Poverty and Religious Fanaticism

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

We tend to think of Denmark as a peaceful, democratic, progressive, prosperous, good place to live. For the past week, however, there have been riots, vandalism, fires set to cars and buildings in Copenhagen and across Denmark, following the re-publication of the infamous Mohammad cartoon. Then when the cartoonist's life was threatened, more than a dozen newspapers printed the cartoon in a gesture of solidarity, only to worsen the situation. Whether it was wise or provocative to print the cartoon is debatable and perhaps beside the point.

Mass migrations have occurred throughout history, voluntary or not. Today the movement is south to north on both sides of the Atlantic. While neither strictly voluntary nor forced, economic conditions are a powerful incentive. Such is the case with the Danish immigrants, a great many of whom are Muslim. Feeling poverty and perhaps discrimination, the cartoon lit the fuse and the anger was fueled by religious zealots.

Religion again. As a small child I believed that non-Catholics could not enter heaven. I hadn't figured this out on my own; I was taught. Non-baptized infants could not enter heaven; they went to Limbo. (Catholic theology seems to offer no hope for these innocents, although Limbo is relatively benign.) I worried about passing a Protestant church at night; I would cross the street or take an alternate route. You mustn't trust Jews because they killed Jesus, one of history's more notorious lies which was fostered by the Roman Church for centuries. Early saints said they should be killed, but Augustine was more tolerant: they should live, but with "bent backs", so they could testify to their guilt. In light of this, you can just imagine what some young Muslim children are taught.

Something is rotten in the state of the world.

The Decline of Sport

As a boy I lived and died with the Montreal Canadiens and the Brooklyn Dodgers. As a young man I saw the great Maurice Richard, the Rocket, play in the forum. He was spectacular. I never got to Ebbets Field, home of the Dodgers, one of the disappointments of my life, although I did see the Dodgers play in Yankee Stadium in the '53 World Series. Carl Furillo, the Dodger's great right fielder, hit a home run which landed just feet in front of me. I would have treasured that ball. With the exception of Preacher Roe, Furillo was my favourite player.

Today another Rocket, Roger Clemens, is in the news. He stands accused of using human growth hormone and other performance enhancing drugs. This he vehemently denies, under oath. His accuser, also under oath, swears he injected Roger with HGH a number of times. Just who is lying is not the point here, as far as I'm concerned. The fact is that the sport is infected. So many players have been implicated. Some have openly admitted it. The home run feats of Mark McGwyer and Barrie Bonds are highly suspect. They won't allow Pete Rose, the all-time hits leader into the Hall of Fame due to gambling, but he looks like an angel alongside these guys.

Think of the Tour de France. Think of the Olympics. And think of this: how does a "clean" player feel when he's competing for a record, or even for his job, his place on the team, against the cheaters. Is he not tempted to "enhance" his own performance? He has to make a living, after all.
I'm not a hockey fan anymore; I can't recall who won the Stanley Cup last year. The great Montreal teams of the 60's and 70's are only a fond memory. I still love baseball, however, and I follow the Blue Jays faithfully, even though I'm more cynical now. Players come, players go, this year's team doesn't quite look like last year's team. How many of these guys are cheating? In the days of my beloved Dodgers, the same team was fielded every year. Well, almost, there were some trades, but the teams remained recognizable. Because of a legal anomaly known as the reserve clause, players could not come and go at will, consequently they didn't receive much more compensation than sports writers. After his playing days, Furillo was a construction worker with a lunch box. My favourite sports these days are tennis and curling, both of which I play and, of course, baseball. But I'm getting away from the subject, aren't I?

I sure hope Rocket Roger is vindicated. What a shame it would be for one of the greatest pitchers of all time to have a shadow cast over his record. But, like many falsely accused people who have been cleared, suspicion and doubt will remain.

Nothing is sacred anymore.

Lyin' Brian

An investigation carried out recently by the CBC and the Globe & Mail has failed to find any corroboration for statements made by Brian Mulroney when he testified before the House of Commons Ethics Committee in December.

He claimed that, in return for the $300,000 (or $240,000 or whatever) given him by Karlheinz Schreiber, he had lobbied Russia, France and China, on behalf of Thyssen, to buy armoured vehicles to be manufactured by Thyssen at a proposed plant in Nova Scotia. Officials at Thyssen have denied that Mulroney had any connection with them. "It's absolute nonsense", a spokeswoman said. And who would believe that France would consider buying German vehicles when they are a major exporter themselves? "As for selling vehicles to the Russians - forget it", said Christopher Foss of Jane's Defense Weekly, who knows about such things. Mulroney claimed to have lobbied Chinese officals on a trip in 1993 but our ambassador Fred Bild, who was with him the whole time, claims Brian never mentioned it. "I just find it very strange." he said. It should be remembered that Mulroney's own government had placed a ban on selling military equipment to China.

I never liked Mulroney. He is so unctuous, so oily. After he left office in '93 in relative disgrace or at least vast unpopularity, I found it incredible that he would continue to go around the country, all puffed up, apparently believing he was still everyone's darling, or should be. He would have done himself more good had he had the grace to just shut up and stay below the radar for awhile. But grace has never been his forte.

At the Ethics Committee meeting, to say that he put his foot in his mouth would be an understatement. Tommy Douglas once said of Judy LaMarsh that she only opened her mouth to change feet. (Aw shucks, Tommy, I liked Judy!) With Brian, it was more like both feet to the knees. He destroyed whatever reputation he had left. And he pontificated, which made it worse.

Remember the dump Joe Clark movement? The ever-affable Herr Schreiber was the conduit for the money from European Conservatives which was used to unseat poor old Joe, whom I always thought was an ok kind of guy. Large sums were spent on delegates to the convention and they even transported some questionable delegates from Quebec. This sort of foreign interference in our politics stinks to high heaven, and those who promote it are close to being treasonous. How can Mulroney hold his head high?

It should not be forgotten that Brian testified under oath, in 2004, that he never had dealings with Schreiber, except to have coffee. Is Schreiber the type of guy to waste his time on merely coffee? With the info we have now, is that not perjury?

He, like many other politicians, blames "the media" for tarnishing his reputation. His particular bête noire is Stevie Cameron. I read her book On the Take some years back. It painted a picture of the stereotypical nouveaux riches in all their crassness. Two pictures stay in my memory. The first is, of course, the hundred pairs of Gucci shoes. Queried about the veracity of this, she replied that it was closer to two hundred, but one hundred was enough to make the point. Canada's own Imelda Marcos. The second picture that stays in my mind is wife Mila going on "power shopping" trips with friends to Montreal and Manhattan in government limousines.

It so happens that I can use shoes to illustrate the difference between the nouveaux riches and "old money". In the early '50s, Adlai Stevenson was twice a candidate for U.S. President. He was from a wealthy family. As he sat on a platform with his legs crossed, a photographer took a shot from below revealing a large hole in his shoe sole. The photo became famous. He may have worn those old shoes because they were comfortable. Old money sees no need for tawdry display.

Often mentioned in the press and elsewhere was Mulroney's imperial life style. Whereas Mike Pearson could be seen walking the streets of Ottawa, Brian rode in large bullet-proof Cadillacs. Consequently, when Jean Chrétien took office, he pointedly let us know he was riding in a plain Chevrolet, underlining the contrast. (That little Chevy eventually morphed into an impressive Caddy, but that's another story.)

My dislike of Mulroney doesn't necessarily mean I disliked his legislation. The Free Trade Agreement may or may not have been good for Canada - there are too many factors to consider. Our manufacturing base has been in decline, but so has that of the U.S., due to emerging markets and low wages in Asia & elsewhere. The deal, however, gives the U.S. a powerful hand in our economy and our policies, which is worrisome. He was such a U.S. toady. When he stood on a Quebec stage with Ronald Reagan and sang When Irish Eyes are Smiling, I not only wanted to retch, I was embarrassed for my country.

The man was elected twice with large majorities. Maybe the electorate imagined, naively, that free trade would wipe out import duties so that we could buy cars and other goods at U.S. prices. Maybe it was time for a change - "time for a change" has always been a powerful phrase. Maybe Mulroney was a more attractive candidate than John Turner despite Turner's endearing and affectionate patting of women's bums. Who knows? As for the second election victory, I'm at a loss to explain. Let it be.

When he finally crashed, he really crashed and took the Progressive Conservative Party with him. It never recovered and was eventually taken over by the old Reform Party loonies and the neocons who couldn't wait to get rid of that hated word Progressive. And here we are with his legacy.

Big Dipper

To follow on comments about constellations made in my previous posting, I've looked up the distances from earth of five stars in Ursa Major (Large Bear) or Big Dipper. They are:

Alkaid - 210 light years
Mizar - 59 ly
Alioth - 490 ly
Merak - 78 ly
Dubhe - 105 ly

So obviously, viewed from a different angle, millions of miles away, Big Bear would be no more. Poor guy.

Paul Simon

I don't listen to music the way I used to and I'm far from being up to date on the latest rankings on the pop charts. I plunk an album into my car stereo and it plays over and over, maybe twenty times, before I get tired of it and insert another or choose a classical music station. What else can you do in a car? (In motion, that is.)

The album currently playing is Paul Simon's Graceland. The lyrics are something else. "These are the days of miracle and wonder", from the first selection The Boy in the Bubble. "The bomb in the baby carriage was wired to the radio." And I love this one: "a distant constellation that's dying in a corner of the sky." Think of it. The sky doesn't have corners. Individual stars die, but constellations don't. The point could be made that constellations don't even exist, but are a construct of our imagination. It's all in our perspective - if we were a billion miles to the left or right, the alignment of those stars would differ because the stars are not equidistant. But the phrase is beautiful, it's evocative. It's poetry. "lasers in the jungle . . . . staccato signals of constant information . . . . . the baby with the baboon heart . . . . . the dead sand falling on the children . . . . . a loose affiliation of millionaires and billionaires And just who is this boy in the bubble? What bubble? Paul doesn't say.

And this, from Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes: "She makes the sign of a teaspoon, he makes the sign of a wave." Hello? But it's ok, a great song. From You can call me Al: "Cattle in the market place, scatterlings and orphanages . . . . . He sees angels in the architecture spinning in infinity". Wow!

From the last selection, All around the world or the myth of fingerprints, we have "Over the mountain down in the valley lives a former talk show host, everybody knows his name." Well, I don't know his name - I feel left out. "Out in the Indian Ocean somewhere, there's a former army post, abandoned now just like the war, and there's no doubt about it, it was the myth of fingerprints, that's what that old army post was for". The myth of fingerprints??? Can someone help me here? And help I need with the following: "the sun gets bloody and the sun goes down, ever since the watermelon . . . . " Watermelon?

If this is poetry, then nobody ever said it has to make sense. But it does, in a sort of indefinable way.