sometimes you just gotta' row

holy weiner

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It begins at the instant a child learns the power of no. In the absence of moderation, a no becomes NO! and otherwise capable parents are reduced to spineless egg-walkers for the remaining duration of the childhood, living in constant terror of the supermarket showdown. Child hood. There is a reciprocal to this dynamic in that the child quickly figures out that the same parent is unable to say no themselves and so the child becomes super-empowered; one who can say no but won’t accept it as an answer.

The compromise to please just to avoid unpleasantness, breeds contempt and pseudo-righteousness. The kid says I don’t like you because you’ve allowed me to become this way and, though I know it isn’t right, you’ve shown me that it’s the way I’m acceptable.

Yes, it does sound like Canadian politics.

To compromise principles is to fuel corruption of spirit and the results become evident, clean through to the bone.

When there is a shortage of sales-worthy news, many publications and media outlets turn to Quebec for a quick filler. One of the consequences of sliding into the mire the way this province has, is that its optics are the societal equivalent of a highway accident – seen a million of ’em, don’t want to but, when one comes into view, you’ve got to look.

Sure, political ties to organized crime, corruption in the construction industry and, the mass exodus of companies and their tax-paying employees are low-hanging lemons and easy pickings with which to stun Canadian readers. Like cooking a frog by gradually turning up the heat until it boils, Canadians become accustomed to these kinds of revelations and, not wanting to rock the boiling pot, choose to accept the news as just another characteristic of La Belle Province. When this kind of stuff occurs in other provinces however, there is outrage and uproar. It’s okay if it’s in Quebec because they want it that way or because it’s just too complicated, etc.

The place I call home is a Quebec village nestled in a valley formed by the ancient Laurentian mountains. I walked past the town’s “main” church last night to find it pimped out like a Paris Hilton boudoir outlet-store, without the taste. Walmart-tacky lighting in the bell tower cast a series of rotating pastel hues while the once-noble pair of trees that shoulder the entrance were strewn with a series of flashing strobe lights. Yes, like a cheap stage setting for a Kiss concert.

Winter and summer images of this church have appeared on post cards, depicting the sweet serenity of a quintessential Quebec village. The pictures are from a time when honest discussion, constructive debate and heartfelt empathy was still available about the notion of preserving French heritage. Today, not so much.


Written by glh

January 4, 2011 at 19:17

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