Being a Political Junkie in the Age of Duffy

For any reasonable political junkie (which in itself may, at least in Canada, be an oxymoron) - it is hard not to get caught up in the ongoing legal saga of Mike Duffy.  For those on the left side of the political spectrum there is that hope, no matter how faint, that somehow the Prime Minister will be exposed for the crass, manipulative, and dishonest politician some believe him to be; for those on the right, there is the equally faint hope that the Prime Minister and all of his senators, ministers and aides will emerge from this trial by fire with their armour shining even brighter than the day they were elected/appointed. The sad truth of is that at the end of the day all that is likely to happen is that we will all be disillusioned more than we thought possible.

I had thought that it was very likely that Duffy would be found guilty of many if not most of the charges laid against him. It seemed rather obvious that he had been less than truthful about his place of residence, and the cost of commuting between Ottawa and his home. It also seemed pretty clear, from various reports, that he had billed the government for trips that were clearly partisan in nature. I thought that somewhere it would have been written down in very specific terms that one could not do the latter and that in terms of the former, primary residence was an easily understandable term. I also thought that people like Duffy bent/broke the rules in rather subtle, unseen ways. That, at the very worst, people like Duffy and their shoddy morals slipped through the cracks. I was wrong on all counts.

The evidence from the first few days has made it clear that the rules are not clear. There are some basic assumptions that some people believe are clear, but they are only assumptions.  The actual interpretations of those vague rules appear to be up to the individual. In other words - if you have morals the rules are quite clear - if you don't well then you can make money.  However, what I find particularly disheartening is not that there are some morally bankrupt people in the Senate (I hope I would that I would never be that naive) but rather that not only did anyone who wanted to, know about the badly bent and broken rules, but that the political machinery doesn't see anything wrong with what was happening. I am not suggesting that all Senators manipulate their expense account but it is inconceivable to me that they did not know that others were doing it. In all likelihood some have known for decades. And  no one did anything to stop it.

When Stephen Harper asked/invited/expected Duffy to be on various stages with him as he was raising funds across Canada for the Conservative party, how did he think that Duffy got there. Harper had to have known that someone was paying for Duffy's flight and hotels costs. The leadership of the senate, the leadership of the Conservative Party and the senators who sat on him on committees all knew what he was doing and who was paying for it. They also all knew that he had not lived in P.E.I. for two decades.  As I suspect the court will hear in the upcoming weeks, not only did all of those people know about it, but when the media started to discuss it ( I expect most of the media had known for years about the blatant misuse of the expense claims) those same people looked for ways of manipulating the information to preserve the already tarnished sanctity of the Upper Chamber.

Duff may get convicted for some of his crimes. If there is any justice in Canada he may even get to spend some time in one of the new prisons his old boss (who so quickly abandoned him) is building. But as much as it pains me to say it - he may be just a fall guy. The real criminals, those who manipulate and perpetuate this system where deceit is not only permissible - it is defensible - will in all likelihood remain unnamed, and unpunished.

Comparing ourselves to Americans

In the April edition of the Walrus, the new Editor-in- Chie, Jonathan Kay, wrote a two page piece on how Canadians no longer compare our relationship, progress or policies with our neighbour to the south. He suggests that in the past "our relationship with the United States was the great neurotic obsession of our intellectual life"(Kay). Kay sees it as a positive thing that every conversation about social policy, health care or international relationships is not predicated on whether or not those policies or relationships are better or worse that the USA's or whether or not they will either offend them or put us at a disadvantage. He further argues that when there are discussions about social policy, health care or international relationships, Canadians can now intelligently discuss the positives and negatives of those policies on their merits as opposed to being in "awe of the moneyed colossus" (Kay). Part of me wishes that were true. Especially that bit about having intelligent debates.

Kay, by his own admission, has written and debated from within the right side of the political spectrum for most of his professional life. In fact when I read that he had been appointed to his new position I was somewhat concerned as the Walrus has in the past provided a forum in which public critical thinking can occur. I am unconvinced that someone who has made their living articulating and defending the views of the right can fulfill this role. When I read his inaugural editorial my worst fears were realized. For many Canadians of my generation examining and defending the differences between us and those who lived south of the border were more than a neurotic intellectual exercise. They were a loud protestation that we were different and that we needed to consciously work on maintaining those differences. The Canadians that I knew, and those that I continue to meet along the way, whenever we meet those from the USA - we brag about those social policies etc. We were proud of those differences. The best example of that was during the summer of 2003. Canadians are not known for rabid flag waving but I saw more Canadian flags in all parts of Canada including Alberta the summer that the government said that they were not prepared to support the Americans in their war in Iraq. It was sound policy and it didn't matter (in spite of all the rhetoric from the right) if we offended anyone.  We were proud to be different.

I fear that, unlike Kay who believes that we don't think about or compare ourselves to the USA because we know we are a strong competent country, I think that we don't enter into those conversations anymore because we know we are know that we (sadly) are not that different from them. Every year there is less differences. Every year we give up just a little bit of that special identity. Every year in the pursuit of international trade agreements, global markets  and finding the lowest common denominator to make money we become more like them.  

Later in the same issue of the Walrus, I was delighted to read a long article on the influence Americans who have migrated to Canada have had on Vancouver. It was a consistent theme expressed by many of the individuals quoted that they came to Canada because it was a place where things were possible. A place where there can be a public debate of doing what is right as opposed to doing what had always been done or doing right because it is the best economically. A number of those interviewed expressed disappointment that the very things that drew them to Canada such as our social policies are being eradicated. As a group, these immigrants appear to be concerned about the "American shadows falling over Canada" (Ross).

Rather than being pleased with ourselves for being their equals - maybe we should be concerned too.

On the Road Again (2015) Spring Fever and Travel Lust

We are now starting the second week of April. Usually by now I am dreaming almost every night about being on the road, of thinking of the spots I will stand in, of what city buses I will need to get on to get out of Winnipeg or Calgary or Vancouver and where I might sleep the nights I am on the road. By the beginning of April I normally have started to get my traveling gear together - thinking about what new piece of equipment I need to buy, how little I will need to take and what I will send ahead by mail. This year - nothing. Oh - there has been the odd dream and quick flash of memory of a certain spot and the very occasional thought or question of how fast I will get there or if this is the year I make it to the Yukon - but no spring fever; no sense of being incapacitated by an almost overpowering travel lust that can consume every thought, every micron of energy. That flash that in other years has almost paralyzed me into inaction as I have been consumed about the possibility of being on the road again. I don't think we have had the at least three days in a row of nice warm, sunny weather that my body requires to wake up to the fact that it is traveling time again. Until last Friday.

I was traveling up to Sudbury to spend a few days with my daughter and grandchildren. It was a grand sunny day at least from inside the car. While there was still the odd bit of snow on the ground, I was driving with my sandals on in the hopes that I could trick my body (and perhaps convinced the gods) that spring, if it had not actually arrived, was at least well on its way. I, foolishly as it turned out, made the assumption that it would not only be as nice in Sudbury as it had been in Peterborough but that the temperatures would continue to rise throughout the weekend. As I was driving along, listening to a recorded book written by one of my favourite authors (James Lee Burke) I passed a big rig parked in one  of the lay-bys that are scattered along the more northern parts of the 400. It looked old and more than a little bit dirty. One had the sense that the driver had just crawled into his bunk, tired from the countless thousands of miles he and the truck had travelled together. Without wanting too anthropomorphic, the truck looked abandoned and forlorn. And in the half second it took to pass the truck I was, at least for a moment transformed. It took all of my willpower to not stop the car, back it up to the entrance to the lay-by, park my car behind the truck and bang on the trucker's door. All that I wanted was to get into that truck and just go. It was such an overwhelming urge that I had to turn of the CD player and slow down.

The brain has the capacity to have thousands of thoughts - all of which are contained between two blinks of an eye. Thousands of thoughts that can just flash along the surface of the mind and yet somehow create a succinct narrative,. I saw as clearly as anything I have ever seen what I would say to the trucker, what I would say to my daughter as I called her from the road somewhere north of Sudbury and the hundreds of other things I need to do before I can travel. I felt the impossible-to-describe joy, exhilaration, excitement and sheer thrill of being on the road again.

Of course that feeling didn't last long. Being the practical methodical planner I am ( some would say I am a bit of a plodder), it quickly became apparent that travelling immediately probably was not the best plan. I had just too many commitments including the need to sell my weaving at the Saturday Market, attending both my final convocation at Fleming College and my granddaughter's graduation from grade eight and not the least, shutting of all of my electrical devices in my apartment to save money while I am away. By the time I could no longer see the truck in my review mirror I was back on track. My heart had resumed its normal if laboured rhythm, the usual portion of my brain was paying attention to the road and I was once again somewhat rational.

I didn't however, turn the CD player back on for awhile. I wanted to bask just for awhile in the memory of what almost was and to dream of what was to come.