Allow me to share a story about my first election. No, it wasn’t when I turned eighteen. It wasn’t for an MLA or an MP. It wasn’t even for Mayor. No, it was much earlier than that, and
arguably more important, at least in the life of a twelve or thirteen year-old.
My Grade 8 teacher decided to teach us how elections
work. It may or may not have had
anything to do with a current event, or curriculum outcomes she was mandated to
teach us. I applaud her for taking the
time to try to teach us perhaps our most prescient civic duty, to participate
in the decision-making process to which we would be subjected only a few years
later. If you know anything at all about
teaching middle school, you know how seriously a typical Grade 8 class would
handle this.
Two candidates submitted their names. One was a buddy of mine, who was admittedly
not as popular for a number of reasons, none of which really matter to the
story. The other was a popular fellow,
but was known to pick on people, like his opponent on this day, for
example. He was funny, but not ‘class
clown’ funny. He often got his laughs at
the expense of others, and often found himself in trouble as a result. The majority of the class admired him, I
suspect mostly because we lived vicariously through him. He could say whatever he liked, we would
laugh, and if it all went south, he faced the consequences, usually emerging
after the fact none the worse. He was
Teflon. We knew we weren’t. His role within the micro-village of our
class was well defined and understood.
My friend stood in front of us and delivered his ‘campaign’
pledge. I can’t remember what he
promised exactly, but it was something admirable, at least from the perspective
of an adult reflecting back. For the
sake of the story, I’ll say he promised to get us more recess break time, less
homework, or something like that. You
get the point.
Next, the other guy stood up with the mischievous yet
goofy grin. Even the teacher was waiting
with bated breath to hear what fountain of wisdom might come pouring
forth. What did come flowing was a
pledge to give everyone who voted for him a piece of Bazooka Joe bubble gum
that he had just bought at the canteen.
Cheers filled the room. The
teacher gently rested her face in her palm.
Actually, I really don’t remember what her reaction was; she might have
cheered for Bazooka Joe too. Remember,
this story happened a long time ago.
When she tallied the votes, there was no doubt who
won. It wasn’t even close. My friend didn’t receive even one vote. It was a Frank McKenna-style clean
sweep. I asked my buddy: “Why didn’t you
even vote for yourself?” His
answer: “Hey, how do I compete with free
gum?”
Of course, this election wasn’t binding in any legal
sense, not even within the confines of our classroom. By the end of the day, the gum was all chewed
out of its flavor, and knowing our class, stuck underneath desks and
chairs. I used to make mini paper
airplanes from the Bazooka Joe comic strips—no doubt I had a field day that
afternoon. We had our fun at my buddy’s
expense, as usual, and life returned to normal.
The Election Day hero continued to torment people for cheap chuckles. Meanwhile, we had learned a valuable lesson. More on what that lesson actually was a
little later.
I have another parable of sorts I’d like to share as
well. If you are unfamiliar with the William
Golding novel Lord of the Flies, and
would like to one day read it unspoiled, maybe you should skip forward. I’ll leave a “*” a little later so you know
when to cut back in.
In this classic of literature, a band of young teen aged boys are stranded on a tropical island, their plane having crashed while they
were being evacuated from England during an unspecified conflagration. The boys have no surviving adults to
supervise them. They learn how to
organize themselves, hunt, find water, make shelter, and develop societal
norms. As the story progresses, the
even-keeled leader who represents reason and maturity begins to struggle with a
rebellious leader who represents action and impulse. That boy becomes a romantic figure for many
of the other boys, and after a series of events, a majority are swayed to
follow him in his increasingly decadent leadership philosophy. Things that would be considered crimes in the
real world begin to happen. All reason
and civility appears to have vanished.
However, throughout the story, when the boys speak
together formally, they agree to speak one at a time, symbolized by a totem
they have adopted the speaker must be holding.
They used a large conch shell. I
once bought a large conch shell from a street vendor in the Bahamas, and more
than once I’ve considered using it as a totem in my classroom. Whoever was holding it had the floor. Enter Piggy, a bespectacled boy who is
clearly socially awkward and a friend to the mature leader. Late in the story, Piggy protests against the
now anarchic establishment while clutching the conch. A melee ensues, the conch gets destroyed, and
Piggy suffers a far worse fate than my friend who couldn’t promise bubblegum.
*
Here’s one final tale.
In 2006, the Palestinian Authority held elections, as they do
periodically, like any self-serving nation would. Palestine, of course, is not really a nation—not
in the legally binding sense, recognized by the United Nations as a sovereign
country, anyway. I’m not here to discuss
whether or not they should be, but suffice to say there is a significant, if
not controversial movement for them to become independent from their occupiers.
Be that as it may, they elect a government anyhow. The Palestinian Authority does however hold
power over specific places, like Gaza and the West Bank. They govern the people of those areas, much
like provincial or state governments would.
In all matters of national concern, they have to acquiesce to the
greater Israeli government, with whom the rest of the world interacts on an
official level.
Now, for those not following along in the news, Palestine
and Israel don’t get along. There is a
long, deep mistrust between the two parties, which has super ceded several
generations, governments of virtually every political stripe, and countless
attempts from other world powers such as, ironically, the Unites States, to
mediate a peace agreement between the two adversaries that share the same
geographic space. Despite UN
peacekeeping, assassinations, embargoes, wars, and even celebrity visits (even
Whitney Houston showed up one time), the two parties are as far apart as they
were in 1947. Over time, this has led to
the radicalization of a segment of Palestinian society. Like Sinn Fein in Northern Ireland, some of
these radical groups became full-fledged political parties. Enter Hamas.
Hamas are officially listed by Israel, the US, and
various treaty organizations as a terrorist organization. The Palestinians who elected them in 2006 to
be the new governing party of their meager land holdings had apparently had
enough of a series of same-old governments who clearly had generations to get
things done, yet were unsuccessful. They
were tired of people who didn’t really represent them constantly promising
things they couldn’t do. Therefore, they
put their faith in a radical idea—a new
party that was going to tell it like it is, stick it to the man, and buy
everyone bubblegum of Biblical proportions.
Unfortunately, and not unpredictably, the rest of the
world didn’t share their enthusiasm.
Foreign aid started to dry up.
That meant the government couldn’t pay their civil servants. Within weeks, strikes began to happen. Soon, garbage began to pile up in the streets. For all the bluster and bravado, it was a
hard sell to convince people Israel was to blame for their stinky city
streets. And no, life didn’t improve
much otherwise. They found themselves no
closer to getting more recess time or less homework, and the bubblegum lost its
flavor way too quickly. The little comic
strips weren’t even funny anymore.
I’m not even going to bother talking about Rob Ford.
The point of all this of course is that the results in
the US this week should not surprise anyone at all. It’s human nature to romanticize the bully
who makes fun of people for cheap pops and promises bubblegum to everyone who
laughs. When reason goes by the wayside,
the conch gets broken, the garbage piles up, and the bubblegum gets rubbery and
stale. You read the comic, you roll your
eyes about how cheesy it is, and you crumple it up. Erstwhile, the people who have done their
homework, spent time preparing what to say and proposing change that can affect
everyone positively get shunted to the background. After all, everyone knows that smart people
just aren’t as cool. That was the ironic
lesson my classmates and I learned that day.
When enough bubblegum supporters congregate and gather in
numbers, they dictate how social norms will be established. They determine the culture in which they are
kings and queens. Everyone opposed had
better learn to toe the line, or suffer the consequences, which could be as
simple as the scorn of a bully, to the fate suffered by Piggy, to the loss of
wages and public services.
Perhaps even more ironic in all this is that it is also
human nature to rise above this kind of anti-reason, anti-intellectual, and anti-empathy. In a free society, the moral good usually
prevails. Even when a few glitches in the
Matrix occur, people tire of bullies with empty promises. Social justice prevails eventually, even if
there is a painful lesson learned along the way.
The painful lesson the United States needs to learn is
that those who are grieving a Donald Trump victory have no one else to blame but
themselves. No one. Not Brexit.
Not Obama. Not Bush. Supporters of Trump were, and always will be
to varying degrees and numbers seduced by the promise of bubblegum. They will forever be frustrated with a system
they feel has done nothing for them, perhaps even for generations. Supporters of Hillary Clinton, or anyone else
for that matter, will wonder why it happened.
There is, in my estimation, only one reason.
Complacency.
True, those who did get out voting did their part, and
depending on which state they’re from, their vote counted to varying
degrees. All polls indicated Clinton
would win all the states she needed to afford her the majority of Electoral
College votes needed to secure the presidency.
Yet as the dust cleared, the wrong colour was popping up on Ohio,
Florida, Virginia, and even Pennsylvania.
Where were all those people who made up all those educated guesses? Was traffic too bad? Were they all getting their hair cut? Did they just do something else, figuring
Hillary was going to vote by herself and win?
Complacency won the US election. No one will convince me otherwise, that there
weren’t enough reasonable people to have made a difference. Hillary Clinton may or may not have been a
good leader; it is moot now to even surmise.
What they do have now, whether they like it or not, is a bully who is
promising Bazooka Joe-brand walls. He
has no problem whatsoever snatching the conch from Piggy’s hands and smashing
it to the floor. After the streets are
littered with gum wrappers and broken conch shards, will he have a plan to
clean it all up?
Meanwhile, recess is still too short, and I have way too
much homework tonight.
