Can we all just talk for a second about the whole the Canada Post strike is ruining Christmas thing?
Image source: Social Media
Over the last few weeks, my social media has been filled with posts about how terrible Canada Post is for striking at this time (see above). Sure they have recently been legislated back to work, things will be a bit out of sorts for a while (Although, how backed up is it really, given that it was a rolling strike and mail was still be processed as usual - it’s the time of year for parcels and such to be delayed!). But despite all of this, allow me let you in on a little secret...it’s strategic! They recognize the fighting power they gain from pissing off the whole country in the days and weeks leading up to one of the most hypocritical holidays ever - Christmas.
Before I make my point, why not back it up for a second and look at the two major issues that have led to the latest edition of the Canadian Postal Workers Strike. They are:
A) Pay Equity. Did you know that postal workers are paid in two different ways depending on where they service? For example, urban mail carriers (the majority of whom are male) get paid by the hour. Female carriers sorry, rural carriers (who happen to be majority female) are paid by the size of their service area (a.k.a a lump sum).
B) Workplace safety. I know we all know the stereotype of postmen impregnating the ladies on their route being attacked or chased away by dogs (and let’s face it - there’s probably quite a bit of that!). But lets also consider road conditions - both weather wise and infrastructurally - physical demands, and weather more generally (think the extremes already faced this year - crazy cold with mega snow/ice, torrential downpour leading to flash floods, or heatwaves that lasted for weeks without any relief), among others. Injuries are bound to occur on the job. And, in fact they do... so much so that there’s actually been a rise of 43% over the past 2 years, based on an internal review.
Look, I’m not super in favour of this strike business. It seems like every year they are on strike. But I am, however, a fan of being treated fairly and understanding the desire to work in a safe environment (and lord knows how many times I’ve ranted - fiercely - about the increasingly terrible driver attention over the past year or so!). But both of these reasons seem fairly rational and fair. I want to be paid for the work I’m doing and not feel unsafe while I do it.
Where the strike loses me is when I think about the dying industry that is physical mail. I’m not really sure why the postal service needs to be run in the manner it currently is. Why do residential addresses require daily mail delivery? Wouldn’t it make more sense to reduce the number of delivery days given that so much of what is mailed is junk, since bills and general correspondence are mostly done via the web?
But that’s not really even the problem here. The problem is that no one seems to care about the reasons for the strike (in fact try to find the reasons - it’s not easy!), but rather their precious Christmas gifts. And it’s disheartening that so many people can’t even reconcile why that is the problem at hand.
Remember when Christmas was about a baby being born miraculously in some random barn? Do you remember when it was about sharing a good meal with your family? Do you remember when it was about anything OTHER than how many gifts you’ll get, who you need to buy for, or how much debt you’ve incurred in the process?
Does no one else think it’s sad that material goods seem to matter more than the quality of a persons work environment, or how they are being paid? I, for one, have struggled with the whole Christmas thing for many years. In fact, the two best Christmases I’ve had in my adult life were spent in Uganda. There was no focus on presents. It was about spending quality time with friends and family. My first Christmas in Uganda was spent exploring the beauty of my othercountry with two friends, while the next was spent with my good friend’s family. And both were meaningful and impactful, and neither had to do with physical, material goods. They were about experiences.
I have a rule when it comes to Christmas. Okay, two. First - I don’t acknowledge it until December 23rd. Second - I don’t do gifts. Instead, if I see something I think someone would like/need/benefit from, I buy it and give it to them at that time. Or, I offer to do things (share experiences), such as cook the family dinner, go on a drive, or just simply have a visit that involves one-on-one conversation instead of selfies, social media, or the constant need to be checking a phone.
I’m really tired of being angry about the way the world works. I am, however, thankful to be in my own home with my pup, and with a job that allows me to life comfortably and travel. But sometimes I think it would be nice to be a hermit.
Some of you might remember my we need a breakletter to Canada a few years ago. Some of you might have even agreed with how I was feeling, and some of you definitely did not. And since then, many (MANY!) things have changed. Some good, some not.
Let’s start with the good...
I had a joyous reunion with my brother the weekend before last. We seem to have an unspoken deal that we can only see each other on nights that involve the risk of flash flooding. The last time we had one of these catchups, it involved what was quite possibly the worst movie I’ve ever been subjected to since Titanic. That was months ago, and I still haven’t figured out what happened.
This time, however, we went to see Bohemian Rhapsody.
Being lifelong Queen fans because of The Mujjie, it felt like a natural time to share some space and avoid talking about heavy topics, such as how much The Mujjie would have loved it or how much she loved them, or the fact that it’s been five and a half years, but it seems like everyone has since forgotten her. Instead, I sobbed like a baby the entire drive home, like the mature adult that I am.
If you have never heard of this band or been blessed to hear the vocal chords of a one Freddie Mercury a) where have you been, b) I’m sorry you’re life has had no meaning up to this point and c) you’re in for a treat that will only leave you feeling sad because you will never get another the first time I heard his voice moment again. There are so many examples of his breathtaking talent, that I can’t choose just one song to share... but I’m going to anyway.
Too Much Love Will Kill You (1992; from the Album released in 1995)
A lesser known tune, but one that is embedded in my brain as part of the soundtrack of my childhood.
I have lived memories of driving across the MacKay Bridge towards Dartmouth and singing this with The Mujjie. This album never seemed to have the popularity it deserved. A sad, but beautiful collection of one of the greatest singer of all time's final thoughts.
But, this post isn’t meant to be a review of the film - I do actually have a point...
Aside from the numerous inaccuracies and wonky timeline, something really amazing happened. Something that shouldn’t have surprised me, but did - no one in the theatre gave a shit that the story was about a gay man. There were several demographics in that nearly-filled theatre, and yet everyone seemed to leave with tears of joy and sadness, filled with nostalgia and longing to hear more of that one-of-a-kind creativity that is Freddie Mercury’s Queen. No homophobic remarks. No wigging out when the characters kissed. Nothing. Just total engagement with the film. I was so excited to think, in 2018, we were focused on the music and not the sexual preference of a band’s lead singer.
And then I read a book on systemic racism in Canada.
Earlier in the year, I read a book, written by first-time writer, Angie Thomas - The Hate U Give. It’s a young adult book, but it touches on the police violence against African Americans, that we assume doesn’t happen in Canada. A month ago, they released it as a film, and this past weekend, I faced one of my biggest fears and went to see it by myself. Don’t ask me how I can travel the world and move to a completely different continent on my own without batting an eye, but entering a movie theatre solo sent me into panic mode for the 24 hours leading up to showtime!
Seeing this film, matched with finishing a book by Canadian writer Robyn Maynard, entitled Policing Black Lives left me feeling enraged, sad, and hopeless.
This well-written book talks about racism in Canada from slavery to present day. It outlines police brutality against Black people and other minorities (IN CANADA!), the lagging education system, and many other injustices that - somehow - are still present today. For me, this hit home in terms of our immigration system, as it talks quite frankly about how it is still set up to exclude certain parts of the world (namely, the Black ones!) from entering, even though my own experience tells me we, as a country, are losing out on some gifted, hardworking, amazing people who could do incredible things here.
While The Hate U Give might be a bit juvenile for some, it does touch on a growing, but not new problem. It’s a great read, and an important one for younger folks in particular to engage with. The film also does a fairly good job of representing the book, although for time sake, it diverges from the full story. But, it does so in a way that works, and so I walked away from the theatre feeling good overall, and hopefully that it could spark a conversation. Unfortunately, I had hoped it would have created more of an impact, built a bit of controversy, and got media and others talking. I have yet to hear anything, and this makes me sad. And angry.
But, if you want a more adult, it’s time to check your privilege and face reality for a good number of people in THIS country kind of read, then I strongly suggest picking up a copy of Robyn Maynard’s book. I like to think I’m pretty educated and aware of the racial and social injustices within this country, but even I felt like I had much to learn as I turned page after page. This is exactly why it is so important for others to read.
The bottomline for me, though, is that things need to change. I can’t for the life of me understand how we got here and how we continue to remain here. How are we still placing value on skin pigmentation and a person’s place of origin? Whether it’s from a place within Canada or abroad it is mind boggling that we still can’t accept people for things that actually matter - kindness, work ethic, or contribution to community, to name a few. It is amazing that we specifically cater to certain countries instead of others because this country isn’t quite white enough “yet".
There’s a famous saying from the late 1960s, You’ve come along way, baby, that was used to sell cigarettes. It was insinuating that the feminist movement had great made strides - and it had, but there was still a long way to go. To say, in present day, that we’ve made major advances in the racial acceptance category is about as ironic and offensive as that original advertisement is. To suggest that we’ve made a significant difference in the way we treat others that don’t meet the Justin Trudeau-esque quintessential, white Canadian image, not even from a racial perspective - think gender, sexual orientation, religion, level of education or occupation, etc. - is laughable, at best. And it seems, for every step we take forward, we get sucked back a generation or two (Trump-era, anyone?!).
When will we see a day where people are just people? Where our value is evenly assessed? Or where we don’t have to be afraid to “divert” from “the norm”?
Yesterday I received some terrible news - the Isimba Dam Project has finally reached the stage where flooding the reservoir has begun. This may seem inconsequential to you, but for me, and a great many others, this is a day we have all been dreading.
Almost a year and a half ago I wrote an article that was eventually published in IMPOLITIKAL. This was the first time I had openly spoken about the situation just outside of my former home of Jinja, Uganda. I tried to give a good background of the current scenario, while outlining why the construction of a third hydroelectric dam was bad, not only for Uganda and Ugandans, but for the environment, itself. I, along with others, protested this project to both the Ugandan Government and the World Bank.
Eleven years ago, the World Bank (via the IDA) signed an agreement with the Government to help fund the second dam, but on the condition that it left a specific area alone, as it held both cultural and environmental importance. Nine years later, I watched in horror as the signs of construction became more and more apparent in the exact spot that had been designated as culturally and environmentally protected. Building this dam is effectively an illegal act, and yet, today, I sit staring at my laptop, thinking of those incredible rapids along the magnificent River, while trying to imagine how they must look now.
If the thought of wiping out an entire ecosystem isn’t enough to make you feel angered, maybe the human loss will. The move to build the Isimba dam has put the rafting industry - an industry that draws professional and first-time rafters from all over the world - at risk of ceasing all together. With the rafting industry comes several other tour operators from horseback riding to kayaking to bungee jumping and so much more. It also takes with it numerous hotels, restaurants, and driving services. These are good jobs, that many hardworking, passionate Ugandans have made for themselves and provided to others.
And that’s not all - there’s still all who lost their homes in the flood zone that began filling yesterday. That area alone, where 2000 farms once stood, is now underwater. But that’s not 2000 people, that’s 2000 FARMS with an average of 8-10 people per farm plus any community members that may have worked on or with one of those farms... Land gone. Home gone. Livelihood gone. No compensation. No relocation aid. Nothing. And yet, no one would even know this was happening unless you knew someone directly impacted by this unnecessary decision.
When people ask me why I am so strongly against the World Bank, the United Nations, etc., this is why. They listen when it’s convenient, and look the other way when it’s not. And, all too often I have seen the latter far more than I’ve ever seen the former. All too often the work they claim to be doing is hurting more than its helping. And, its always those in the worst predicaments that tend to lose out.
In December of 2015, I went on my first rafting trip ever. I hated almost every minute of it until the end, when I realized just how incredible that experience was. Little did I know how much that trip would impact the next three years of my life. Little did I know that a single trip down the infamous River Nile would result in lasting friendships, that would continuously keep calling me back.
Flippin’ on the final rapid - affectionately known as Nile Special.
Photo credit: Nalubale Rafting
And although we may have lost this battle, what I want to say to everyone who tried to prevent yesterday's outcome is this - you fought a good fight. You were defeated long before the first words against the dam were spoken, written, filmed, photographed, or screamed at the top of your lungs. The odds were always against you, and yet, you never once wavered. You kept fighting. You kept trying to convince the powers that be that they were wrong. You had people on the inside fighting with you, whether you knew it or not. I am angry and sad and I am so, so very sorry. But I am also proud of all you did. I am proud to call many of you my friends. And I am comforted in knowing that there are still people willing to use their voice to stand up for what’s right, for the voiceless, for the future.
As the store shelves begin to fill with Santa paraphernalia and commercial Christmas takes over, I am mourning the end of my favourite Holiday - Halloween.
THE highlight of Halloween 2018 - a note left from one of my colleagues before she left, as I was on a conference call.
But this Halloween was much different from any I had ever experienced before in Canada. And it left me feeling... sad.
The title reflects two ways in which Halloween 2018 was less than what I’d hoped.
For starters, Gertie kept me awake most of the night leading into Halloween, as she had a delightful bout of diarrhea; most likely a result of switching her to “big girl food.” Thankfully she is back to her usual self, but it meant I was exhausted before the day even got started*.
Post-poopy puppy, rocking her Halloween scarf!
But, the really kicker was in the Trick or Treater department. As a child I enjoyed the process of dressing up, and heading out to gather what felt like unlimited pieces of candy (most of which I didn’t eat). By the age of about 11, however, I realized I preferred handing out the candy and seeing what others were dressed up far more, than actually going out myself**. So when I bought my house, one of the things I was most looking forward to, was handing out Halloween treats to the neighbourhood kids.
Let’s step back for a minute - I feel I need to confess that 364 (or 365 during leap year) days of the year, small children, or really children of any kind aside from a few friends’ and cousins’ children, are my least favourite thing. They cry and are loud, and for some unknown reason, they always seem to have jam on their hands! WHERE DO THEY FIND THE JAM?! But on Halloween, I love ‘em! I love to see the creativity that goes into so many costumes. I love that one of the most cherished childhood rituals is still happening, and hasn’t been changed from how I remember it to be... or has it?!
Being in a fairly popular subdivision, I was told to anticipate several hundred children. As a result, I went out and purchased a number of bars to reflect what seemed right in my head based on the pre-Halloween warnings. I left work on time, and had already filled a bowl full of candy the night before so I would be ready in case anyone came really early! I didn’t want to be the house that wasn’t ready for Halloween or didn’t have candy. And yet... somehow... I was that house.
Clearly I went overboard. At least I didn’t have line up at the grocery store the next day to get discounted candy!
Despite having EVERY light on in my house, I only had 2 (that’s right TWO!) trick or treaters. This wouldn’t make me feel as bad, if it weren’t for the 100+ that I counted walking past my house!
To say I was confused would be an understatement. I heard several kids saying that there wasn’t anyone home, despite me being in the living room window (WITH ALL THE LIGHTS ON IN MY HOUSE) pointing to a bowl of candy to show a) I was home and b) I had treats!
But the blow was hearing parents say things like “we don’t know those people” or “we haven’t met them yet.” While I appreciate that not sending your children to a house with strangers is probably a good thing, aren’t you - the parent - with you child? Since when did not knowing someone mean you couldn’t trick or treat at that place? ...especially given the fact that MOST of the trick or treaters that I saw walk by were definitely NOT from my neighbourhood, or even street, given that only a handful of families on the street actually have kids!
Allow me to share the tale of the two kids that DID pop by for a half a bowl of candy each because I was just so excited to finally have someone come by. It was still light out. The two little girls - maybe 5 or 6 - started to make their way towards the house, but their mom said “No - we don’t know them, we aren’t going there.” One of the little girls responded with “But Mom, they’re our neighbour. They might not even know we are their neighbour, because we haven’t met them yet. How will they know, if we don’t introduce ourselves?” At this point, I’m like - go kid! I have SOOOOOO much candy to give you! And the Mom? She responded with “Fine. But I’m not walking up the driveway with you.”
So, let’s break this down for a second. First, my driveway is not that long. Second, how were you hesitant to allow you children to visit a house based on the fact that you didn’t know me, but were super fine with letting them head off on their own once your child just made a sound and reasonable argument to justify them doing so? I could have been anyone, and the door they came to is not visible to the street. I mean, I’m definitely not THAT person, but I can’t comprehend how that made sense in that mother’s head. I get, we are all prone to brain toots - and I have more than my fair share on a daily basis - but I just can’t sort that one out.
Anyway, my coworkers and I are making quite the dent in the leftover/neglected Halloween candy. Next year? Full-sized bars. I have to get strategic for the years to come...
-the Orange Canadian
*It did add a bit of realism to my “Exhausted Working Dog Mom” costume, though. **This may be the result of having a father that used to like to scare kids that came to the door by dressing up as the scarecrow he had on the front entrance weeks before... or the fact that he wasn’t the only person who did this and I dislike nothing more than being scared by what should be lifeless objects.
