Cam Battley's Open Salon Blog

A Monarchist Toasts Canada Day

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 14:06:20 -0400

http://glitzandglamor.com/web/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/canadian-flag.jpg

Hello, again, America. I know you’re busy stocking up on flags, burgers and beer in advance of Independence Day. I just want you to know that your cousins to the north are doing the same thing. Canada Day is tomorrow, July 1^st, and we’ll celebrate it much the way you mark your own national holiday. Maybe at slightly lower volume. And with fewer exuberant shots fired into the air.

It has always tickled me that our national holidays come so close together. It seems appropriate, given how similar our countries are in so many ways, and how interdependent we are economically, culturally and even militarily. We do have our differences, however, and Canada’s monarchy is one.

Now, not all Canadians are big fans of the monarchy. Some find it odd, perhaps a little immature, that our head of state is a lovely old British lady, Queen Elizabeth II. There are those who would prefer Canada become a republic, perhaps with a newly-established Presidency proving that we’re a fully grown-up country.

Not I. No, I think our constitutional monarchy is one of the signal jewels in Canada’s crown. It’s a very good thing for Canada and for Canadians, and I hope we never let it go.

It’s fair to say that democracy is in a bit of a funk right now, in lots of places. In Europe and North America, people don’t think much of politicians. In Latin America, many are turning to charismatic populists who once again call for Action! and Revolution! and another reshaping and reordering of society. And in Asia, some countries are making a case that as long as you can promise citizens consistent economic growth and wealth creation, there’s no need to provide democratic rights and freedoms. That last sounds a bit too much like “bread and circuses” for my liking.

But here in Canada, we have our Parliamentary system that keeps chugging along, alternately infuriating the supporters of the centre-left or the centre-right - while actual government policy deviates very little, really, no matter which party is in government. And we have our Queen. And until he died in 1952, we had Her Highness’ father, King George VI.

Above all things, the monarchy speaks of stability, history and tradition. It’s a rock as solid as Gibraltar. It reminds us of whence we came as a country and a people, in spite of many things: in spite of the occasional silliness of particular monarchs or their heirs; in spite of the fact that Canada’s population will fairly soon be majority non-European and non-Caucasian.

It reminds us, too, of one of the defining facts of this country: how we obtained nationhood. Canadians are often seen, beyond our borders as well as among ourselves, as a little boring. In comparison to our American neighbours, maybe a little quieter, less eager to take bold risks, more incrementalist. It’s a fair perception, and when it’s true, it may be either advantageous or disadvantageous, depending on the circumstance. I suspect the differences in national character have some of their roots in our respective routes to independence.

America needed a revolution to become America. A tax revolt, mixed with some exciting (particularly for the 18^th century) ideas about human governance, led your country to throw off both the shackles and the benefits of the British monarchy. Canada had to wait nearly another century, until 1867, to gain our independence gradually, ultimately via an Act of the British Parliament – and the assent of Queen Victoria.

Politics is about organizing society, achieving some level of consensus, and about making decisions in the interest of the common good. Humans being humans, this is a very hard thing to do. In North America, one path has led America to achieve this through the guidance and constant interpretation and re-interpretation of your exclamatory founding myths and founding documents. It’s been a spectacularly successful path, by any world standards.

The Canadian path requires a longer view. It’s laid with our own Constitution and other documents, but also with a call to remembrance of precedence and process. Our road to freedom and equality, with the monarchy as a constant presence, leads us back through the troubles and triumphs of the Mother Country.

To understand Canada today, it’s necessary to understand Britain in the past. How the Magna Carta, the Glorious Revolution, the wars civil and foreign, and the thousands of pieces of a changing legislative puzzle led tortuously from absolute monarchy to ceremonial constitutional monarchy.

Our monarchy is Canada’s monarchy. It intrudes not at all on how we live, but it exists, reliably and honourably, exactly where we want and need it. To help us remember. To tie us to, not a slippery and ever-changing present we can never truly grasp, but to the long progressive march of human achievement, freedom and prosperity.

We are impermanent, all of us. Our politics, our politicians and our national moments good and bad are impermanent. But for Canada, the monarchy is a piece of permanence. It grounds us, tempers us, provides context and scope to our memories and our identity – whether our families arrived here centuries ago or only last year. Our Queens and Kings will remain central to who we are as a country.

On Sunday, as always, I’ll raise a glass to America, our best friend, the nutty and delightful colossus to the south, the second best country in the world. Tomorrow, I’ll raise two glasses. One to Canada, the best country in the world. And one to our noble Queen, God save her.

Cam Battley lives quietly in rural Ontario, Canada.

Hell Sells: Naming My Rock Band

Fri, 21 May 2010 13:05:17 -0400

I’ve achieved the age at which a man is required to do something stupid. To proclaim to the world that he’s somewhat addled, you understand. I have the trappings: wife, kids, various useless animals living in my home. Mortgage, incipient gray hairs, increasing community involvement, largely against my will. Now it’s time to do something foolish – something that strongly suggests mid-life crisis.

I considered the red Porsche and the earring, but they’re not for me. Relocating the family to Malawi sounded interesting, but it’s hard to get a decent hockey schedule on TV there. So I’m thinking about starting a rock band.

It’s been just the ticket for aging celebrities such as Stephen King (The Rock-Bottom Remainders), Russell Crowe (30 Odd Foot of Grunts) and Kevin Costner (Kevin Costner & Modern West). So I figure it’s good enough for me.

Now, my skills as a musician are not worth talking about. But I have some friends who play badly on guitar, bass and drums. And I have the loudest, most shocking growl/scream singing voice you’ve ever heard. Think of AC/DC’s Brian Johnson if he’d lived hard. Okay, if he’d lived harder. Alright, fine… if he’d worked his whole life in a uranium mine.

It’s too late for me to write songs about loose women, drinking and drugs. But I think I can craft some darn good lyrics inspired by my life today. And give them a rockin’ edge. I’m working on a track I’ll call “Devil in the Airport Lounge”. Another one is “Blackberry on Fire”. And I’m seriously pumped about “Leading my Scouts to Hell”.

But before I take my band onstage for our first gig at the Indian restaurant and travel agency in town, I need a name. And let me tell you, naming your band is hard stuff. It’s vitally important, and you need to get it right.

I don’t have a cool last name like Van Halen or Santana, and “Cam BATtley and the Guanos” is too much truth in advertising.

So I need to get creative. Here’s the list I jotted down on my soccer coaching clipboard:

-Bad Businessmen: (Upside: who doesn’t want to be bad? Downside: I’m actually good at my business, and don’t want to confuse clients)

-Ded Dads: (Upside: more alliteration, and I love that. Downside: would upset my kids)

-The Taxpaying Slaves: (Upside: sounds angry. Downside: sounds angry but compliant – rock bands don’t do compliant)

-The Bleeding Maples: (Upside: patriotically Canadian. Downside: would turn people off their waffles)

-The Mom****ers: (Upside: true and dirty. Downside: would give people a bad visual)

I’ve considered all of these and more, but I have to confess, I’m leaning toward another concept. It captures the insanity and the inanity, and it uses profanity.

I want to call my band Mid-Life Cluster***.

Soon to be attracting few fans, many noise complaints and not inconsiderable pity at truck stops and bake sales near me.

Cam Battley lives quietly in rural Ontario, Canada.

Diplomatically Dumb: Clinton’s Falklands Foul-Up

Mon, 8 Mar 2010 18:03:05 -0500

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=124221329

One of the first rules of diplomacy is if you don’t have a dog in that fight… don’t put your dog in that fight. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton broke that rule by stepping messily into the UK-Argentina row over the Falkland Islands.

Defeated decisively in a 74-day war in 1982, Argentina has never relinquished its claim to the South Atlantic islands, but the issue has been very much on the back burner until recently. Now, the Falklands are back in the news for a familiar reason: oil. The seabed around the islands may have it, a British company is now drilling to find it, and Argentina wants it.

The government of President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, beset by a weak economy, high unemployment and debt levels, plus rising inflation, has been rallying international support for her country’s renewed claims on the territory Argentina calls Las Malvinas. In February, a gathering of 32 Latin American and Caribbean countries endorsed Argentina’s position.

But Britain, as close an ally as America has ever had, is very clear about the Falklands. Britons fought and died to keep them in the realm. They are British sovereign territory and have been since 1833. Period.

That’s what makes Mrs. Clinton’s intervention in the South Atlantic fracas so difficult to understand. On a good will tour of South America, she made a last minute change to her itinerary to land in Buenos Aires on March 1^st, and meet with President Fernandez de Kirchner. After the meeting, she was quoted as follows:

“We would like to see Argentina and the UK sit down and resolve the issues between them in a peaceful and productive way. We want very much to encourage both countries to sit down. We cannot make either one do so. We think it is the right way to proceed, so we will be saying this publicly.” Mrs. Clinton also appeared to offer US mediation, telling reporters, "What we want to do is facilitate them talking to each other.".

The official reaction from Britain was stiffly polite: “We don’t think that’s necessary,” said Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s spokesman. Foreign Secretary David Miliband added, “The government has made it clear it has no doubt about the UK's sovereignty of the Falkland Islands. There can be no negotiations on the sovereignty of the Falkland Islands unless and until such time as the Falkland Islanders so wish it and they have made clear they have no such wish.”

One can’t help but wonder if Mrs. Clinton considered the Islanders themselves, before wading into the issue. There are more than 3,000 of them. They are British citizens of a self-governing overseas territory and they have precisely zero wish to trade that status for Argentine passports.

Understandably, countries get rather testy where territorial sovereignty is involved. So why did Mrs. Clinton put America’s dog in that fight? Why would she urge negotiations on an issue America’s staunch ally considers strictly black and white, thereby putting at risk the vaunted “special relationship” between the US and UK?

The Clinton intervention is being read in both London and Buenos Aires as signaling some kind of foreign policy shift, though no one seems able to explain exactly what such a shift would mean or what might have inspired it. Nevertheless, the news headlines are of a “diplomatic coup” for Argentina, and everything from a “snub” to a “betrayal” towards Britain.

Around the world, the United States has a long list of challenges with which to grapple, from Afghanistan, to Iran, China’s muscle-flexing, and a host of economic and trade issues. Whether the Secretary of State’s comments were deliberate or the diplomatic equivalent of a slip of the tongue, they were perplexing and worrisome. America needs very much to be able to rely on its friends these days. It’s a bad idea to go out of your way to poke a stick in the eye of one of your oldest and best friends.

Cam Battley lives quietly in rural Ontario, Canada.

The Pleasures of Burning My Forest

Thu, 4 Mar 2010 16:03:09 -0500

I have a happy relationship with fire. Fire has always been good and well-behaved with me. Never has it gotten out of control and done bad things to me or those close to me. Instead, it has always been a companion and a helper. Fire is my friend.

Fire has been nearby during life’s happiest moments. When I was small, the sound of a wooden match struck meant my Dad was kneeling before the fireplace, setting the stage for a holiday celebration, or just a close, quiet family evening. As a teenager at summer camp, I learned that bonfires are a leading cause of group singing. And on beaches around the world, a driftwood fire will spark and enflame romance, offering a light from which couples will withdraw quietly as their own heat becomes stoked.

There are many fine things about living in the country. Nature is fact, not theory. The weather is always the news. The elements hold sway as they never can in the city. Life will move a little slower in the rural, if you give it half a chance. Better still, in the country it’s easier to remember that we didn’t invent the world in the last century, or the last five minutes. It’s old out here.

An abiding joy of country life is the ability to burn my own forest, one small piece at a time. Our parcel of land is handsomely treed. A few acres of maple and ash, poplar and oak and beech. And the forest feeds my friendship with fire. The forest provides, and I accept its offerings with gratitude.

Every year brings some big storms. Every year brings new fuel. Sometimes we can hear the shock and crash as a big tree comes down. These days, I’m feeding the fire with the bounty of an 80-foot hickory that blocked the end of our driveway during a tempest last summer. In the most literal and oldest sense, it was a “windfall” profit. We hired some help to saw it up. Our family invested sweat and slivered hands to stack it in the woodshed.

Now each night I’m privileged with crisp air, warm muscles in back and shoulders, and the excellent, satisfying thwack of my axe through hard wood. Later, the kindling will crackle and pop before the bigger pieces join the blaze. Always, people will gather. Sometimes it’s my family, with small children admonished to keep a smart distance. Sometimes it’s friends, whom the fire makes relaxed and loquacious. And sometimes it’s my wife and I, colouring our private moments with the glow.

The Latin for “hearth” is focus. How perfect. The fireplace or fire pit has always been the central point of a home or a gathering or a tribe. The fire brings people together, draws us to its light and heat. It speaks to us in reassuring sounds and talks of safety and sufficiency. And rightness.

It feels very right to burn my forest as it offers itself to me. Each night, a small pyre transforms the fallen, and sends it to the heavens with my respects and thanks.

Cam Battley lives quietly in rural Ontario, Canada.

The Truth Revealed: Canadians Are Nazis!

Mon, 1 Mar 2010 05:03:13 -0500

http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2010/feb/28/canada-usa-ice-hockey-gold-olympics

It took the investigative skills of intrepid Fort Worth Star-Telegram sports columnist Gil LeBreton to uncover the ugly truth. Like Edward R. Murrow in pre-World War II Vienna and London, Mr. LeBreton put his personal safety at risk to file a brave report from the turbulent city of Vancouver: “In these Olympics, Canadians only paid attention to Canada”.

Sure, Canadians seem multicultural, friendly and good-natured on the surface. But that’s just what they want you to think. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find that they’re plotting to crush the world under their jackboots. Or snowshoes. Whatever.

Here’s how Mr. LeBreton broke the startling news.

Dateline: Vancouver, British Columbia

Lead: After a spirited torch relay ignited pride in every corner of the country, the Olympic Games began and quickly galvanized the nation. Flags were everywhere. The country's national symbol hung from windows and was worn on nearly everyone's clothing. Fervent crowds cheered every victory by the host nation.

But enough about the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

So true. The parallels between Berlin 1936 and Vancouver 2010 are clear, if you just pay attention.

Not everyone has the perspicacity to discern the neo-Nazi threat north of America’s borders. Fortunately, Mr. LeBreton does. Because he’s more observant than most. He makes the cognitive connections others miss.

For 17 days we were barraged with Canadian flags, rode buses and trains with people in sweatshirts and jerseys adorned with Canadian maple leafs, and were serenaded at venues by Canadian spectators, lustily cheering for Canadian athletes.

My God. It’s spine-chilling.

The rest of the world was lulled into complacency and Olympic fever. But the Star-Telegram’s crack reporter wasn’t fooled by the crafty Canucks. Their display of patriotism reminded him of something. Something terrifying.

I didn't attend the '36 Olympics, but I've seen the pictures. Swastikas everywhere.

You see? Maple leaf flag = swastika. Damn you, Canada.

Now, I don't want to say that Gil LeBreton is the finest newspaperman of our age. That would be premature. But once Canada’s true face has been fully revealed - surely including plans to invade its neighbours, build terror weapons and implement an horrific program to eliminate an entire people from the planet – I have no doubt that the gentleman will receive the Pulitzer Prize he so richly deserves.

Those Canadians, with their flags, their beer, their lusty cheering and their record number of gold medals by any country in any winter Olympics… they make me sick. Given Mr. LeBreton’s Canada-Nazi revelations, it’s a wonder Canada's closing ceremony flag bearer, figure skater Joannie Rochette, didn’t goosestep into the arena.

Wake up, America. Wake up to the real threat. Gil LeBreton saw through the façade.

Nice party. But so 1936.

Don’t be fooled by their maple syrup-sweet smiles. It’s time to mobilize against the Molson drinking hordes. Today they have their arm around America’s shoulders. But tomorrow, they’ll have their boot on America’s throat.

Nazis. I hate those guys.

Cam Battley lives quietly in rural Ontario, Canada.