No one can describe a film, a piece of sculpture, a painting, but so long as there are human beings, songs and poetry can continue.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

Heaven comes on Saturday

Saturday was a day with a perfect gold nugget at the centre of it, large and pure. It was one of those days when time seems to stand still for a little while and you know you’ll drift back to it from time to time the rest of your life.

Last week, P-Doug and I made arrangements to go downtown on Saturday. I made it to East York about 11:30 and we walked to Main Station and caught the subway. Interestingly enough, they’re working on the line so the trains are currently routed through the long-abandoned Bay-Yorkville station. We passed slowly through it without stopping, everyone peering out at a station almost never seen by the public, a kind of ghost platform that shouldn’t exist but does.

Most TTC patrons in Toronto never get to see this. It's an "abandoned" station on the Bloor line. I gather the original idea was to loop the subway back downtown using this station, but I'm told it was abandoned a few months after the line opened in the 60s. Maintenance work is going on on the line currently, so for the moment, the line is routing through (but, as you can tell from the quality of the shot, not stopping at) the lower Bay-Yorkville station. These days, it's mostly used for training purposes, and movie shoots.(Don't Say a Word, Johnny Mnemonic, and Mimic).

When this church was built in the 1870s, it was at the edge of town. Today, it's downtown. I've always been slightly fascinated by this church and I've photographed it a few times. It's the way the other building (a Hyatt hotel, if I'm not mistaken) wraps around it that gives it its presence. This is the Church of the Redeemer, one of Toronto's Anglican churches, and one of those on the forefront of the fight for the recognition of gay and lesbian rights. This church is on the north side of Bloor Street, at the east corner of Avenue Road.

Our destination was the Anglican Bookstore just south of Bloor at the very end of Hayden Street. I’ve only been there a few times, but it’s one of those places that really seems to soothe my spirit. I love being down there, among the books, peering into moral verities and the political tie-ins. President Carter’s new book suggesting the United States has lost its way in the world was on display, and I came close to buying it, but $30 plus tax was a little more than I wanted to spend… I’ll grab it when it comes out in paperback.

Taken on the way down the stairs to the Anglican Bookstore. "Your church name here!!!" I think this is funny. :D

We were there for perhaps an hour and a half… I lost track of time. I didn’t buy anything myself but P-Doug picked up a raft of CDs that were on sale. We left, walking along Hayden St. to Church St., where we’d noticed an intriguing pub on our arrival. It was called The Bishop and the Belcher…

It sounds kind of crazy to say it, but all my life I’ve wanted to find the “perfect” pub. Most of the ones I know have big screen TVs in your face showing the game, and/or they play music so loud you can’t hear yourself think let alone carry on a conversation, and/or they let drunks get their hands on the mike in that pure abomination called karaoke (people really should be ticketed for that)… they’re dark, noisy, the staff either won’t leave you alone or they’ll drop off a beer and then wait till your bones are bleaching before they ask if you want the bill…

The Bishop and the Belcher was none of that.

The Bishop and the Belcher
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Taken on the way to the Anglican Bookstore. We ended up sitting in this window a couple of hours later.

We sat in the window, arranged at a 45 degree angle at Church and Hayden. It was overcast, having rained in the morning. We watched the world go by in the cool grey of winter traversing to spring, the people just coming out into the world again to reclaim it. There were board games on a shelf near us. Every table had a box of Trivial Pursuit cards, and P-Doug and I spent the time popping questions at one another while we ate curried meals and sampled a half dozen beers between us. Agreeable... highly agreeable music at a listenable level frequently interrupted our conversation… but only because we had to stop ourselves and pause to listen. The place was frequented but not busy; had presence but was not obnoxious. I found myself wishing the place were nearer my home… but then, it would have lost its sense of location down there at the edge of the downtown if it moved. So I found myself wishing I lived there instead. I’ve always been a 905er at heart, but there’s still a part of me that would love to live the downtown, walk-to-work, I don’t-need-a-car existence possible in a few cities in North America, like Toronto (although just barely in our case). And it’s for reasons like that; places like The Bishop and the Belcher.

Something like the view that day
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Not exactly a perfect panorama, but AutoStitch choked on the four-shot spread, so I roughed it in Photoshop. And I do mean rough. But the idea here it to convey the quiet, simple loveliness of the scene, rather than make it look perfect. Besides, every once in a while, I think it's kind of cool to go with the traditional pano look. :)

Look at all the charming schmaltz from the British Isles (including the admonishments to suck down the Guinness in massive quantities next week). Ah, the Old Country. :)

Canadian money is pretty. :)

The cash is P-Doug's. I paid my $35 using my bank card via Interac.

When I settled the bill (and yes, they took Interac), I told the staff that, for what it was worth, I thought they had the best pub in the city. It was just one of those perfect moments that lives forever in your heart and your mind.

Isn't this what Iraq's been treated to for the past four years or so? :)

This is underground at, or near (hard to tell exactly) the Yonge-Bloor subway station.




But hey... don't take my word for it...

Future generations of summer

Future generations of summer
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Watch now and forever (Whereas...059)

Watch now and forever (Whereas...059)
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Lords of the Lines

Lords of the Lines
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Yeah, same to you

Yeah, same to you
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

HDR Resting Place

HDR Resting Place
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Colour-accent nature walk 02

Colour-accent nature walk 02
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

February inconstant (Whereas...060)

February inconstant (Whereas...060)
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Oh, man, does this shit never end?

An article in today's Globe and Mail points out that the divisibility... or indivisibility, depending on your point of view... of Quebec is in the public arena in that province again. This stems from the fact that there's a provincial election going on there and the Parti Quebecois leader, André Boisclair, has thrown the Hail Mary pass of promising yet another referendum on sovereignty if he wins. Like night follows day, the mantra of "if Canada is divisible, Quebec is divisible" rises.

I'm opposed to Quebec leaving (I think that goes without saying), and dividing Quebec as well if it does. It raises all kinds of incredible headaches. First of all, it would have to be achieved through negotiation: while Quebec is a province, its borders cannot legally be amended without its consent. Once it is a nation, we have no more jurisdiction over its boundaries than we have over those of the United States, or Mexico, or Namibia. And so if changes were to be made, it would have to be done by hashing it out with Quebec. The precedent of West Virginia is sometimes evoked. If the anglophones of Montreal and the Eastern Townships and the Cree and Inuit of Ungava don't want to quit Canada with Quebec, shouldn't they be able to secede from it (Quebec) to remain (in Canada), given that Quebec itself has set the example? So goes the logic. And I suppose it's sound, at least that far.

Where I see real problems arising is the next logical step. If Quebec is divisible by negotiation, doesn't it follow that rest of the country is as well? What about the francophone parts of Ontario and New Brunswick adjacent to Quebec? Long abandoned by Quebec as "warm bodies", what if they saw this as their chance to recover their patrimony instead of living under the (supposedly) benevolent largess of English Canada? What about Labrador, long coveted by Quebec but awarded to Newfoundland? If the Cree and Inuit of Quebec can leave they province they're in, what about other First Nations vis-a-vis the provinces in which they find themselves? Where does this end?

With Quebec. God forbid, but if they should choose to go, I say respect the boundaries that exist today; et adieu, mes vieux. Let it end there, and everyone adjust to those facts on the ground.

Happy belated birthday

I was just reading The Hell It Can't, maintained by a fellow in Rochester, NY, and on his blog he has an image saying "Happy Birthday Toronto 3/6/2007". Huh? So I zipped over to Wiki and, sure enough, he's right. The City of Toronto (formerly the Town of York) was officially established March 6, 1834. Now I feel bad. But it's nice to know somebody cares. :)

Forgive me, darling, forgetting your 173rd birthday and all... and allow me to say that you don't look at day over 160. :) You're so much younger since you stopped hanging around with that Orange Lodge crowd.

Evidence of faith

Over at We Move to Canada, L-Girl has blogged about the new right-wing version of Wikipedia, Conservapedia. Visiting them, I've just learned the rather surprising 'fact' that...

Did you know that faith is a uniquely Christian concept? Add to the explanation of what it means, and how it does not exist on other religions.

The article on faith goes on to state that "Faith is complete trust or confidence in an unseen, loving power... Jesus was unique in preaching the significance of faith and it is exclusive to Christianity. No other religion is based on faith as distinguished from mere belief."

Now isn't that a kicker? Of the three major Abrahamic religions, to say this of Christianity strikes me as high ironic, to be politie about it. In Judiasm, as I recall, Jacob wrestled with God in a dream, and God spoke to Moses in the form of a burning bush — or at least through the agency of one. Islam holds that God has no body, no face, no form, and certainly no begotten son. But Christianity, the religion supposed based on faith alone (unlike, of course, these others), has actually had the Man Himself show up, wander around, and shake hands with people. Jesus didn't just speak for God; supposedly, he was God.

Spot the logic bomb, kids.

Now it seems to me a bit much for these folks to hog the concept of "faith" for themselves alone, especially when their religion is the only one that actually supposes that God has shown up in the flesh (literally), while Judaism and Islam offer no such physical proof. If faith is supposed to be about belief in the absence of proof, well... doesn't Christianity kind of come in dead last in this department? Doesn't their own argument actually disqualify Christianity as a "faith" at all, relative to Islam and Judaism?

Saved from "North Korea"...

I read with happiness and relief that the Supreme Court has unanimously ruled today that security certificates, such as they have existed in Canada since even before 9/11, are in violation of the constitutional guarantees of life, liberty and security of the person in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. In particular, the violations of centuries-old traditions of habeas corpus and the right to be charged and hear the evidence against you.

Security certificates are only used on people who are not citizens or legal residents of Canada. They made a person subject to indefinite detention and, ultimately, deportation… sometimes to places where they faced persecution or death. Still, they represent, to me, the thin edge of the wedge. If it’s conceivable to do this to someone simply because he’s not a citizen, it’s not much of a stretch to imagine it being down to an immigrant who is, and then at last to a citizen born here. There are always reasons to skirt rights for the sake of expediency, but when that becomes the norm, you’ve knocked down one of the fundamental pillars of democracy. I feel that the Court has done a service to shoring up that pillar in Canada.

The Court has given Parliament a year to reform the policy in accord with the Constitution. In particular, such persons must be charged and shown the case against them within 48 hours, as is the norm for Anglo-American jurisprudence.

Some of the government’s lawyers argued last year that extraordinary threats required extraordinary powers. One remarked that the security of the country was the sine qua non of all other rights. "It is an absolute necessity," Crown counsel Bernard Laprade told the court during the hearing. "Without it, all the other rights become theoretical. Without it, we wouldn't be here to discuss these questions today. I don't want to be alarmist, but without it, there is nothing else."

To which Mr. Justice Louis LeBel responded, "Mr. Laprade, if we don't have the rest, we'll be living in North Korea."

Too right. There will always be threats. But there are sensible and measured responses to them. Reducing our Just Society to a police state isn’t among them.

No, I'm sorry, you're going to Hell

What is the story with people who feel the need to back into parking spaces? I know I'm not going to change the world here, but I just gotta vent. What's the big scoop here? Do these people think they're going to win a prize? What, you get to the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter looks in the books and says, "Hmmm, well, we were going to send you to Hell, or at least Purgatory... but I see here that you backed into parking spaces 17,411 times in your life! Good for you! You may enter..." [Angels sing, trumpets play, cue the golden glow...]?

I think it's more likely you're going to get there and it'll be "Hmm, well, you were a marginal case we might have let slip by, but I see here you thought it was a good and considerate practice to hold everyone else in the universe up while you backed in... pulled out... straightened up... backed in... pulled out... straightened up... and backed in 17,411 times. Oh, and there are those three times you scraped other cars, and that time you knocked your own passenger side mirror off on the pickup truck, yes... No, I'm sorry... you need to spend to a couple centuries in Purgatory atoning by watching the same "How to Park" high school film over and over. We show it... back it up... show it again... back it up..." Well, you get the idea.

Folks, use your loaf. You're backing up one way or the other. But here's the juice: it's a lot easier to back up into infinite empty space than to back up into an 8'-wide gap with about $100,000 worth of other vehicles around you on all sides. And I have yet to see a single person back out of a parking spot... drive back in, straighten out... back out again... etc., etc., etc. Other drivers are going to see your car coming out regardless of which way it's pointing, and if you're telling me you can pay enough attention not to hit the other three cars when you're backing in but not the ones in the driving lanes when you're backing out, then you're either full of shit or your driving acuity is extremely selective.

If you must be facing forward when you park, do what I do. Park a few yards further from the door (we can all use the exercise) and find a spot where you can pull through. You'll be facing the right way, your risk of hitting other cars will be vastly smaller, and, best of all, you won't be making me and every other human being with a license sit there and watch you compete for Driving Olympics Neatness gold.

Halton bald eagle

Halton bald eagle
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Cool, serendipitous shot I took of a bald eagle a few years ago at the Mountsberg Raptor Centre in Halton Region.

Canadian Sunset

Canadian Sunset
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Did I never blog this? I probably should have. :)

From Wikipedia:

Radio's Metro Morning show in Toronto ran a controversial contest to find new lyrics for the song in 1997. The contest was won by Romanian émigré, mathematician, and now a songwriter, actor and poet, Vladimir Radian, who came to Canada in the 1980s. This version received its first full orchestral treatment on June 27, 1997 at a concert by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.

------------------------------
O, land of blue unending skies,
Mountains strong and sparkling snow,
A scent of freedom in the wind,
O'er the emerald fields below.

To thee we brought our hopes, our dreams,
For thee we stand together,
Our land of peace, where proudly flies,
The Maple Leaf forever.

Chorus:
Long may it wave, and grace our own,
Blue skies and stormy weather,
Within my heart, above my home,
The Maple Leaf forever!

From East and West, our heroes came,
Through icy fields and frozen bays,
Who conquered fear, and cold, and hate,
And their ancient wisdom says:

Protect the weak, defend your rights,
And build this land together,
Above which shine the Northern Lights,
And the Maple Leaf forever!

(Chorus)

Oh, Maple Leaf, around the world,
You speak as you rise high above,
Of courage, peace and quiet strength,
Of the Canada I love.

Remind us all our union bound,
By ties we cannot sever,
Bright flag revered on every ground,
The Maple Leaf forever!

(Chorus)

As usual, there's no pleasing some people

Let me preface this by laying my cards on the table.

If I could go back to the early 1970s and shove the Spadina Expressway down the City of Toronto's throat, I'd happily hop in the TARDIS and do so. I think one of the dopeyest decisions this city ever made — in conjunction with an abysmal lack of vision exhibited by Premier Bill Davis — was to kill the highway. That said...

...I'm no enemy of public transit, either. And so I'm equally pissed off to hear the whining going on from business concerns on St. Clair Avenue West now that the streetcar line has been rebuilt and segregated from traffic. Let me be plain. I like streetcars... when I'm riding them. When I'm stuck behind them in a car, they are second only to hemorrhoids as a pain in the ass. So a segregated line solves both problems. A public transit line, and one that doesn't fuck up auto traffic.

What's the beef?

People can no longer park on St. Clair.

Pardon me, but only the stupidest cities allow people to park on major thoroughfares in the first place. I grew up in Mississauga, where NO ONE was allowed to park on a major city street... EVER. If you stopped on a city street in Mississauga, you'd better have the excuse of a major myocardial infarction. But amazingly, much of Toronto proper remains in the 19th Century on this one. "I'm just tying Seabiscuit to the post here for a second, Constable, whilst I purchase some comestibles..." Sorry, pal, this is 2007. Get thee to a side street. The rest of us have places to go.

To the business folks on St. Clair: you will adapt. Your patrons will adapt. If not, this city is too stupid to live. Move to Mississauga, where, amazingly, customers are smart enough to manage to buy things even without the ability to clog traffic like cheesecake clogs arteries.

Pretend that...

Okay, call me naive, but when I was 21 and she was 18, I really did think that when I was out of university, we'd be married, if not sooner. There was comfort in the idea... one more aspect of my life more or less dropped into place. A wife, a home, the 2.4 kids, whatever. We used to talk about it, and at the time it seemed pretty weighty. And why not? We were both adults, if only just. Technically, it was within our grasps. All of it. All that remained was for us to commit to it, to declare it, and it would be so. Now it all seems like the games children play that begin with one of them saying, "Pretend that..."

She threw in the towel. It wasn't that we argued and fought; it was just that nothing sparked for her. There was a lot of rubbing stuff together, but that friction never burst into flame for her. She drifted. She was young; is it so surprising? Not to me, not now. Devastating then. And really, part of me never did move past it. Years went by, but somehow, I kept waiting for it to happen. For the promise to be fulfilled. Not her promise, or my promise... more like the promise the world had made to me growing up. You will find someone. The one. You will make a life together. This is how it is; it will be so. And so somehow I spent my life like a car in a driveway, waiting for the driver, waiting to get out on the road just off my shoulder. Growing older. Rusting. Balding tires, sag, obsolescence. How did it happen? When did I stop being young? Somewhere, sometime. Options ran out, opportunities evaporated. This is all there is, has been, ever will be. I wish I could go back and say "forget it."

"Pretend that..." That's what I'm left with. Memories, hopes, wishes and dreams that foundered on the rocks of a shore I was too cowardly to leave. I think back and imagine, conjure, yearn. After three billion years or so, the line ends here, with me.

IR Lion lies down with the lamb

IR Lion lies down with the lamb
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...005

Whereas...005
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...006

Whereas...006
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...007

Whereas...007
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...016

Whereas...016
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...024

Whereas...024
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...031

Whereas...031
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Whereas...042

Whereas...042
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Digital watercolour - Ontarian farm in winter

Digital watercolour - Ontarian farm in winter
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Watercolour created in Photoshop from a technique outlined in How to Wow Photoshop for Photography" by Jack Davis and Ben Willmore. This is worked from a photo I took this morning in Hamilton.

CF-104 Starfighter

CF-104 Starfighter
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

It probably goes without saying that this is not a real photograph; it's a composite of two. One, that of the background, was taken from the observation deck of the CN Tower, facing west over Lakeshore Blvd. and the Gardiner Expressway. The second, that of the CF-104, was taken at the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum in Mt. Hope on Hamilton Mountain... which, oddly enough, is about 45 miles off in the direction the background shot faces. The Starfighter is mounted on a pole outside the museum, pointing straight up. I knew it would make an excellent shot if I ever got around to compositing it. This afternoon, I finally did. :)

HDR PMC-IR Home on both sides

HDR PMC-IR Home on both sides
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

This is the Humber River in south central Ontario. When I was standing on the bank last summer I remember reflecting on the nature of rivers. So often in our world they form the boundary between one place and another, one people and another. They sometimes mark the difference between freedom and oppression, opportunity and poverty. The Rio Grande between the US and Mexico, for instance, is not much more impressive than this for much of its length, easily forded on foot, as thousands do. I've stood at the side of the Niagara River, marvelling that the land on the other side was not the same, not mine; someone else's... and that the same was true for them looking back; all the more remarkable that for a generation between the French and Indian War and the American Revolution, it was no such boundary at all. It was all "one" place, one people, on both sides. And then, one day, it wasn't.

And so standing here on the Humber, I remember feeling grateful that what was true on one side was true on the other; that it was all home; that wherever I stood, I belonged. It's not hard to imagine a history where that might not have been true, and this view here might have been like so many others: two ends that meet in the middle.

HDR PMC-IR Falls

HDR PMC-IR Falls
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

I'm quietly proud of this image. I had to work hard to achieve it. I had to go to the falls, climb down to the river bed, wade up the river to the base, take the shot, then select just the right one. Not to mention the years I've put into learning enough about Photomatix and Photoshop to produce an image like this or to get a digital camera refitted to shoot infrared. A lot of work, a lot of love, and a lot of (my) life went into what you're looking at right now. Please... devote just a small moment of your own to enjoying it. :)

Before You, After You

Before You, After You
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Something about the view really impressed upon me just how ephemeral we are. It's all be here since long before any of us, or even our kind, and it'll be here long after we're gone, too. Enjoy the moment and live in it.

Way back in 2006

Way back in 2006
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

If it weren't for the chainlink fence, you might be forgiven for really thinking this was a shot from long ago. Well, one day, it will be. But as of January, 2007, well... this was last summer. :)

Elysium

Elysium
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

A graveyard in Glen William. This was taken with an 18mm lens and an 0.42x wide angle adapter.

It can't be far

It can't be far
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

A view of the Credit River from the Forks of the Credit Provincial Park.

Ontario emblematic

Ontario emblematic
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

A treatment of our provincial flower.

B&W Lakeside moment

B&W Lakeside moment
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Sort of related to my work in infrared, lately I've gotten interested in seeing what monochrome treasures might be lurking in my colour photos. I've been learning a little about channel mixing, trying to tease strong images out of the extremes and subtleties of the red, green, and blue channels. With a little help from curves, I've been delighted with some of my results. This one in particular appeals to me. Hope it appeals to you too. This is a small lake in a park in eastern Markham.

IR Jumbo jet landing 1

IR Jumbo jet landing 1
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

The money shot

The money shot
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

ABSOLUT-ly In Blue

ABSOLUT-ly In Blue
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Not sure this is the kind of ad Absolut would appreciate, but it's honest. I found this bottle posed exactly as you see it here in a parking lot in North York... on my way to a Russian supermarket, ironically. :)

I think the yellow cross, reminiscent of Sweden's flag, is another nice ironic touch.

Thought I'd touch it up a little to bring out the flaggy goodness. :D

A moment with Her Majesty

A moment with Her Majesty
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Bonnie looking vaguely imperial... actually, she's just guarding her eyes from the camera flash.

Digital watercolour - Countryside storm front

Digital watercolour - Countryside storm front
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Faux watercolour produced from a photograph I took last summer on Duffy's Lane. The technique comes from How to Wow Photoshop for Photography by Jack Davis and Ben Willmore.

Go live in the sky

Go live in the sky
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Shot on the way home this week. Finch Avenue and Seneca Hill.

Smoke and mirrors

Smoke and mirrors
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

Front Street at Church Street, facing west; Saturday night, Jan. 5, 2007. The lights in the sky are spotlights.

Bipartisanism, here and there

This weekend, I went beyond basic cable for the first time in 6 years or so. I'm watching A&E, and I've just seen a commerical in which President Bush I and President Clinton, sitting side by side, ask for citizens to review emergency preparations online.

Given that there are only two 'real' parties in the US, I've always found it interesting that American policitians do this kind of thing so regularly. It's very rare in Canada.

A case in point: "Liberal MP Wajid Khan crossed the floor to join the Conservative party Friday... after Liberal Leader Stephane Dion urged Khan to choose between his Liberal caucus membership and his role as special adviser to the prime minister on the Middle East and Afghanistan."

I'm glad Dion won the Liberal leadership, but this was an ass-hat move. I can't imagine a better lever going into an election than "we have the resources and the governing party had to borrow them from us, and we acquiesced", and Dion just pissed it away, Canada's version of the jealous God of the Old Testament. Yeah, this makes the Liberal Party look soooooo good. Wajid Khan was putting Canada first. Apparently, that's not in the interests of the Liberal Party.

So is voting Liberal in my interests as a Canadian? Just a thought.

An idle happy wish :)

You know, it's probably not going to happen in my lifetime (I'm 38), but I'd like to live long enough that just before I die, they're able to transfer my personality and experience into a robot. After a lifetime of "the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to", a long retirement as a wisecracking robot in the mode of Crow from MST3K would be "a consummation devoutly to be wish'd". I'm banking my karma towards it, at any rate. :)

The sun between the earth and sky

The sun between the earth and sky
Originally uploaded by Lone Primate.

The sunset on the drive home this evening. Hard to believe it, but supposedly the days are getting longer now...

Hurray for the Allies!

US admits: Operation Blow Shit Up "not 100% effective"
Operation Blow More Shit Up being drafted planned

WASHINGTON / LONDON / OTTAWA — In a public statement today, officials of the US Defense and State Departments admitted that the program of blowing shit up, lately focused on Iraq, has not been completely effective in re-ordering the world in the image of the United States and laying the world prostrate at its feet forever and ever and ever. "Frankly, we may have made a slight miscalculation," admitted one State Department official, who confessed herself "disappointed that people in other countries seem to be possessed by a strange, unanticipated stubbornness that almost resembles pride and patriotism — except that those are, of course, uniquely American virtues."

Asked how the war in Iraq could be brought to a successful conclusion, a Defense Department spokesman said, "Obviously aerial bombardment, troops on the ground, and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians is not the answer. The answer is more bombing, more troops, and more civilian deaths. Operation Blow More Shit Up is on the drawing board as we speak. As a result, I think we can safely say the war will be over by Christmas, or maybe even Thanksgiving. We've never been wrong before. I mean, after all, once we finally unleashed the Tet Offensive, we won Korea just like that."

This attitude is finding a warm reception across the pond. In a massive effort to increase sucking up, the United Kingdom is matching the US effort by stepping up Operation Kill Wogs with Operation Kill More Wogs. According to a functionary attached to the Ministry of Doing Whatever America Says, "The policy did wonders for building and securing the British Empire. It will be every bit as effective for the American Empire. Ah, I mean, for the process of enhancing global security."

Meanwhile, in Canada, government officials and high-ranking military officers expressed bemusement that Canada's ongoing Operation Spoonful of Maple Sugar Helps the Cyanide Go Down in Afghanistan is not reaping the desired results, other than getting Canadian soldiers killed in order to free up American soldiers to get killed in Iraq. "Why can't these people understand that we're there to keep the peace? They have no right to hate us; we're peacekeepers. Canadians do not fight wars, they keep peace. I thought everybody knew that. It's been that way, since, like, forever. It's in our Constitution, I think. Or maybe it's the Bible. But the point is, everywhere a Canadian steps, peace springs up around his feet. If we flatten their villages, it's peacekeeping! If we smear their families like peanut butter across the plains, it's peacekeeping! If we burn their crops, atomize their infrastructure, and eviscerate their government, it's to keep the goddamn peace! How many of these idiots do we have to kill before it sinks in? They never had peace till we arrived! We invented peace! We own peace! Peace peace peace peace, peace peace peace!"

Canadian officials, while discouraged by the failure of Afghanis to grasp that the destruction of their country and traditions at the hands of the West is entirely for their own good and that they ought to be happy about it, nevertheless expressed determination to "stay the course" with the operation, as well as with Operation Bomb Them to Democracy. When asked how people would vote with their limbs blown off, officials explained that Afghanis would be fitted with special voting prostheses that would enable them to mark an "X" with virtually no excruciating pain, "once the terrorists have been routed and the peacekeeping is over". Pressed to speculate as to when that might be, officials responded, "Oh, Christmas, probably... Maybe even Thanksgiving." When asked "of what year?" they replied, "No comment."

Yes, no, no

Some quick thoughts this morning, prompted by a quick glance or two at The Globe and Mail...

Maher Arar has endorsed the report on the events leading to his deportation to Syria for torture, and recommending more oversight for the RCMP who, to the nation's shame, were instrumental in getting him there. "We live in a great country," said Arar. Truly, can there be any finer words, or a greater reward, than to know that your country hasn't just swept an inconvenient truth under the rug, but has acted on it, admitted its error, and put changes in the works? Can anything make you feel better about home than to know that human beings really do matter, and that the country has stood by its principles and stood by the people?

--------------------------

The Ontario Muncipal Board has approved the expansion of a private school in the Annex. Some of the local residents are upset. Apparently, the school caters to some 400 boys and they don't like the buses and traffic in "their" neighbourhood. This, despite the fact that Royal St. George's College has existed there for over 40 years (how many of the residents of the Annex bitching about it can say that, I wonder?).

This is kind of thing that really gets on my nerves about these people. We're not talking about a rendering plant or a missile factory or something here. We're talking about a school. It seems the the late, sainted Jane Jacobs, no less, opposed the expansion and suggested that sometimes institutions grow too large for their neighbourhoods and should move out. Who gets to decide this? What if the same people decide an institution's gotten too ethnic for their liking? After all, why stop at unsightly buses? Maybe you don't like seeing people in veils or yarmukles either.

The school and the people it serves have the same right to enjoyment of property and use of the neighbourhood as anyone else. The people and the Province of Ontario — to whom the neighbourhood really belongs — have made that clear. And if you don't like it, hey, it's a free country. Move. And take your speed bumps with you.

--------------------------

Murray Mollard of the British Columbia Civil Liberties Association complains that new laws on voter ID go too far. It seems that having to produce a government photo ID or two pieces of approved ID that establish name and residency is asking too much of a voter. Canadians move around a lot, he says. Some people don't have drivers licences. Students and the homeless might be disenfranchised.

Clearly his heart's in the right place, but my God, is this some thin gruel. Producing a driver's licence in this day and age does not exactly qualify as a hardship or a disenfranchisement; virtually anyone can get one. And for those who can't, every province (as far as I know) offers a government ID card for just such eventualities.

If you move around, you better believe you'd better get your driver's licence in order... not to mention getting right with your bank, employer, creditors, and so on. Obviously, people manage this on a daily basis. If you happen to move during the one week (out of an average of 200-250 or so) in which a federal election falls and can't manage it, you probably have more on your mind than voting anyway. Showing up with your photo ID portion of your licence and your new temporary slip would probably suffice anyway. As for the homeless, how would they wind up on the voter's roll in the first place? Where would enumerators go to find them?

I agree that some people are bound to slip between the cracks. But voting is a right, not an obligation. And allow me to be blunt: it's possible to disenfranchise yourself. Given the electoral shenanegans we've seen going on just south of the border, I'm all for tightening the bolts a little. You need more ID just to open a savings account for your nine-year-old than this legislation asks for to decide the governance of an entire nation. If that means showing up with nothing more than just about everyone always have in his or her wallet anywhere, anytime, I'm fine with that.

P.S. Notice that neither a driver's licence nor proof of residency actually establishes the elector is even a citizen, though; anyone who's been in the country six weeks could produce this "proof". Amazing that citizenship is regarded that cheaply on such a practical matter in a land currently having bowel cramps over the fact that a prospective prime minister happens to have a second citizenship, isn't it?

The lie that Canada told

Canada disappoints me sometimes.

Does that sounds arrogant to you? Well, a country full of immigrants, founded upon their labour and sustained by their industry, presuming to divide the wheat from the chaff by calling for Stephane Dion to give up his French citizenship sounds arrogant to me.

A number of Canada's earliest prime ministers were not born in Canada. Several were born in the UK. At the time, there was no distinction in law between a Canadian and a Briton. But that's beside the point. We have, in our history, entrusted the stewardship of this country to people not even born here. Our Parliament, our legislatures, our city councils abound with people who have come here from elsewhere, many of whom must still possess the citizenship of the lands from which they've come, all without issue... as recently at the 1980s, John Turner was leader of the Liberal Party, Leader of the Opposition, and, briefly, Prime Minister. John Turner was born in Richmond, England. But even this late in history, I don't recall anyone taking issue with this or questioning where Turner's heart might lie, not even in Quebec. I find it astounding that the same few weeks that have seen Canada embrace the Quebecois as a nation within a nation have also seen it, in virtually the same breath, throw ice water on that sentiment by shrieking with francophobia on learning Stephane Dion's mother bestowed her citizenship on her Canadian-born son.

Perhaps the greatest irony of all has to be the teapot from which this tempest flows. As I understand it, we have a conservative scribe from Alberta, Ezra Levant, to thank for saving Canada from its eventual conquest by French fifth columnists. Now, I'm going to go out on a limb here and suppose that Ezra Levant is Jewish. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's a guess. Can there be a nation on Earth that's been better-served by the broad acceptance of dual citizenship that's emerged in the past thirty or forty years than Israel? A land of four or five million people, cared for and aided by tens of millions abroad who feel they have a stake in the place. Is that what Ezra Levant fears? That Dion might feel for France what millions of Jews have felt for Israel? And if that would be wrong for him, isn't it therefore also wrong for them? Shouldn't they have to choose too? Because let's be honest — this is bigger than just Stephane Dion; we are, after all, hearing cries for Canada to conclude its policy of dual citizenship. But what of other lands? To the south of us, Michael Chertoff is Secretary of Homeland Defense, no less. Under Israeli law, Chertoff is an Israeli citizen. Does Ezra Levant lie awake a night, lashing in his own sweat in fear for the liberties of our American cousins, tormented by the thought that Chertoff's dual citizenship might undermine his ability to think and act in the best interests of the people of the United States? Call me jaded, but somehow, I doubt it.

And yet, it's perfectly fine for Ezra Levant to cast aspersions on Stephane Dion. And why? Because deep down, English Canada still really doesn't like, trust, or respect the French, here or abroad. Why mince words? It's just been made abundantly clear. Turner okay, Dion bad. The Quebec separatists whose jaws dropped a few weeks ago when Harper beat them at their own game must be rubbing their hands with glee that we've so quickly shown our true colours — Redcoats forever — as we treat Quebec in particular and a worldful of potential Canadian immigrant-hopefuls in general to the spectacle of millions (if the polls are to be believed) of Canadians demanding that a man who has dedicated the last ten years of his life to their service renounce his incidental but rightful citizenship in another country in order to demonstrate his loyalty to them. Yes, no less than The Toronto Star has made it plain that Stephane Dion, a French Canadian (in both senses), must abandon his birthright and heritage to assure us all that, as Prime Minister of Canada one day, he will not be unduly influenced by the President of France... because only then may we rest assured that he will comport himself as a true and loyal servant of the Queen of England.

Ladies and gentlemen... I give you the word absurd.

The Recognition of Independence

Today, as it turns out, is the 75th anniversary of the passing of the Statute of Westminster (Dec. 11, 1931). This was an act of the British Parliament that recognized the "white" dominions (Canada, Newfoundland, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa at the time) as the peers of the United Kingdom. Effectively, this was date that Canada (et al.) took full control and responsibility for its own foreign policy, laws, and government. No longer could or would London legislate in any manner that applied to us (without our consent), nor could it any longer nullify our laws, or send us to war, or interfere or intercede in our negotiations with other lands. Not strictly analogous to the US Declaration of Independence, it might better be described as the Recognition of Independence. For each dominion, the price was the blood shed on battlefields of the Empire in the First World War, and demand afterward that that should mean something.

The day will pass in Canada without observation or recognition. I don't know if that will be the case elsewhere in the "white" Commonwealth, but I suspect as much. It's a real shame the low-key embarrassment felt in modern Commonwealth countries about our imperial past should rob us of an opportunity to feel pride in a very key moment in our development as independent nations on the world stage, particularly when that final acknowledgement came at such a cost to a whole generation.