Global Unrest at the Coffee Shop

 

As I sit here in the brave solitude of this haven I call my family office, I am thankful for three things: I don't live in Yemen, I don't live in Tunisia, and I don't live in Egypt. Granted, I wouldn't make it very far for very long in any one of those Middle East countries for any number of other reasons—faith and food, being two of them. Recent public outrage in those lands would be another; it has made me very happy to live here in southern Alberta.

If I needed a violence fix like that, I can always go to a PTA meeting.

There's just something about rampaging crowds vandalizing, firebombing, and desecrating that makes me feel just a little, well, uncomfortable. While I understand that Canadians are safe, for the time being, people in a mob mentality can do really insane things. And I'd be really uncomfortable if my name was Mubarak. Or Al Kuyda, for that matter.

And just in case you think it's only those hotheaded Arabs that are destroying their country's treasured sites and downtown cores, somewhere in the back of my mind I remember the people of Greece and Portugal and France having their collective temper tantrums last year, railing against the government—and expressing their anger by trashing and looting stores.

Strange, isn't it: They're attacking the government by attacking ordinary people like themselves.

And then there are the countries like the Ukraine and Taiwan, as disparate (not "desperate," Maurice, but it could fit) from each other as possible. We're talking fistfights, kicks to the head, and any item not chained to the floor being thrown at the enemy. Hockey game? Marriage counselling session? Church board meeting? None of the above. It was just another crazy day in those respective (not to be confused with "respectable") country's parliament.

I am trying to present the above in a witty way, but seriously, humans, it worries me.

It worries me, because these are recorded examples of what a general unrest that is pervading our world; only the Lord knows what details are being left out. It worries me that every continent seems to be convulsing, not just Asia or Europe, or some other land mass far removed from our sense of civil reality.

Peaceful protests, yes; mass demonstrations, okay, so long as it doesn't get out of hand. But vandalism, destruction, and violence is too much. I may very likely agree that some of these reactions are warranted, just not how they're carried out. Dictators for life, for example, would be more than I could endure. Can you imagine, for instance, thirty years of the NDP? Rigged elections, so the Liberal party got in, election after election? Man, I too would feel like kicking the nearest sphinx myself.

There are two faults in these worldwide outbursts, and neither one of them can be solved by a quippy column like this. One, no one party, let alone one person, should rule any country for decade after decade, especially when it is not in the best interests of the populace. Yugoslavia is a prime example of this: After its breakup, all you-know-what broke loose, with civil war as one of its bloody results. And many of those Balkan states are still seriously dysfunctional.

Two, no populace should ever think of the government as the answer to all their problems. It has assumed God-like qualities that do not belong to them. Government has its basic and streamlined responsibility, but in most Western countries it has far exceeded that role.

And this is where the global unrest lurches a little closer to home. In our fair democracy, we too often allow the government to meddle in too many of our daily affairs. We think we are so independent, yet we lean on the government for pensions, job creation, health, education, land claims and a host of other sectors that should be in the hands of the ordinary people.

At least we have a say in our own small way, so if we don't like a party or a politician, we can go to the polls and place our "x" in the right box. Also, recent resignations (hello, Mr. Campbell and Mr. Stelmach-- British Columbia and Alberta premiers, respectively) show that government leaders can step away without its citizens torching the town.

No, I'll pass on a trip to Yemen. I could get arrested or shot—or both. I think I'll make my personal demonstration by way of whining at the local coffee shop. The worst thing that could happen to me is I could burn my tongue.

A Hatchet Job

 

I was shocked some time ago when I read of a homeowner who had been been charged for clobbering a home invader with the "blunt end of a hatchet." Two charges actually: "assault with a weapon" and "assault causing bodily harm." Give me grace, I thought to myself, they give the benefit of the doubt to the crook but the shaft to the homeowner. Wanting to confirm the story's validity, I searched the web to see which state produced such a strange course of events.

To my horror, I discovered it was the "state" of Alberta—Taber, Alberta, no less.

Now I will be the first to admit that I may have missed some of the details, but I don't think I missed the main ones. They go something like this: Late last May, Mr. X (also known as Joe Singleton) had his home broken into by Mr. A and Mr. B. In the process of defending his family, Mr. X clubs one of the invaders. Or something close to that.

To be sure, there are a lot of things we haven't been told, or at least I haven't heard. Maybe there was a drug score to settle. Maybe there was a spat between their respective kids at school that day. Maybe Mr. X was simply trying to "scare" the burglars. Maybe..., well, you get the picture.

I must quickly add that there's bound to be more details. I have the utmost confidence in the RCMP, and I can't see them taking this to court and wasting their time, money, and reputation over this. Or Mr. Singleton's, either, for that matter. I will be interested to read all the facts someday, and see that there was in fact much more to the case than they're telling us. There must be.

On the surface, though, it appears literally that the villain here has more rights than the victim. If there was unnecessary and excessive force used, the police might have a case for some minor infraction. Cops themselves can be guilty of excessive force; they get carried away in the heat of the arrest, when the emotions are high, and the result is that there's an extra kick here and a extra punch there.

That explains it, but it doesn't condone it.

Meanwhile, back to the Joe Singleton case in Taber. The question begs: What would I do? or What would you do? I am neither a violent man nor a tough man, by any stretch; but if any member of my family was being violated, I would have to step in and do the right thing. The "right thing," in the context of a home invasion, would be to defend house and home at any cost. Many heroes have done so at the cost of their personal life.

The blindfolded lady, symbolizing that justice is blind (or better stated, possesses no early bias), is apropos here. "Innocent until proven guilty," a major plank in the judicial platform, is likewise appropriate here. But ironically, Singleton appears to be guilty until proven innocent already. That's why I am confused, and I am not the only one. Time and distance preclude me from dropping in on the courthouse to hear how this case unfolds.

If I didn't know better, I would see this case as material for a John Grisham novel. In fact, his only non-fiction piece of work, "The Innocent Man," deals with a young man man who is wrongly accused of rape and murder. While those charges are far, far more severe than Singleton's, the comparison is not lost. Both were charged quickly with crimes that, in the former case, were never committed, or in the latter case, amount to an over-reaction.

I don't know Mr. Singleton or his family. But what I do know, I like. After all, any man who will stand up for his family is a hero. It may end up being a hatchet job in more ways than one.

Here's Come the Groom

 

With the insanely crazy weather of a week or so ago, it seems fitting to have a snow job of a different sort coming at us from our cousins just to the east. In case you have missed the news, a particular marriage commissioner is Saskatchewan—a "devout" Baptist, no less—has been making headlines for living up to his moral principles.

Seems Mr. Orville Nichol is having some reservations about performing the wedding ceremony of homosexuals, and is now being called on the carpet for his personal standards.

By mistake, I clicked on the wrong link as I attempted to chase down this story, and discovered that Nichol is only one of many commishes who are reacting to their freedom of choice being crammed down his throat. In fact, as I scrolled down the legal report, I failed to find his name even listed. It strikes me as strange that he appears to be singled out for speaking out.

People, I find this story quite alarming, for a number of reasons.

One, since when is it questionable to say "no" to something you have some scruples over? Refusing service at a restaurant because of colour—I agree that that is wrong. Not lending a helping hand because of religious differences—smacks of bigotry. But the man has issues with two men or two women getting married, and simply requests the option of not being forced to marry them. He has his reasons, and although I didn't actually read them, I have a sneaking hunch I know what they are. There are plenty of others who can and will. So what's the hang-up?

Two, since when is it questionable to speak out against moral issues? I struggle, for the same reason, with the restriction placed on pro-lifers, who simply want to publicly declare their case against the murder of innocent babies. Likewise, there remains a stigma with those who choose to educate their children at home. In both cases, there is a severe double standard, an uneven playing field. What's next, Is the court going to tell him who to vote for?

Three, since when is is questionable to resist someone else's morality? I have had my share of disagreements through this column over these past four-plus years. That's alright with me: we are allowed to disagree with other's opinions and values. In this case, however, I didn't read anywhere where Mr. Nichol was guilty of any trash talking or hate crime. He's not even moralizing. He has simply drawn a line in the sand, saying, in so many words, that he will go so far in his line of duty, but not further.

Agree or disagree with his position, I understand that he is saying he wants the option to not do something that is, ironically enough, optional. Would there be the same hullabaloo if he turned them down because it was the wrong timing, the wrong day, the wrong church?(I thought you'd say "no.")

Four, since when is it questionable to be "devout" Baptist? Why the emphasize on what he is apparently devoted to? I didn't read of the devout justice system that over-ruled the government, or the devout homosexuals who claimed a measure of victory. Is there a little media bias here? I attended at Baptist church for years—regularly, willingly, and actively--though I am not sure I qualified as being devout, and if I was, is that wrong?

I really believe in education, including home education, but does that mean I am a devout educator—whatever that implies? I love a good cup of coffee three or four times a day: Does mean I am a devout coffee drinker? In either case, what's the point in underscoring it?

Theoretically, we live in a country which allows free speech. To be sure, that liberty can be abused, as we saw at the G20 Summit in Toronto last summer. On the one hand, abusive and denigrating trash talking has no place in a civilized society; but on the other hand, government-imposed restrictions (hello, North Korea and Iran) have no place here either.

For every one Mr. Nicholls, there are ten who are willing to perform the ceremony. The couples in Saskatchewan will be just fine. I'm just thinking: Maybe in this wedding scenario, Mr. Nichol

is actually the best man.

Truck Love

 

I am revelling in the purchase of another truck these days. Fans will recall my saga with a dear deer, and when I got out of my truck, I said, "Oh dear; oh deer." (Well, actually, I said nothing of the sort: It's hard to be witty at 6:30 in the morning.)

Anyways, to make a short story long (I need the copy to fill the space), I finally replaced the silver thing with a black thing. I knew I had made the right choice when Mr. Eighteenyearsold gave his approval--or at least I think "cool" still means good.

I have come to learn that Dodge and Chev are the trucks of choice in the upper regions of the County of Forty Mile. My students will be disappointed when I show up with non-Dodge item, but my neighbours are undoubtedly delighted. You see, farther south and west, Ford appears to reign.

And just to make everyone mad at me, I have no idea why I even buy Fords. Of the last nine purchases over the past ten years, six have been Fords—be it 15-passenger vans, minivans, teensy-weensy, knees-in-your-cheeks Tempos, or now, pick-ups.

Next to my greatest source for life and living (the Bible, Maurice), I confer with Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. My motto: It says it, that settles it. One those brief lines at the bottom of a recent read declared that the F-Series was the number one American-made vehicle...ever. Ever, as in a long time; ever as in the time before before a Flames Stanley Cup championship.

That didn't colour my thinking, but it certainly confirmed it. What colours my thinking is the colour green, as in money, as in whether I have enough, or must go into debt, or put it on my plastic, only to dread the end of the month. If possible, I avoid debt like a poison.

In this case, it was simply take the settlement, and buy within my means. It takes a little more footwork, a little more time, but working within one's financial parameters is actually not a bad thing. It is, in fact, something we have dealt with before in this space. I'm thinking we'd all be better off if we all could at least attempt to live by those principles.

Driving a sleek black F-150 makes me feel like a kid again, say, 26 instead of 56. It makes me feel like popping in my Beach Boys eight-track, putting on my extra cool bellbottoms, and going for a soda at the local K-Mart. I'd like to slick back my hair, but now we're into the realm of fantasy.

Most macho guys need their trucks to move hay or cows, furnishings or toys—and not necessarily in that order, either. The younger one gets, I suppose, the most showy and less practical the truck can be. That places me firmly in the middle: While I am no spring chicken, I am certainly not a fall duck. On the one hand, I like the optics of this new set of wheels, but I don't want to put hay, cows, furnishings or toys in the back (or the front, for that matter). I'd get an old Chev for that privilege.

There are perks with this thing that I don't really need, perks like heated leather seats, six coffee holders, and a matching box top. I don't need them, but they came as part of the deal, and I didn't want to argue with the seller. (Just for the record, in terms of the heated leather seats, I have been on the hot seat many times before, but it's never been this pleasant.)

So if you're cruisin' down main street someday and you see this cool dude in a sleek ebony F-150, it might be Ole' Funstuff himself (that would be me, Maurice). But how do you look hip when you're bald and grey is beyond me...way beyond me.

You'll know for sure it's me when you hear the CD blaring: "She's real fine, my 5-point-4."