The following is an opinion piece. It is not my entry for the latest Tourism Nova Scotia contest. For those of you prone to phone up call-in radio shows and ask “Wat’s da govment gonna do bout dat?!”, save me the trouble and move along. There is a cracked sidewalk that is need of your attention.
Once I became aware of the outside world, or once I was no longer afraid to travel alone through it, Cape Breton Island to me became like a drunken brother who was always in trouble with the law. He is an embarrassment and most times you are ashamed to be seen with him but at the end of the day you have to love him because he is your brother.
Cape Bretoners are outsiders by reasons of geography, economy and politics. Popular sentiment (not me, blame them) has it that only Newfoundlanders occupy a lower rung on the Canadian social ladder. However there is a silver lining. Being the outsider affords someone the opportunity of an incredible vantage point from which to observe the supposed in-crowd. (At least the opportunity is there on offer. Not everyone will take advantage of it.) Canadians observe our neighbours to the south (with little chance of garnering any attention in return). Maritimers in turn observe much of the rest of the country (they’ve got their eyes on you, Alberta, Ontario) without attracting much attention aside from being thought of as fisherman and welfare recipients. Cape Bretoners can sit back (after we’ve collected enough stamps) and take it all in. And that leaves Newfoundland as the last point on the scale, geographically and socially. Those cats have no position to fall back on. But I think this is why Newfoundland has produced such a number of great political junkies and satirists. They can see the whole game board.
So there are things about Cape Breton and its inhabitants that I do admire. The quiet observers. In school I was always off to the side of the classroom. I was never the most popular kid or the class clown. Neither was I the most unpopular kid. Sweet, comfortable anonymity. No, it didn’t take me too long to figure out the best way to approach this silly school business was to do what I had to do, keep my mouth shut, ears and eyes open and keep out of the line of fire. I enjoy reading the history of WWI and the history of Canadians in that war. With stories like the ones recorded during that time it is inevitable that I imagine myself fighting in the mud in France and that I would take the same approach there too in order to survive. I wouldn’t be the gung-ho, natural born leader type who really is just the first guy to get his guts shot to pieces. Neither would I be the jerk that ‘accidentally’ gets shot in the back when no one was looking. No, I would do what I had to do, keep my mouth shut, ears and eyes open and keep out of the line of fire. (Side note: along with ‘No fear, no envy, no meanness’, this is the best I have yet come up with for a guide to this world.)
But I digress (another supposed Cape Breton trait. Look around the word people. Everyone is long winded and boring.). Long story short it is the outsider that is in the better position to size up the other guy. As in ‘I know what you think you look like but here’s what’s really happening.’ The Emperor’s New Clothes-type stuff. So that is a handy trait which Cape Bretoners are more likely to possess. They don’t hold a monopoly on it though.
Powers of observation lead to conclusions and assumptions. And since the subject has their back turned, metaphorically speaking, the daggers start dropping out of sleeves. Wit and sarcasm will creep in. Blessed are those that wield the power of wit and sarcasm expertly. Remember your war training! Quick and deadly. And the lower down the chain of command the lower the respect for authority and the more direct the language and message. There is an old British comedy skit that illustrates my point. In the skit there are three men standing shoulder to shoulder; one is tall and exceptionally well dressed, the man in the middle represents just that, the middle class, the last man is the shortest and is dressed in soiled work clothes. The tall man looks down at the middle man and says,”I have a feeling of superiority over him”. The middle man looks up at the tall man and says, “I have a feeling of inferiority towards him”, and turning towards the small man, “but a feeling of superiority over him”. The smaller mans looks up at the other two men and says,”I get a pain in the back of my neck.”
I don’t mean to imply that all CEO’s and bankers are smug, no-nothings just as I don’t mean to imply that all blue collar people (the supposed model Cape Bretoners) possess biting wit. No, I’ve crossed paths with too many people that call Cape Breton home that I wouldn’t trust to sit right way round on a toilet. ….actually come to think about it most CEO’s are probably pricks. Brown shirts. You don’t get that high without having stepped on a few necks.
My longwinded point is that due to geographic and social (political, economic) circumstances children in Cape Breton are given an opportunity to develop observational and piss-taking skills. Please encourage all children to do so. What a gift! But remember, no meaness. If you’re going to insult at least be clever and select a deserving target. It can’t be called “picking on” if they are bigger than you. Stupid maybe but not mean. So if you have this gift don’t be smug. Yield this power wisely.
I also like the nice beaches there. I am programmed for life now so that I can now swim just about anywhere in the world at just about any time of the year and can’t help but make that stupid joke, “It’s nice once you get in”. I’m hokey. Country seasoned.
Points deduction for those of you that have ever used the phrase “God’s Country” with a straight face when describing your particular happy spot on the island. Granted my travel in this world has been limited but I have heard that phrase used in every province, county, city, town, camping site, (state, county, etc, etc) that I have ever been in and it’s been said with more conviction. But wait. That’s a good thing. Although you may think that Americans overuse the phrase Albertans are no slouches. And yay, the Lord did create Alberta and He pronounced it good. And lo, He did sit a spell. And the Lord did take a shine to the place.
There are areas of Cape Breton that rival any in the country for beauty. No doubt. After all Alexander Graham Bell was no dummy. He heard good things about the place and looked us up. Someone had to tap his wife on the elbow. (I know this because I read it on a placemat in a restaurant.) Tourism should be the bread and butter. Industrial Cape Breton, so called, although rich in history, is not one of these beautiful places. It is just plain ugly. It’s utilitarian. …but that would imply some level of function. There is a certain look that occurs in most of Canada during the early spring. Snow melts to reveal dead grass, old chip bags and thawing dog crap. Industrial Cape Breton somehow manages to maintain that look 365 days a year.
And give up this arrogant notion that Cape Breton is an oasis from fear and crime and hate and violence and prejudice. We, you, us, yous are not the people chosen to be the sole dispensers of kindness, generosity and hospitality on this planet. There are plenty of fine examples of each of the two extremes on Cape Breton Island just as anywhere else in the world.
And one other thing. Cape Bretoners are infinitely divisible. Or can you only fold them eight times? I get those mixed up. Anyway despite what the propaganda (just riling the older crowd now…I’ve lost my focus and I’m already as bored of this article as you.) might say, the “we” in “we are a people…” exists only when it can most benefit the speaker. Sure we stand shoulder to shoulder in good times and aren’t we all filled with pride when celebrating the Island’s (white) history and culture. But it doesn’t take much for us to turn on each other. During funding crunches towns battle towns, school boards battle school boards. High school students guarantee both a good game and a good post game fight. Neighbours eye other neighbours suspiciously, each convinced of the other’s insanity and weird house smell. Workers in offices and shops take up sides and feast on the individual. Basically just as vicious and cutthroat and selfish and HUMAN as all those other people “from away”. But God help anyone from the outside that dares have a go at the Island, even if it is on target. Then the ranks close. Sociologists, help me out. What is this behaviour called? Gang mentality? Anyway pride goeth before a fall. And at your age that’s a guaranteed broken hip.
Lastly, why this fascination with death and injury and infirmity and illness and age? “Did you hear so and so’s mom passed?” “Oh, they’re after takin’ the other leg now. Diabetes, you know.” “The doctor got me on the medication for my bladder”. “No, can’t around like I used to though. Getting’ old.” Wakes are a spectator sport. And of course the less of an acquaintance you are the more inclined they are to tell you their complete medical history and that of their wife. Or “the wife”, missus, ball and chain, etc. To you dumb hicks that do this to your wives I reserve the greatest amount of bile. Invariably the pigs that use these phrases are just that: pigs. Fat, disgusting, Viagra-chewing lumps. When you proposed to her did you remember to tell her that twenty or thirty years down the road that you would cease to even refer to her by her own name in conversations with your buddies? And that blonde that walked on by, for sure she wants to sit right on your lap. No. She doesn’t. You’re vile. And why do you wait in the car when she goes in to shop at the mall? If it was a friend you would go in. Why did you even marry this person? How can you call yourself a man? Do me a favour and save Mother Nature the trouble please. Or at the very least be a gentleman.
You must know I’m not naïve enough to believe that any of my vision for the world, be it this list of do’s and do not do’s or some of my later, darker work, shall come to pass. No, it will go unheeded with everyone else’s visions. Just another scrap of paper pinned to the great community centre bulletin board that is the internets. So be it. I’m ducking back out of the line of fire now.
