Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Over the past few days, I have seen many posts on social media from family and friends expressing thankfulness and wishing others good fortune (I’ve also been wished a “Happy Thanksgiving by a fair number of my passengers). It’s that time of year, you see. Reading all of these wonderful, heartfelt, and often funny expressions of happiness put me in mind of something wonderful that happened to me in August, just a little less than two months ago. A friend and former colleague (for whom I have an incredible amount of respect) did a thing on Facebook called “The Grateful Challenge,” where the participant posts for seven days, and on each day tells three things for which he or she is grateful. As well, the person challenges other people to do likewise, and my friend nominated me. Well, even though I generally don’t do things like this, there was something about this particular exercise which struck me as uplifting, so it didn’t take me long to accept.

I was, and still am, glad I did.

It occurred to me that some of my Facebook friends might not have seen my original posts, as the brilliant minds in charge of the social media titan, in their infinite wisdom, alter your news feed so that you do not automatically see everything your friends post (What you see is decided by algorithms (?!), which to me is a very complicated way of saying that the machine purports to know more about what you want to see than you do, you’re welcome.) So, today being Thanksgiving in Canada, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share the full, un-edited text from my Grateful Challenge. It was an eye-opening experience. As soon as I decided to do it, I already knew what my first day’s post would be about, but after that, I sat down and wrote each post cold. You’d think it would have been difficult, but it was remarkably easy. The hard part was keeping some of the posts brief (and yes, coming in at a total of just under 2200 words is me being economical with my words). It’s not difficult to see the purpose of such an exercise; expressing gratitude for the things you have is very therapeutic, as it focuses on the positives in our lives. I came away from the experience feeling even better about myself than before, and, reading my posts again today, I understand even better that a big part of feeling good about myself is remembering how truly fortunate I am. Not just on one day or one week of the year, but every day.

Day 1 of the Grateful Challenge.

I have been nominated by Lori MacDonald to say three things that I'm grateful for for the next seven days. Thank you for thinking of me, Lori.

No one who knows me will be surprised by how I begin this exercise.

1) I am grateful that I met and fell in love with Jaime. I've typed many a word on Facebook over the years declaring my love, admiration, and respect for my wife. It would be impossible to measure just how much she has done to make my life what it is. She, more than any other person, is responsible for me having the ability to love myself, and for having the ability to now understand how true happiness begins from within.

2) I am grateful for my daughter, Mairi. Special, magical child. Funny. Smart. Quirky. Cautious and thoughtful. Kind and generous. Talented. Honest as the day is long. She is definitely her own person. She thinks she's learned so much from me, but I've learned so much more from her.

3) I am grateful for my daughter, Ashleen. Special, magical child. Funny. Smart. Quirky. Big-feeling, big-hearted. Full of spirit. Shoots first and asks questions later sometimes. While others are dipping a toe to test the water, she's flying past them in full cannonball mode. Indomitable. Indestructible. Kind.

And now, since I'm supposed to nominate three people to take up the challenge for themselves, it only makes sense to bring the ladies in on the deal. I nominate my wife, Jaime Conrad-Howie, and my daughters Mairi Conrad and Ashleen Pika D'Orsay to spend seven days thinking about and sharing what makes them feel grateful. Sorry, Jaime; I know you probably want to strangle me, but you'll be really good at this. Mairi, don't get too stressed about it; it's all in good fun. Ashleen, get up off your lazy butt and do it; it'll be good for you (and you can't say you're grateful for mashed potatoes every day  ).

Day 2 of the Grateful Challenge.

1) I am grateful for having grown up in a home with two parents who loved me. Things were not always perfect, and my mum and dad were as flawed as any human beings are. They worked hard to provide me with the stability and security of having a roof over my head, so that I could have many experiences which would shape me into the person I am now. I could go on about the things I learned from them over the years, but there is one in particular that I would like to point out. There are certain vile, cruel, disgusting words that people use to hurt others who are different from them. Some children, sadly, grow up learning these words and attitudes through what they see and hear every day in their own homes. My home was not like this, and I am particularly grateful that my mum and dad set such a good example.

2) I am grateful to have a large, diverse, and interesting family. Sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, the whole kit and caboodle. Some I see a lot of. Some I see infrequently. Some I haven't seen in years. Some I haven't even met. It's nice to know they are out there. I love feeling like I am a part of something. Through Facebook, I get to share in their successes, and hear their news. It's great.

3) I am grateful for the close friends I have, the ones who have known me for years, who are like family to me. No need to tag anyone here; they will know who they are when they read this. We have a history together. We have laughed together, and cried too. We have celebrated, and mourned. We have had grand, epic, weird adventures. We have done stupid things, and kept some secrets. We have loved each other without conditions, which is great, since sometimes we can be real a-holes. I love you all, and I have no doubt that you love me back.

Only two days in, and already I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Day 3 of the Grateful Challenge.

1) I am grateful for having had the opportunity to be a teacher. Over the course of 15 years, I plied my trade in a variety of different capacities. For seven years, I worked for the Cape Breton Literacy Network (now the Adult Learning Association) in Glace Bay, New Waterford, and Sydney, teaching Level 1 and 2 ALP, helping adult learners gain placements at NSCC and the CBVRSB Adult High School. During this time, I also managed to teach some summer school English and do some GED tutoring at the Whitney Pier Youth Centre (thanks to my dear friend Mac MP and the wonderful Gordie Gosse). After moving to Sackville, and after a lot of substituting, I managed to eke out 5 semesters of full-time work at Millwood High School. I worked under some fantastic administrators, met, collaborated with, and learned from some marvelous teachers, and got to teach and learn from some amazing students. Through it all, I've had experiences too voluminous to mention, and forged relationships that I hope will last for many years.

2) I am grateful to have my current job, as a driver for Halifax Transit. Realizing that I needed a change, I went to an information session for Transit, and came away thinking that this was something that I could do. Well, after completing all of the necessary testing and interviews, they hired me. I've been driving for almost a year now. The time has really flown by. I love the job. It turns out that it was just the change I needed.

3) I am grateful for all of the other jobs that I have had over the years. I have worked at a coal mine and in call centres. I have worked in a factory and I have worked for the federal government. I have been paid to act, sing, and dance, to drive a car, move furniture, edit a university newspaper, rent videos... and so much more, the mind reels. Good, bad, wonderful, brutal, I appreciate the perspective each has given me. I am lucky.

Day 4 of the Grateful Challenge.

1) I am grateful for music. The musical roots in my family run deep. My grandfather (mum's father) and his sister were both well-known and respected piano players in Cape Breton; he, with Gib Whitney's Orchestra, and she, with The Acadians. My love of music stretches back as long as I can remember. I was exposed to a variety of different music from a very early age. Music has continued to be an important part of my life and family. My wife is not only a music lover, but a wonderful singer as well. We have passed this love of music on to our talented, eclectic children.

I could not imagine my life without music. It can make you feel joyful or sad. It can make you want to dance, or stop and think. No matter the effect, the experience elevates us.

2) I am grateful for movies. There's a scene in the movie "Grand Canyon" between a film director (Steve Martin) and his friend (Kevin Kline). I don't remember the exact line, but the director tells his friend that his problem is that he hasn't seen enough movies, because the answers to all of life's problems are in them. Since I was a child, when I see a movie that I really connect with, I get that feeling. It could be the story, the struggle of a particular character, a moment when it all comes together. Sometimes it's just a line that stays with me. Once I fall in love with a film, a performance, whatever, I love it forever.

3) I am grateful for reading. I was a very early reader. I devoured everything I could get my hands on. One of the greatest events of my childhood occurred when my parents, when I was 4, purchased a set of encyclopedias. Oh how I loved having so much information right there in my own home. For those of you who don't know, a set of encyclopedias in the early 70s was like the internet now. If I wanted to know about tigers, World War II, sharks, whatever, all I had to do was grab one of those 26 alphabetized volumes off the shelf. I love learning about new things. I love fiction, too. From childhood story books, to chapter books and novels, it's a wonderful experience to be absorbed in a written story. Poetry. Plays. Short stories. Essays. Articles. I still love to read.

Day 5 of the Grateful Challenge.

1) I am grateful that Canada is a country with universal health care. Though it may have some flaws in its application (mostly through what I call "the human element"), the premise is what matters. Over the course of my lifetime, I have had stitches, x-rays, blood and other tests, minor surgical procedures, and so much more, and never once have I been presented with a bill at the end or had to endure financial hardship as a result.

2) I am grateful that my wife and I both have jobs with health benefits to help us out with the "extras" which our health care system, sadly, does not cover. Medications, physiotherapy, eye care, and counselling are some of the things we have access to which help make us a healthier, happier family.

3) I am grateful for my health. I know that I am extremely fortunate that I do not have any major health concerns. For a male of almost 46 years of age, I am in very good health. My main concerns are diet and exercise, and these are things that, ultimately, I can control.

Day 6 of the Grateful Challenge.

1) I am grateful for the communicative potential of technology. Never much of a texter, I found myself texting a lot more when my daughter moved to Newfoundland for school. Through social media, I can stay in touch with friends I don't see often or haven't seen in years (decades even), as well as family who are far away.

2) I am grateful for the informative potential of technology. As I loved my encyclopedias as a child, so now do I love being able to have information about whatever I want to know just a few key strokes away. Also, ever the information junkie, I appreciate being able to find out about important events both near and far.

3) I am grateful for the opportunities I have to get away from technology. I still prefer real, live, face-to-face conversations. I still enjoy reading books, magazines, and newspapers. I'm an avid people-watcher. I like walking, and I still do this without having a phone stuck in my face or ear buds impeding the possibility for actual environmental interaction and enjoyment. When I have the time, one of my favourite things to do is to just sit and think.

Day 7 of the Grateful Challenge.

Day 7 already? The week sure has flown by.

1) I am grateful for the access to nature that living in Nova Scotia affords. I have been able to visit many of our provincial parks, as well as both of our great national parks. Besides these, Nova Scotia has numerous wilderness areas and beaches. Living here, I have also had many life-affirming, mind-blowing, and simply nice interactions with a variety of different wildlife. This aspect of our province is not something to be missed or taken for granted.

2) I am grateful to live in a country which celebrates diversity. As Canadians, we can think and express ourselves as we choose so long as we don't promote hate, we can worship as we choose, even if we choose not to, without persecution, and we are free to openly love and marry (or not) whomever our hearts guide us to. Though we are not perfect, and though some old, intolerant ideas stubbornly remain, I am grateful for the progress I have seen in my lifetime and continue to see.

3) And finally, I feel it would be somehow dishonest of me to write so much about gratitude without acknowledging one other special person, who I will not name. I am grateful that, almost six years ago, I started seeing the most wonderful psychologist. It was right around the time that my dad had received his terminal diagnosis. With that, and a lot of other stressors at the time, I made the decision to seek help, as I had never been all that great at dealing with stress. My psychologist helped me tremendously through this most difficult time. As I continued to see her, she slowly helped me understand myself. Long story short, she has been instrumental in helping me get to this point in my life, where I feel happier than I can ever remember feeling.

(Note: I published this article a year ago today. Since then, here in Nova Scotia, the cradle of organized labour in Canada, we have seen the following:

• Nova Scotia Power is preparing to contract out jobs and eliminate unionized positions. The corporation's president received a salary of $1.2 million last year, while its parent company's (Emera) CEO received a 54% raise from the previous year, pulling in $4.7 million, and yet NSP feels that the best way to cut costs is to eliminate good jobs for Nova Scotians who make far less than any NSP or Emera executive.
• NSGEU nurses working for Capital District Health Authority in Halifax found themselves in a legal strike position. Their strike plan had built-in provisions to ensure that, according to CDHA's own press release, "All Emergency Departments, dialysis units, Nova Scotia Cancer Centre, Veterans’ Services and intensive care units will be open and fully staffed with registered nurses." Yet, Stephen McNeil's Liberal government pushed through unnecessary essential services legislation, forcing nurses back to work and interfering with the collective bargaining process by stripping the nurses of one or their most valuable bargaining chips. Oh, and while I'm writing, CDHA's CEO rakes in over 300 grand a year.
• Lisa Raitt (ex-pat Cape Bretoner) has moved on to a new government portfolio; she is currently the Minister of Transport, which is fitting, after all she has done to benefit the industry, at the expense of workers' rights, for the sake of "the national economy."
  

--GFH, June 11, 2014)


As a young child growing up in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia, the importance of coal mining was not lost on me. My dad, who I idolized, was a miner. Everything we had, from the roof over our heads, to the food on our table, our heat, our lights, our clothes and shoes, came from my dad working the mines, five days a week, eight hours a day (Depending on the week, he worked dayshift (7am-3pm), nightshift (3pm-11pm), or backshift (11pm-7am)). One of the highlights of my day was checking his lunch can to see if he had saved me half of one of his sandwiches, which he often did. The black marks on the bread didn’t matter a bit to me. You might say, almost literally, that coal dust flowed in my veins.

At my school, from the very beginning, we were taught the very basics about the history of Glace Bay. By rote, we could all recite that, “The Town of Glace Bay was founded (a funny word for a five-year-old) in 1901. Its two main industries are coal mining and fishing.” (Note the word “are;” this was the early 1970s.) And so it was that there, in my elementary school classroom, I was introduced to the name Bill Davis. I wasn’t quite sure who he was, but to my mind, he was as important as Santa and the Easter Bunny in one respect; because of him, we got the day off school. That’s right; Davis Day, June 11th, the whole day.

Being a curious child, it didn’t take long for me to dispel the misconceptions I initially had about who Bill Davis was. He wasn’t from Glace Bay, but from New Waterford. We didn’t get the day off to celebrate his birthday, but rather, to remember his death. His death was important. It was so important that even my dad got to stay home from work. Eventually, I even figured out why the kids in Sydney had to go to school on June 11th (And it wasn’t because their principals were mean).

Over the years, I’ve learned as much as I can about the story of William Davis, husband, father, coal miner. It’s an interesting story, and you can read about it in more detail here and here. What you should know, what really you need to know is this: in 1925, during a workers’ strike, the coal company was determined to break the union by any means necessary. During a march by the workers to one of the company’s locations, the workers were met by armed company police, who fired upon the crowd, wounding several and killing Davis. The incident, rather than discouraging the community, galvanized it, and the organized labour movement continued and thrived in Cape Breton.

The story of Bill Davis is an extremely important one. Not just for Cape Bretoners, and certainly not just for coal miners. And it is especially important today. Too many people take for granted what the pioneers of the organized labour movement achieved, what they worked for, suffered for, and in some cases, even died for. Today, we enjoy safe work environments, vacations, sick days, 5 day/ 35-40 hour work weeks, often without a thought for the price that was paid for these luxuries by those heroes who only sought the dignity to be able to provide for their families and to be treated fairly. 

Worse still, we stand by while our current government, led by Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and abetted by his Minister of Labour, Lisa Raitt (a displaced Cape Bretoner who has long-since forgotten her roots), declare war on organized labour in this country by repeatedly (I said, “repeatedly”) interceding on behalf of corporations in the collective bargaining process, denying workers their legal rights in the name of “the national economy.”

So, on June 11th, think of William Davis. Though you may have never heard of him, his death had a profound effect on your life. It still does.

(Note: My wife's "grampa" Charles Justin Jolley, a beloved father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, passed away in August, 2013. Today would have been his 91st birthday. He was a wonderful man. He was not yet 20 years old when he shipped out for Europe in 1943. He and his comrades were instrumental in liberating the Netherlands from Nazi occupation in WWII, and he was decorated by both the Canadian and Dutch governments for his efforts. He was the inspiration for this piece I wrote in 2012.  --  GFH, November 5th, 2014)

I can’t remember exactly how long ago it was, but I first became aware of the issue one day when my wife and I were visiting her grandfather. We were sitting watching the news on TV, when a story came on about a Royal Canadian Legion branch in New Brunswick being upset because a local mall had put up Christmas decorations before November 11th. The person who was speaking on behalf of the legion said that decorating for Christmas before Remembrance Day was disrespectful to veterans who had fought for our country. I remember Jaime and I both looked at each other, then we looked at her grandfather. He had this look on his face like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ”What do you think of that, Grampa?” Jaime asked. “That’s foolishness,” he replied. “That’s not what I fought for. I fought for freedom. You should be able to put your decorations up whenever you want.” He added, “What war did that fella fight in, anyway?” As far as Jaime and I were concerned, the issue had been decided, by no less authority than a WWII veteran.

Since then, however, it seems that the issue has not gone away. Every year, at around the end of October, the rumblings begin. It’s difficult to avoid seeing or hearing, especially with the prevalence of social media, pleas from people who believe it is disrespectful to put up Christmas decorations before Remembrance Day. This October, I actually decided that I would try to determine where the idea of “disrespectful decorating” began.

I started with Veterans Affairs Canada. I could find no indication on the website that Christmas decorations were disrespectful to veterans. I did find a wonderful list, “50 Ways to Remember.” Each item in the list begins with a proactive verb, words like “invite,” “plan,” “show,” “listen,” and “wear,” and contains no prohibitions. Similarly, a perusal of the Royal Canadian Legion website was a very positive experience, albeit one which yielded no mention of Christmas decorations at all. I decided to expand my search.

I didn’t find much. Internet searches, no matter what different parameters I used, always brought me to the same places; blogs, news boards, and radio stations’ websites. Invariably, the discussion would begin with a post in the form of an opinion essay or a question, either stating that or asking whether Christmas decorations before November 11th was disrespectful to veterans. These would be followed by comments, a few or many depending on the website, where the opinions varied greatly. While some chimed in with complete agreement, others opined that soldiers fought for freedom, including the freedom to decorate whenever. There was a common thread that I noticed, though; regardless of which side a person was on, quite a large number seemed to have distaste for how the Christmas shopping season seems to begin earlier and earlier every year.

For as long as I can remember, I have heard people complain that Christmas has become too commercialized, that the true meaning of Christmas has been lost. I can’t help wondering, then, whether the idea of decorating before Remembrance Day is part of some larger greater idea. Remembrance Day is, arguably, the most important “occasion” on our calendar. It is a special day unlike any other that we celebrate, in that it comes without a glut of spending and shopping. We wear a poppy. We observe a moment of silence. Perhaps we attend a ceremony. We do these things to commemorate peace; that is the significance of the date. We pause to remember the men and women who sacrificed for the idea that there is a greater good. It is the most selfless of our “holidays.” When I hear people complaining that the stores are decorating for Christmas before the Hallowe’en decorations are put away,that the malls are already playing Christmas music, I can’t help thinking that it’s not Christmas they’re protesting. No, I think that what they want is for it all to mean more.

Just recently, I noticed an item in the news. Shoppers Drug Mart had begun playing Christmas music in its stores on November 1st, but due to a “barrage of complaints,” had decided to suspend the practice until later in the month. There was no mention of Remembrance Day, just frustration with what has come to be known as “Christmas Creep.” Now this was more than just mere complaining, or sharing a meme on facebook (The one that is making the rounds this year says “Please don’t put up decorations until Nov. 12th. Respect our veterans!”). The idea had grown into something else. It had spurred people to act, and that action had results. This is how social movements begin, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was seeing the beginnings of such a movement.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the first Legion poppy display. I approached, placed some money in the container, and as I have done for as long as I can remember, as I taught my children to do, I asked the veteran behind the table if he would mind pinning my poppy to my shirt. He smiled, said he would do his best (I would expect nothing less), and rose (a little stiffly) to fulfill my request. When he had finished, I thanked him. When he had responded, I thanked him again, and he smiled again in understanding.

I love Remembrance Day, and what it represents. I also love Christmas, and the idea of togetherness, celebration, family, friends, giving. In my mind, the spirit of these two special days is something that we would all do well to keep in our thoughts and in our hearts every day.

This past weekend, Jaime and I drove to Cape Breton to visit her grandfather. During our previous visit, we had promised to return to make him a goose dinner for his 89th birthday. Jaime and I love travelling together, we love visiting her “grampa,” and we were excited about our errand. As we passed the Halifax airport, Jaime popped in a CD, and we sang along with Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Burl Ives, and others, in a state of pure joy, appreciation, and gratitude, perfectly aware of just how lucky we are to have the opportunity.

There was jubilation in the streets of London, England just over seven years ago, July 6, 2005 to be exact, when the International Olympic Committee announced that that city had been awarded the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. The very next day, those same streets were the scene of death and destruction as four suicide bombs were detonated over a 50-minute period in the London subway and on a double-decker bus. At the time, I would have made no connection between these two occurrences, for although I paid a great deal of attention to the second event, I would have taken little or no notice of the first. In the succeeding years, however, these two events have become inextricably linked in my mind, and with the opening ceremonies mere hours away, I am filled with dread.

At the time of the so called “7/7” bombings, I remember that I wasn’t surprised. Great Britain had been involved since the beginning with the military action in Afghanistan following the terrorist attacks on the US on September 11, 2001. Also, the Brits were a part of US-led invasion of Iraq, and I thought at the time that their involvement in these two campaigns  made Great Britain a prime target for an attack by al Qaeda or some other group of foreign extremists.  What I did not realize at the time, but would come to learn over the course of the next few years, is that Great Britain, especially London, had become a breeding ground for Islamic extremists, and that the “7/7” bombings had been carried out by home-grown terrorists of this ilk.

It had happened gradually. The tolerance and commitment to multiculturalism of British society had allowed, and even in some cases given official legitimacy to, mosques where young, disaffected, and sometimes poor Muslims could be inculcated into radicalism. The North London Central Mosque, which would become notorious for just such activity, had the blessing of no less than Prince Charles, who attended its opening in 1994. The mosque would become home to radical imam Abu Hamza al Masri, and several terrorists would pass through it, perhaps the most well-known being “Shoe Bomber” Richard Reid. Over time, the climate had become much more sinister, as extremists had taken advantage of the very tolerance which had allowed them to flourish, to preach a message of intolerance, hate, and violence.

As knowledge of this change in London became much more widely known, the reaction of some major public figures was puzzling. Prince Charles was heard to say that when he became King, he would be known as “Defender of Faith,” not “Defender of the Faith (Church of England),” as past monarchs had been, and the former Archbishop of Canterbury agreed. The current Archbishop of Canterbury was quoted as saying that the adoption of Sharia, or Islamic Law, was “unavoidable.” This position was a particularly cynical one, an embracing of another type of religious law as a means to justify the legitimacy of Judeo-Christian influence on the legal system. Shortly afterward, the most senior judge in England and Wales took a more measured tone, but still opined that Sharia could “be the basis for mediation or other forms of alternative dispute resolution.” So, instead of distancing itself from the superstitious nonsense of religious influence, the legal system was instead moving towards more acceptance of accenting religious differences in the law.

From time to time, I would hear or read a story about the London Olympics in 2012. Whenever I did, I imagined that it would be an irresistible target for terrorists. However, I would always think that the organizers of the games, with so much time to consider everything, would have plans in place to ensure the security of the athletes, the spectators, and the city itself.

Events this year, and especially in recent weeks, have left me with serious doubts, however. During the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, a convicted sex offender mingled with the Royal Family after being invited to official Jubilee events by Prince Charles’s (him again) office. G4S, the company that won the contract to provide security for the games, has proven to be extremely unreliable, having failed to recruit enough staff or to train ororganize them properly. And, earlier this week, a story emerged about an 11-year-old boy who boarded a flight from England to Italy without a ticket, boarding pass, or even a passport. These developments don’t exactly inspire a lot of confidence.

The British government has called in 3,500 troops to make up for the recruiting failures of G4S. This is in addition to the 13,500 troops already on Olympic security detail. Adding to those totals, there is also the London Police, and the highly suspect G4S employees. I worry that, with all of those guns, mixing with poorly-trained security personnel, and with the thousands of tourists and spectators, that there will be some sort of mistake, and that an innocent person or people may be hurt due to inexperience or negligence on the part of security forces. Even more, I worry that a targeted terrorist attack will be successful.

Now, more than seven years after those two days shook the city in vastly different ways, I hope that the world sees only jubilation on the streets of London. Still, I can't shake the dread.

Would it be too much to hope that this time, things would be different?

I woke at 6 am on Friday. I had only been up about 5 minutes or so, just enough time to put on a pot of coffee and log on to the computer, when I read about the tragedy in Aurora, Colorado. Every news outlet was reporting about the shooting; there were 14 confirmed dead, 10 at the scene, and another 4 who had died in hospital. I read some of the coverage. I drove my wife to work for her 7 am shift.

When I arrived home, I turned on Canada AM. It wasn’t quite the same as it usually is. All the other segments were given short shrift; the only subject that seemed of any interest was the shooting. I heard the same speculation and the same eyewitness accounts, and saw the same jumpy, blurry, smartphone video over and over and over again for about 20 minutes. There was nothing new to report, but, rather than talk about anything else, the just repeated themselves. Just like all the other times that this has happened. I turned off the TV and took a nap.

I found things to keep me busy. I did dishes, read a book, puttered around, anything to keep me away from the computer and the TV. I went to pick my wife up for lunch at around 11:30.

We watched TV at lunch. The “numbers” had been revised to 12 dead and 59 injured. So much for the 14 dead confirmed earlier; so much for accuracy. Meanwhile, ABC news was apologizing for an earlier report stating that the shooter was a member of the Colorado Tea Party, as if that mattered at all. What does truth mean, when you have to beat the competition? Just get it out quickly, don’t worry whether it’s right. If it’s wrong, if it hurts someone, just forget it and move on. Just like every other time.

The rest of the next two days played out pretty much as expected, because we’ve all been here before, haven’t we?

Opportunism, as always, is the name of the game when it comes to business of news these days. Networks, politicians, pundits, everyone is clamouring for attention, to score political points, generate hits to their websites, or just keep you from changing the channel by putting their own spin on things.

Some of the responses to the tragedy were thoughtful. Roger Ebert wrote a post for his blog, as well as an editorial for the New York Times. On his blog, he linked to a document, from a website named for James Brady (“Does anyone in the US remember James Brady?” I wondered), listing the mass shootings in the US since 2005. The list is 62 pages long. I couldn’t help wondering how this list could get so long. Then I saw where one columnist had written that the Aurora shooting was “inevitable,” as if he was some sort of Nostradamus predicting some unprecedented event instead of just waiting for the next one to come along.

Of course, the politicians came out in full force, uttering nonsense, empty platitudes, or just grandstanding. A congressman wondered why no one in the theatre shot back (Colorado is a carry-conceal state), and characterized the shooting as an “attack(s) on Judeo-Christian beliefs.” Mitt Romney said that it was, “time for each of us to look into our hearts,” or in other words, do nothing. President Obama said even less, calling it, “a day for prayer and reflection,” instead of a day for reasoned thought and action. New York’s chief fascist and soda-pop-hater Michael Bloomberg got off his high-horse just long enough to climb upon an even higher pedestal to chide both presidential candidates for not taking action, while knowing full well that for either to do so would incur the wrath of the National Rifle Association and about half of the American populace mere months before the election. And speaking of the good old NRA, as far as it was concerned, things were just fine.

The Canadian networks were looking for their piece of the action as well. Practically every time I turned on CBC or CTV, they were trying to compare the Aurora shootings with what had been happening in Toronto. I couldn’t make up my mind whether they were being wilfully ignorant, or if they really could not grasp the difference, that what has been happening in Toronto (and Halifax, and a lot of other places in Canada) is as a result of criminals using illegally obtained firearms, whereas in the good old US of A, when these types of incidents happen, time and time again it is with guns which were bought legally.

When something like this happens, I am saddened by the loss of life, but that sadness quickly gets overcome by anger. It angers me that the United States refuses to learn from the mistakes of the past, despite the fact that these shootings keep happening at an alarming rate. It angers me that genuine human suffering can be cheapened by so much opportunism, that a death can be reduced to a sound bite, or a “human interest story.”  It angers me that all those people who died in all of those other shootings seemingly died for nothing, that their families suffer their losses for nothing, and that the families of the many shooters had their lives shattered for nothing. And I fear that the death and suffering from yet another tragedy, this time in a movie theatre in Aurora, Colorado on July 20, 2012, will mean nothing.

Is it too much to hope that this time, things will be different?

(Note: I had intended to post my final draft of this article on Saturday. However, being a husband and father takes precedent, and there are only so many hours in a day.)

I didn’t know Jack Layton. I never met him. I’m not really a follower of politics; I’m more of an observer of them. When I read this week that he became the leader of the federal NDP in 2003, my first thought was, “Really? Eight years ago? Is that all?” I don’t know why exactly, but it just seemed to me that he had to have been the leader for longer than that. Perhaps it was because of the ridiculous number of federal elections we have had in Canada in the past decade or so. It seemed to me that Layton must have led the NDP under three or four different Prime Ministers. I know this can’t be the case, but I can’t be bothered to look it up, either. I remembered seeing him in a leaders’ debate for the first time, and thinking that he didn’t seem like much of a leader to me. Time and experience would eventually prove me wrong on that point, as evidenced by the NDP’s historic showing in the most recent federal election. When Jack Layton died this week, I realized that I didn’t know that much about him at all.

I do know this though:  Jack Layton owned my facebook News Feed on Tuesday, August 22nd. 

If you spent any time on facebook on Tuesday, your experience was likely similar to mine. From the morning, when his death was first reported, until well into the evening, I watched as a steady stream of condolences, links, quotes, and profile picture changes, all in tribute to the late NDP leader, were posted. To be honest, I’d never seen anything quite like it. It was bittersweet to see so many people sharing a moment of solidarity amidst tragedy. It was heartening, though, to see people reacting to something of such significance, especially on a forum where I’ve become accustomed to seeing people bond while complaining about “Jersey Shore” and “Big Brother.”

Compared to a lot of other people, I don’t have a large number of facebook friends, and they fall into a few distinct groups: actual friends, family, former students, former co-workers, and people with whom I went to school (Of course, these groups are not mutually exclusive; a former co-worker can also be a friend, and so forth). The only people on my friends list whom I have not met personally, oddly enough, are relatives who live in other provinces or countries and with whom I have connected because of facebook. All of these groups were well represented in my News Feed on Tuesday, as they paid tribute to a man who obviously affected them in some way. Many posted links to news stories related to Layton’s death. Several quoted from the final paragraph of Layton’s now well-known letter. Even more changed their profile pictures in various ways to honour Layton (My favourite consisted of a simple orange maple leaf on a darker orange background, with a white moustache over the lower half of the leaf). On it went into the evening. One status that I particularly liked simply read, “Jack Layton is dead. What can I say that hasn't already been said?” So much had been written and said at that point, I had to wonder the same thing.

It seems that a lot of people were thinking about Jack Layton this week. I found myself doing a lot of thinking as well. I wasn’t so much thinking about Jack Layton. The effect that his death created, the reactions of others to his death, made me think about other things. Even his letter reminded me of someone else. I may not have been thinking about Jack Layton, but I definitely was thinking because of him.

I was invited to a number of events that were organized in remembrance of Layton, including a vigil to be held in Wentworth Park in Sydney, and one where I was simply asked to wear orange on Saturday.  I appreciated all of the invitations (It’s always nice when people remember to include me). One event that particularly intrigued me was called “Love, Hope and Optimism Day in Memory of Jack Layton.” A brief and probably oversimplified description of this particular event is that participants are to do something good in their community in order to honour Layton’s memory. I generally bristle when told how to behave, as I see myself as a good person who does not need an excuse (ecclesiastical or otherwise) to do good things. My sensitive nature might have even found a way to feel offended by such a request, depending on my mood, were it not for the person who sent the “invitation.” I would never accuse someone like Wayne McKay of “jumping on the bandwagon” when it comes to getting involved in one’s community. I’d like to think that every community has a person like Wayne in it. In fact, it would be my sincerest hope that every community would have its own Wayne McKay. If ever anyone was going to suggest that a person should get more involved, Wayne definitely could. For as long as I have known him, Wayne has been doing things to help other people. He is involved in theatre and the arts as a director, writer, performer, and promoter; for years he has worked extensively with youth groups; he is an educator; he is a community activist; he has even offered himself up to the rigours of political campaigning, having been a candidate in both a provincial and a federal election. He is an organizer and a leader (It was Wayne who quickly organized the vigil I mentioned earlier). From what I understand, Jack Layton was a person much like Wayne. It says a lot to me about the societal impact that Jack Layton must have had, that Wayne, and people like him, found Layton to be inspirational, when they undoubtedly inspire many people themselves.

I read Jack Layton’s so-called “Final Letter to Canadians,” and I found to be both moving and thought-provoking. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him, the strength it must have required, to put himself in that mindset, to be able to write such a hopeful letter, knowing what its publication meant, while at the same time not wanting to give up hope that he would continue living. I was especially touched by the paragraph where he talked about how others with cancer should not lose hope because of his death, and how they should “...cherish every moment with those you love at every stage of your journey... .” I found it difficult not to be touched when imagining him as a man who, like so many others, has battled illness, has suffered, and has worried about those he leaves behind, as his loved ones suffered along with him and ultimately had to grieve his loss. This made me think of my dad, and everything he went through during the last years and months of his life, suffering but refusing to give up, all the while worrying about us, his family.

This week, I also witnessed some of the uglier side of human nature, which never seems to be too far away. I saw people arguing, on facebook pages created to honour Layton, about what he would or would not have wanted, about what he would or would not have approved of, about what he did or didn’t believe. I watched as people joined groups meant to pay tribute to Layton just so that they could post mean and hateful things about him. I read a cynical and opportunistic article written by a well-known columnist, the purpose of which was to diminish the inspirational and hopeful message in Layton’s letter. The less said about these people, the better.

Jack Layton died this week, and in dying, he united people, and he made me think. He made me think about family and friends, about love and loss. He made me think about the wonderful people who are out there who do good things to make their communities better places. He made me think about strength and courage. He reminded me, too, that there is still a lot more to be done before the world will really change. In this regard, we can only hope to be more loving, hopeful, and optimistic.

Making Your Vote Count

 I remember one fine day, years ago when I was living in Glace Bay, I was driving home from downtown. I reached the stop sign at the top of Highland Street, and as I turned my head, I saw something that made me angry. It was a huge sign, right on the corner, and it was completely blocking my sightline to check for traffic coming down Dominion Street. The sign said, “VOTE JOHN MORGAN for MAYOR.” My immediate thought was, “What kind of moron would put a sign there?”

I knew what I had to do. I turned my car around, and headed back downtown. I was fairly certain that I knew where Mr. Morgan’s headquarters were, and in short time I found myself walking through the door of a building at the top of Commercial Street. I approached a young lady sitting behind a table, and I told her that I needed to speak with someone about a complaint that I had. As soon as I had finished speaking, a voice to my left said, “Hello. I’m John Morgan. Is there something I can help you with?” I turned to see a man in a suit smiling and offering me his hand, which I shook. I had never met Mr. Morgan before, and I was a little surprised at how young he looked. He looked to be roughly the same age as I was at that time. I introduced myself, and told him that I had a problem that I hoped he could fix. I remember that his facial expression changed immediately, and I had a very strong feeling that I had his undivided attention, which impressed me because the place looked pretty busy. I pressed on. I told him about the sign, where it was, and how I believed it to be a very serious safety hazard. When I’d finished, he said, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to do something about that.” As I had nothing else to say, I thanked him and left. I remember grumbling as I passed the sign on my way home.

I went out later that evening, and as I got to the bottom of Steele’s Hill, I saw the sign again. Only, it had been moved way back, so that it was no longer creating a hazard, as it had been earlier. I sat there, momentarily stunned. Then I smiled. “I’m going to vote for that guy,” I said to myself.

I told that story to everyone I could; friends, relatives, co-workers. I made it a point to find out more about John Morgan. I felt connected to the political process, more than I ever had before. I don’t remember what the final tally was on Election Day, but John Morgan became Mayor of the Cape Breton Regional Municipality in that election, beating out, among others, the incumbent mayor. I felt good about that. I really felt like my vote, and my opinion, counted. I still feel good about it. John Morgan, despite what you might hear through the media, is a very popular mayor. He has won re-election twice by wide margins, most recently by garnering over 80% of the total votes cast. I proudly voted for him in all three elections.

Monday, May 2 is Election Day in Canada. It will be our fourth Federal Election in seven years, and our fifth since November, 2000. I have voted in all of these elections, and the question with which I have struggled each time is this: How do I make my vote count? 

The problem that I have had over the past four elections is that the results seemed pre-determined in the ridings in which I was living. In 2000 and 2004, I lived in Glace Bay, where Rodger Cuzner won with more votes than all the other candidates combined. I didn’t like Cuzner, but I couldn’t see the point in voting for anyone else. Now, as in the previous two elections, I live in Lower Sackville, where Peter Stoffer rules. Once again, I find myself with the choice of voting for a candidate who, although I like him, does not need my vote (Stoffer tallied 61.42% of the votes cast in 2008), or for another candidate who has no chance of winning. 

I’m sure that there are a lot of ridings in Canada where this situation exists. I wonder if there are other people who feel the way that I do. I wonder if there’s any connection between this and recent voter apathy; voter turnout in 2008 was extremely low. It’s not difficult to understand why some people would take a “why bother” attitude when it seems that the election process gives them no real voice. I can’t imagine what it must be like for young potential voters, who see a system where their concerns aren’t addressed. It certainly can’t help that we are constantly bombarded with news stories about political scandals and advertisements where the parties seem more interested in attacking the other candidates than in extolling their own candidates’ virtues. Whywould anyone want to get involved?

So, what’s a voter to do? It helps if you have a candidate or a party that you truly believe in or want to support. I think that when we vote, we all want “our guy” (or “gal”) to win. But what if “your guy” has no chance? I don’t have the answer to that. I can tell you what I have done. In this election, and in the previous three, I have voted for the Green Party candidate in my riding (I’ve already voted in this election, in the Advance Poll). I like the Green Party. I especially like the party’s commitment to environmental issues. To me, supporting them represents positive change for the future. They are a relatively new party, and I like the idea of another voice bringing new perspectives and ideas into a system that has become staid and stale. And, though I have known each time that my “my guy” has no chance of winning, I still feel like I am part of something important for two reasons. First, by voting Green, I believe that I make it more difficult for our government to ignore the environmental issues that are important to me. I want the other parties to want my vote, and to alter their priorities in order to get it. I also vote Green because of the Federal Per-vote Subsidy. For those of you who may not be aware, a political party in Canada receives government subsidies if, simply put, it manages to gain a certain amount of the popular vote. So, even though my vote may not get the Greens a seat in Parliament, my vote still has the potential to help the party in the future. At the risk of sounding like a kook, I feel a connection with my fellow Canadians who vote Green, in that we are working together toward a common goal. 

I think that it would be exciting to live in a riding like Sydney-Victoria, where, a very popular incumbent, Liberal Mark Eyking, is being opposed by Conservative Cecil Clarke, an extremely popular former MLA. I think that it will be interesting to see whether the voters can be swayed to vote for Clarke, whose Conservative Party will likely form the government and would therefore give that riding a stronger voice. I imagine that voters in that riding feel like their votes will definitely mean something. It must really feel like something is at stake there. I envy them.

I have met Mark Eyking, and I like him. I hope that Cecil Clarke wins, though. I think it will be better for Sydney-Victoria to have a representative in the governing party. In fact, I hope that Clarke’s win will be part of a national change that brings the Conservatives a majority government. I know that that might sound strange, considering the Conservative Party’s reputation and my professed affection for the Green Party. It’s just that it seems like the country is directionless. I think that a majority government will at least give the country the direction that it needs. Maybe things will change for the better with a majority government. Or, perhaps the Conservatives will be so terrible that we Canadians will awaken from our collective stupor, make a more concerted effort to involve ourselves in the political process, andcreate the change that we want and need.

All I know is these minority governments aren’t working. I’m sick and tired of expensive elections, divisiveness, and rhetoric. The numbers from the Advance Polls have shown an increase in voter interest; voter turnout for these polls were up by 34% nationally and 75% in Nova Scotia over 2008. (I worked at an Advance Poll last weekend as a Poll Clerk, and we were very busy) I hope that voters turn out on Monday in great numbers. I hope for some kind of positive change. If you are 18 or older, you have a vote. I hope you make your vote count.