Richard Hétu
Richard Hétu has been a correspondent of La Presse in New York since 1994. For years he has been passionate about United States politics and history. In 2002 he published La route de loudest (VLB). Under the title of correspondent, he explores the shortcomings of American society through personalities like Michael Moore, Cindy Sheehan and George W. Bush, among others.
Canada under attack: Story of a foreseen terror
Richard Hétu
July 4, 2006
July 7, 2020
Since Sept. 11, 2001, reliable sources have been repeating the warning: Canada, like any other industrialized Western country, is not sheltered from a large-scale terrorist attack. And yet, for nearly 20 years we have been protected, day after day, by the grace of God, CSIS or luck.
Unfortunately, this state of affairs came to an end this afternoon in the Montreal metro.
What a contrast between the images of the planes smashing into the twin towers of the World Trade Centre and the ones from July 5, 2020! By the end of the evening, the web had started broadcasting the attack, caught on "smart video" by the public transit system: Absolutely nothing explosive, just the cold determination to kill in large numbers, in my hometown.
The new cameras in the Montreal metro didn't miss a thing, or almost. Installed after the Boston subway attacks, they scan every centimetre of the system — waiting areas, trains, tunnels and platforms — producing video images that are immediately transformed into digital data. This surveillance system, fruit of Québécois innovation, can detect, categorize and follow objects or people of interest according to user-defined specifications. In principle, it can receive real-time alerts and react proactively to threats. It is the very pinnacle of technology.
But will the video of the attack one day be shown on Canadian television? Tonight, broadcasters completely censored it, bending to the requests of authorities, who have promised to find and punish the person or people responsible for a leak that allowed a small-time blogger in Vermont, in the United States, to stream images of the attack over the internet. These made their way around the globe in seconds.
On their websites, Canadian news sources were forced to be content to tell the story in words and photos. Here are the facts, unendurable though they are:
Between 5:19 p.m. and 5:24 p.m., at the peak of the evening rush, five individuals wearing ball caps get up from their seats in five different trains all heading for Berri station, the busiest in the metro system. From a gym bag, each of them pulls out a portable spray gun, similar to the Canadian Model 5 tear gas ejector. Then turning around slowly, they spray a fast-acting nerve agent into the air.
The passengers do not know that the lethal gas, Tabun, can kill by inhalation or contact with skin within 20 minutes. It doesn't take them long, though, to realize they are the victims of a chemical or biological attack. How long this kind of threat has been talked about! In the packed trains, the cameras record panic spreading from face to face. However, these same cameras are unable to make out the features of the faces hidden under the terrorists' ball caps.
In each of the besieged trains, it is a matter of some 10 seconds between the start of the attack and the doors opening. The passengers' first move is not to subdue the terrorists, but to flee the gas-filled cars. The commandos follow them, gassing an increasing number of passengers in their wake.
It is roughly another 10 seconds between the doors opening and the terrorists being gunned down by police. Thanks to the smart video, the alert to the attack was set off the moment the terrorists brandished their spray guns. Nevertheless, over the course of the 20 to 25 seconds that followed, tens of hundreds of passengers would have inhaled the fruit-scented gas that paralyzes the respiratory system and causes the lungs to constrict.
In the wee hours of the morning, the number of victims is unknown and no one has yet taken credit for the attacks. One thing is certain, according to commentators who can't avoid the circumstantial cliché: Canada will never be the same. Knowing what happened to the United States after the attacks of Sept. 11, this is not particularly reassuring.
July 6, 2020
No one could accuse the Canadian authorities — municipal, provincial or federal — of not having taken the threat of chemical or biological terrorism seriously. After the VX Boston subway attack that left 197 dead and 461 wounded, they poured every effort into attack prevention and disaster management.
Thus, the different levels of government agreed on a specific strategy in the event of an attack — the Equinox Plan — which was put into effect yesterday. Hospital staff were mobilized to deal with the victims at specific facilities in seven major Montreal hospitals, as designated by the federal and provincial health ministries.
Ambulance crews, firefighters and other emergency staff — alerted at the same time as police and all wearing protective suits — arrived at Berri station shortly after the terrorists were gunned down. Thanks to their individual dosimeters, ambulance staff identified the type of gas used in the attack and recognized with consternation that there was nothing they could do for the majority of the victims.
Tabun, a gas created in 1937 and used by Iraq during the Iran-Iraq War, belongs to a group of toxic and infectious agents for which Canada no longer has a vaccine or antidote, says a Montreal newspaper, citing anonymous sources within the federal government. At a time when threats seem to evolve with the seasons — and biotechnological progress — Montreal hospitals do not deal with it any more.
Did the terrorists know? Conspiracy theorists were not the only ones to wonder this upon hearing the first count of the victims: 310 dead and only 15 wounded, a tally that attests to the superior quality of the gas. As in many Western countries, including the United States, France and the U.K., the makeup of antidote, antibiotic and vaccine stocks are government secrets in Canada. The vaccines to which the government has access or, more to the point, the vaccines or antidotes to which it does not have access in sufficient quantities – or at all any more – is information that terrorist networks would be eager to put to use.
This raises the question on many people's minds: could there be a traitor or traitors among us?
If there is paranoia, it is but one of the manifestations of the shock felt today from one end of Canada to the other. Sorrow, sympathy, patriotism and anger are also in the mix. On television and radio, in the newspapers and on the internet alike, politicians, experts, and citizens have expounded on the hateful and insidious nature of the attack.
"Despite advances in genetic invention, gas is still probably the most powerful and effective instrument of terror available," an expert says. Another opined: "The possession of these weapons gives terrorists the opportunity to blackmail the governments of small and large countries, to sow the seeds of hate and panic in the population in general." Yet another asked, "Why on earth does Canada not have an antidote to Tabun any more? Of all the neurotoxic agents, isn't it the easiest to make?"
In Ottawa and Quebec, opposition parties have demanded public inquiries into the makeup of strategic stocks of strategic health products. The issue is not only crucial in the event of a chemical or biological attack, but also in the possibility of a pandemic.
While Montreal and Quebec authorities wait for these inquiries to be carried out, they have attempted to reassure metro users by promising to introduce new "protective" measures. In particular, they have announced the installation of sophisticated detectors that can recognize weapons, plastic explosives and chemical, biological and radioactive products. Each subway turnstile should soon be monitored by one of these detectors. Employed in many North American subways — New York, Boston, Chicago and Toronto, among others — the system should cause no slow down of service, unless there is an alert.
The technology was available as of 2014, but it would require an attack before it made its appearance in the Montreal metro.
As for the cameras, they will continue to scan everything in their path, and not only the activities of potential criminals or terrorists. Ten years after their installation, it is rare that people raise concerns of privacy.
We live in a time where safety comes first.
July 7, 2020
We've been saying it non-stop since the attack: On July 5, 2020, the Canadian psyche received a devastating shock; its population, long accustomed to peace, now finds itself at war with an unknown enemy. Not only does responsibility for the attack go unclaimed, but also authorities, scorning the media's repeated requests, refuse to release any information on the terrorists killed in the subway.
Canadians of all types have certainly pointed the finger at radical Islamists, whether they've immigrated here or grown up among us. Neo-Nazi groups have gone further by burning down mosques in Montreal, Toronto and Calgary, among other cities.
Still today, authorities call for calm. Still today, the media shows restraint. Yet the coincidence is remarkable: the attack in the Montreal metro occurred one week after Canada's official refusal to recognize the new Islamic republic born out of the revolution in Saudi Arabia. In so doing, Ottawa followed in the footsteps of Washington, where the Republican administration is ready for action.
The Canadian psyche most definitely did receive a shock, but certain reflexes remain. Yesterday, a Toronto columnist wrote that the Tabun attack drove a final nail in the coffin of the Quebec separatist movement.
"The separatists want to create a country where the army would be abolished and replaced with a peace force. There is no more peace, not even in Quebec," he wrote.
It was to be expected.
This morning, commentators in the Republic of Quebec — the francophone ones, to be more accurate — reacted to this comment with irritation, indeed, indignation. Separatist or federalist, Quebec commentators were united in their condemnation of the Toronto journalist's lack of tact.
"If the Tabun attack calls an ideology into question, it isn't Quebec separatism, but rather Canadian multiculturalism," wrote one Montreal columnist, having already attributed the attack to radical Islam. "This ideology should have died the day Ontario renounced plans to institute Shariah law for family litigation. Alas, it still continues to serve as an argument for our fundamentalists."
July 8, 2020
After the shock and the mourning, here is the surprise. The Tabun attack wasn't linked to Sept. 11, 2001, as we had thought, but rather to March 20, 1995. Its perpetrators are presumed to be part of a religious organization more closely resembling the Aum Shinri Kyo sect, responsible for the Sarin attack in the Tokyo subway, than Al-Qaeda, sponsor of the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks.
The Canadian prime minister dropped this bomb this morning, at the same time announcing the arrest of the leaders of the Canadian sect, named "Supreme Victory," whose headquarters are located in the Eastern Townships in Quebec. Known for its apocalyptic prophecies, the organization has small offshoots in all Canadian provinces as well as in several U.S. states.
Like the suicide bombers, its disciples are representative of the ethnic diversity of North America. During the sect's last public declaration, less than a year ago, its leader, known as Victor I, predicted a series of spectacular events signalling the end of civilization. As usual, no one took it seriously.
Link ...
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
2020: part 1
Here is the first in a series of essays concerning Canada in the year 2020.
The original essay, written by Andrew Cohen, can be found here.
Bio
Andrew CohenA former foreign editor and foreign affairs columnist for the Financial Post, he has also served as the national political correspondent for Saturday Night magazine and as a member of the editorial board of the Globe and Mail. Andrew Cohen, a writer and professor of journalism and international affairs at Carleton University, is the author of While Canada Slept: How We Lost Our Place in the World.
Imagining Canada's 153rd Birthday
Andrew Cohen
Ottawa, July 1, 2020 — On the 153rd anniversary of Confederation, Canada goes through the motions yet again. On Parliament Hill, the bells toll mournfully and the Maple Leaf hangs listlessly. Soldiers fire a 21-gun salute and Snowbirds fly overhead. Under sweltering skies, the prime minister still insists that Canada is "a young country," as he and his untutored predecessors have done since it really was a young country.
Thousands gather on the grass. They hear breathless politicians declare that Canada is the best country in the world, a boast once thought terribly un-Canadian, but lately as predictable as the national time signal. In the shadow of the Peace Tower, they watch entertainers of every ethnicity reflecting this diverse society. The show is as inclusive as Canada itself. Everyone must be represented — there was a minor scandal last year when Karen dancers from Burma were overlooked in the festivities — because peoples from around the globe are reserving rooms in Hotel Canada. All want a role in this spectacle, as if to confirm their arrival.
Troupe after troupe of new Canadians in traditional national costume march across the stage. Recalling national birthdays long past, there are some high-stepping Ukrainians, fiddlers from Quebec and throat-singers from Nunavut. But these are passé today. Now the headliners are drummers from Senegal and acrobats from Brunei. After a half-generation of open immigration, Canada is home to millions who have fled the drought and desertification that have turned parts of Africa and Asia into a netherworld and made the environment humanity's ruin. The land that God gave to Cain and Voltaire called "a few acres of snow" now looks like Shangri-la in a beleaguered world. No wonder Canada's birthday party goes on for three days, as if it were a Hindu wedding.
This is the new complexion of Canada: black, tan and yellow. Canadians are proud to call themselves the most moderate of people. Tolerance has become their vocation, a kind of raison d'être, and that seems to be the breadth of their ambition. In a fragmenting world spawning new countries as casually as Arctic glaciers crack and calve, they are happy to have survived as a nation for a century and a half — even if they're not sure what that means anymore.
No, this isn't your father's Canada. Nor is it the Canada of Sir John A. Macdonald, Mackenzie King, John Diefenbaker, Lester Pearson, Pierre Berton, Margaret Atwood, Michael Bliss, Douglas Coupland or Avril Lavigne. They would not recognize it, and few in this new country would recognize them. The nation roams around under a cloud of amnesia, as if nothing happened before yesterday. This summer holiday — what do they call it? This capital — what does it represent? This Parliament — what does it do? July 1 was once Canada Day (in prehistoric times, it was Dominion Day) and this was a national celebration. Ottawa was a national capital and Parliament was a national legislature.
There is no "national" anymore because there is no nation, at least not as we knew it. In 2020, Canada is a country in little more than name. It has taken the 19th-century idea of the nation-state and turned it on its head; Canada is now a collection of many nations (its ethnic minorities) who know only their own past, and many states (its provinces) that know only their own interests. For many who have come here, Canada is a country of convenience. It offers security and anonymity and asks for conformity and equanimity. People take rooms in this grand hotel, as the novelist Yann Martel once put it, with little knowledge of — or attachment to — the place itself. In a rootless world of shifting loyalty and no fixed address, Canada is just another comfort station on the road to somewhere else.
The federal government is an antique notion in the era of sub-governments and supra-governments. Canada's provinces have turned into princely states like those of British India, governed by pashas who have the powers of minor monarchs. Within these kingdoms are city-states. "National," an anachronistic term, now competes with "provincial" and "municipal" at home and "international" abroad.
So, Canada Day is now called People's Day, a celebration of our great mingling of races from the corners of the earth. The Parliament of Canada is no longer a supreme body of lawmakers but a jumped-up town council of superannuated time-servers taking up space in that grand pile on the Ottawa River. The House of Commons has had little to do since the federal government transferred its remaining powers to the provinces some 10 years ago. No wonder Ottawa is only a symbol these days. It is overshadowed by the real centres of power in post-confederation Canada — Vancouver, Edmonton, Toronto and Montreal — which drew the country's best minds from Ottawa, as Pierre Elliott Trudeau had warned long ago. In happier times, a travel writer compared Ottawa to Cetinje, the capital of Montenegro up to 1918. Now, with cruel irony, it is Cetinje that has reclaimed its imperial glory as the seat of a renewed Montenegro, while Ottawa has become a backwater in a diminished Canada.
What we have here is a virtual country. In the 500-nation universe, Canada is an area code and an e-mail address. Yes, it is still fantastically rich, awash in petrodollars, endowed with mountains, forests, minerals and unfathomable space between three great oceans. Its biggest export is water and it is more expensive than oil. But today, 153 years after it was created, a visitor from the past might wonder what the country is celebrating. After all, what is Canada, anyway?
Physically, it may be hard to tell the difference between the country in 2006 and 2020. It will surprise many to learn that Canada still includes Quebec, despite all those bond-traders and currency speculators who thought otherwise and lost money. With all of Quebec's new powers, the sovereigntists shrewdly concluded that independence would be unnecessary, even redundant. After all, with federalism like this, who needs sovereignty?
But there is indeed a new Canada, and it is the product of twin forces that had been at work for some time. Contemporary historians have come to call them "the great migration" and "the quiet devolution."
The "great migration" was a byword for the greatest influx of immigrants Canada had ever known. By 2010, the country's political parties were treating immigration as an auction, bidding against each other for ethnic voters in urban Canada to raise the quotas of immigrants from 250,000 to 500,000 a year. There was a sound economic reason (a shortage of unskilled labour) and a moral reason (boatloads of refugees were washing up on our shores, just as they were in Spain, Malta and Sicily). As global warming began to wreak havoc around 2012, a suddenly popular Green party formed the government in Ottawa. The United Nations began to pressure empty, enormous Canada to ease the refugee crisis. By opening the country's borders, politicians could feel that they'd helped the world, as well as themselves.
Of course, immigration has benefited Canada. Even with a low birth rate the population grew from 33 million in 2007 to 38 million in 2012 and to 45 million in 2018. Within two years, Statistics Canada predicts there will be 50 million Canadians. Fifty million! Finally, in size, Canada is the nation that Sir Wilfrid Laurier imagined a century ago.
While the influx has made the country's big cities even bigger (Toronto's population is now 11 million, served by high-speed rail service and three airports), it has developed regions like northern Ontario, where Sudbury, Sault Ste. Marie, Thunder Bay and North Bay are flourishing. Down East, immigrants have remade Saint John, Moncton and Halifax. They have also made things interesting. Oh, how things have changed in old Anglo-Saxon Canada. You can now eat pad thai in Red Deer and chapatis in Estevan.
For the most part, Canada has taken a laissez-faire view of its new arrivals. Multiculturalism is a kind of narcissism for Canadians. We are in love with it and the image it gives us around the world. We look down at old Europe for its difficulty in integrating immigrants of different cultures, spawning ghettos in lily-white Stockholm, Amsterdam and Oslo.
Still, as immigration has brought Canada prosperity, it has also brought ambiguity. No one has taught these new Canadians much about their new country, its past, its triumphs, its myths. In Canada, where the provinces are responsible for education, no one teaches Canadian history anymore. Captured by the canons of political correctness, schools celebrate multiculturalism as an end in itself, failing to teach the superiority of civic nationalism over ethnic nationalism. In the voiceless country, no one speaks for Canada anymore. East Indians, Pakistanis and Chinese come here and live their lives happily in Hindi, Urdu and Mandarin. Sadly, they import their prejudices and struggles, too, which often find violent expression in grim urban corridors.
But as the country changed you couldn't talk about this. The public campaign to persuade immigrants to adopt our mores and accept our rules was attacked as chauvinistic, even racist. Over time we diminished our citizenship, offering it freely and asking little in return. We became more interested in rights than responsibilities. The truth was that few Canadians of the last generation shared very much with each other, and even fewer have known what it means to be Canadian. No one has told them. It begged a variation of the biblical question: What hath a country if it gaineth the world but loseth its soul? If Canada was becoming more cosmopolitan, it was also becoming less cohesive.
While the wave of immigrants was flooding across our borders, the provinces were re-asserting themselves. They demanded more powers — and they got them. This is the other part of the re-making of Canada. There was a time Confederation represented a division of powers between governments. Once the province of the province was the province; now the province of the province is the nation, for that is how they see themselves. The quiet devolution has created swaggering potentates presiding over wealthy fiefdoms, especially Alberta, which continually threatened to leave. This happened subtly, through administrative agreements, when no one was looking. It was the natural outcome of decades of whining and petitioning. True, it had been going on since the 1960s, but the system always assumed an intergovernmental negotiation, not unilateral disarmament.
In 2014, the centre collapsed. The provinces already had spending power, taxing power, and their own pensions and social programs. They were choosing their immigrants and even running their own foreign policies. Indeed, for more than a decade they had embassies — no one bothered with the fiction of calling them "tourist offices" or "cultural legations" anymore — in international capitals. When the government allowed Quebec to send a representative to UNESCO, the province soon asked the same for the World Health Organization, the Human Rights Council and the International Labour Organization. As usual, what Quebec got, all provinces got. Now a once-influential country speaks to the world not with a single, eloquent voice, but in a contradictory and confusing cacophony.
When the provinces started raising their own armies — the last great federal preserve — the game was over. Ottawa handed the provinces monetary policy and divided up its military assets. The centre had nothing but the post office and the Parliament Buildings, now a Victorian architectural curiosity for Chinese tourists.
All along, of course, the accommodationists said this was the price of unity. Quebec was still in, wasn't it? Alberta and Newfoundland, with their oil wealth, had not left us, had they? We had chanted the hymn of unity for so long that it had become a mantra, blinding us from seeing our purpose as a nation. In the name of unity, we abandoned the symbols of our nationhood, allowed the provinces a free hand in the world, stopped teaching history, shared no collective ideas and promoted no great project beyond diversity itself. Oh, we were a good country, but not a great one.
Now, in 2020, we look around in despair. In the voiceless country, there is no one left to recall its past, no one left to celebrate its principles, and no one left to speak its name.
The original essay, written by Andrew Cohen, can be found here.
Bio
Andrew CohenA former foreign editor and foreign affairs columnist for the Financial Post, he has also served as the national political correspondent for Saturday Night magazine and as a member of the editorial board of the Globe and Mail. Andrew Cohen, a writer and professor of journalism and international affairs at Carleton University, is the author of While Canada Slept: How We Lost Our Place in the World.
Imagining Canada's 153rd Birthday
Andrew Cohen
Ottawa, July 1, 2020 — On the 153rd anniversary of Confederation, Canada goes through the motions yet again. On Parliament Hill, the bells toll mournfully and the Maple Leaf hangs listlessly. Soldiers fire a 21-gun salute and Snowbirds fly overhead. Under sweltering skies, the prime minister still insists that Canada is "a young country," as he and his untutored predecessors have done since it really was a young country.
Thousands gather on the grass. They hear breathless politicians declare that Canada is the best country in the world, a boast once thought terribly un-Canadian, but lately as predictable as the national time signal. In the shadow of the Peace Tower, they watch entertainers of every ethnicity reflecting this diverse society. The show is as inclusive as Canada itself. Everyone must be represented — there was a minor scandal last year when Karen dancers from Burma were overlooked in the festivities — because peoples from around the globe are reserving rooms in Hotel Canada. All want a role in this spectacle, as if to confirm their arrival.
Troupe after troupe of new Canadians in traditional national costume march across the stage. Recalling national birthdays long past, there are some high-stepping Ukrainians, fiddlers from Quebec and throat-singers from Nunavut. But these are passé today. Now the headliners are drummers from Senegal and acrobats from Brunei. After a half-generation of open immigration, Canada is home to millions who have fled the drought and desertification that have turned parts of Africa and Asia into a netherworld and made the environment humanity's ruin. The land that God gave to Cain and Voltaire called "a few acres of snow" now looks like Shangri-la in a beleaguered world. No wonder Canada's birthday party goes on for three days, as if it were a Hindu wedding.
This is the new complexion of Canada: black, tan and yellow. Canadians are proud to call themselves the most moderate of people. Tolerance has become their vocation, a kind of raison d'être, and that seems to be the breadth of their ambition. In a fragmenting world spawning new countries as casually as Arctic glaciers crack and calve, they are happy to have survived as a nation for a century and a half — even if they're not sure what that means anymore.
No, this isn't your father's Canada. Nor is it the Canada of Sir John A. Macdonald, Mackenzie King, John Diefenbaker, Lester Pearson, Pierre Berton, Margaret Atwood, Michael Bliss, Douglas Coupland or Avril Lavigne. They would not recognize it, and few in this new country would recognize them. The nation roams around under a cloud of amnesia, as if nothing happened before yesterday. This summer holiday — what do they call it? This capital — what does it represent? This Parliament — what does it do? July 1 was once Canada Day (in prehistoric times, it was Dominion Day) and this was a national celebration. Ottawa was a national capital and Parliament was a national legislature.
There is no "national" anymore because there is no nation, at least not as we knew it. In 2020, Canada is a country in little more than name. It has taken the 19th-century idea of the nation-state and turned it on its head; Canada is now a collection of many nations (its ethnic minorities) who know only their own past, and many states (its provinces) that know only their own interests. For many who have come here, Canada is a country of convenience. It offers security and anonymity and asks for conformity and equanimity. People take rooms in this grand hotel, as the novelist Yann Martel once put it, with little knowledge of — or attachment to — the place itself. In a rootless world of shifting loyalty and no fixed address, Canada is just another comfort station on the road to somewhere else.
The federal government is an antique notion in the era of sub-governments and supra-governments. Canada's provinces have turned into princely states like those of British India, governed by pashas who have the powers of minor monarchs. Within these kingdoms are city-states. "National," an anachronistic term, now competes with "provincial" and "municipal" at home and "international" abroad.
So, Canada Day is now called People's Day, a celebration of our great mingling of races from the corners of the earth. The Parliament of Canada is no longer a supreme body of lawmakers but a jumped-up town council of superannuated time-servers taking up space in that grand pile on the Ottawa River. The House of Commons has had little to do since the federal government transferred its remaining powers to the provinces some 10 years ago. No wonder Ottawa is only a symbol these days. It is overshadowed by the real centres of power in post-confederation Canada — Vancouver, Edmonton, Toronto and Montreal — which drew the country's best minds from Ottawa, as Pierre Elliott Trudeau had warned long ago. In happier times, a travel writer compared Ottawa to Cetinje, the capital of Montenegro up to 1918. Now, with cruel irony, it is Cetinje that has reclaimed its imperial glory as the seat of a renewed Montenegro, while Ottawa has become a backwater in a diminished Canada.
What we have here is a virtual country. In the 500-nation universe, Canada is an area code and an e-mail address. Yes, it is still fantastically rich, awash in petrodollars, endowed with mountains, forests, minerals and unfathomable space between three great oceans. Its biggest export is water and it is more expensive than oil. But today, 153 years after it was created, a visitor from the past might wonder what the country is celebrating. After all, what is Canada, anyway?
Physically, it may be hard to tell the difference between the country in 2006 and 2020. It will surprise many to learn that Canada still includes Quebec, despite all those bond-traders and currency speculators who thought otherwise and lost money. With all of Quebec's new powers, the sovereigntists shrewdly concluded that independence would be unnecessary, even redundant. After all, with federalism like this, who needs sovereignty?
But there is indeed a new Canada, and it is the product of twin forces that had been at work for some time. Contemporary historians have come to call them "the great migration" and "the quiet devolution."
The "great migration" was a byword for the greatest influx of immigrants Canada had ever known. By 2010, the country's political parties were treating immigration as an auction, bidding against each other for ethnic voters in urban Canada to raise the quotas of immigrants from 250,000 to 500,000 a year. There was a sound economic reason (a shortage of unskilled labour) and a moral reason (boatloads of refugees were washing up on our shores, just as they were in Spain, Malta and Sicily). As global warming began to wreak havoc around 2012, a suddenly popular Green party formed the government in Ottawa. The United Nations began to pressure empty, enormous Canada to ease the refugee crisis. By opening the country's borders, politicians could feel that they'd helped the world, as well as themselves.
Of course, immigration has benefited Canada. Even with a low birth rate the population grew from 33 million in 2007 to 38 million in 2012 and to 45 million in 2018. Within two years, Statistics Canada predicts there will be 50 million Canadians. Fifty million! Finally, in size, Canada is the nation that Sir Wilfrid Laurier imagined a century ago.
While the influx has made the country's big cities even bigger (Toronto's population is now 11 million, served by high-speed rail service and three airports), it has developed regions like northern Ontario, where Sudbury, Sault Ste. Marie, Thunder Bay and North Bay are flourishing. Down East, immigrants have remade Saint John, Moncton and Halifax. They have also made things interesting. Oh, how things have changed in old Anglo-Saxon Canada. You can now eat pad thai in Red Deer and chapatis in Estevan.
For the most part, Canada has taken a laissez-faire view of its new arrivals. Multiculturalism is a kind of narcissism for Canadians. We are in love with it and the image it gives us around the world. We look down at old Europe for its difficulty in integrating immigrants of different cultures, spawning ghettos in lily-white Stockholm, Amsterdam and Oslo.
Still, as immigration has brought Canada prosperity, it has also brought ambiguity. No one has taught these new Canadians much about their new country, its past, its triumphs, its myths. In Canada, where the provinces are responsible for education, no one teaches Canadian history anymore. Captured by the canons of political correctness, schools celebrate multiculturalism as an end in itself, failing to teach the superiority of civic nationalism over ethnic nationalism. In the voiceless country, no one speaks for Canada anymore. East Indians, Pakistanis and Chinese come here and live their lives happily in Hindi, Urdu and Mandarin. Sadly, they import their prejudices and struggles, too, which often find violent expression in grim urban corridors.
But as the country changed you couldn't talk about this. The public campaign to persuade immigrants to adopt our mores and accept our rules was attacked as chauvinistic, even racist. Over time we diminished our citizenship, offering it freely and asking little in return. We became more interested in rights than responsibilities. The truth was that few Canadians of the last generation shared very much with each other, and even fewer have known what it means to be Canadian. No one has told them. It begged a variation of the biblical question: What hath a country if it gaineth the world but loseth its soul? If Canada was becoming more cosmopolitan, it was also becoming less cohesive.
While the wave of immigrants was flooding across our borders, the provinces were re-asserting themselves. They demanded more powers — and they got them. This is the other part of the re-making of Canada. There was a time Confederation represented a division of powers between governments. Once the province of the province was the province; now the province of the province is the nation, for that is how they see themselves. The quiet devolution has created swaggering potentates presiding over wealthy fiefdoms, especially Alberta, which continually threatened to leave. This happened subtly, through administrative agreements, when no one was looking. It was the natural outcome of decades of whining and petitioning. True, it had been going on since the 1960s, but the system always assumed an intergovernmental negotiation, not unilateral disarmament.
In 2014, the centre collapsed. The provinces already had spending power, taxing power, and their own pensions and social programs. They were choosing their immigrants and even running their own foreign policies. Indeed, for more than a decade they had embassies — no one bothered with the fiction of calling them "tourist offices" or "cultural legations" anymore — in international capitals. When the government allowed Quebec to send a representative to UNESCO, the province soon asked the same for the World Health Organization, the Human Rights Council and the International Labour Organization. As usual, what Quebec got, all provinces got. Now a once-influential country speaks to the world not with a single, eloquent voice, but in a contradictory and confusing cacophony.
When the provinces started raising their own armies — the last great federal preserve — the game was over. Ottawa handed the provinces monetary policy and divided up its military assets. The centre had nothing but the post office and the Parliament Buildings, now a Victorian architectural curiosity for Chinese tourists.
All along, of course, the accommodationists said this was the price of unity. Quebec was still in, wasn't it? Alberta and Newfoundland, with their oil wealth, had not left us, had they? We had chanted the hymn of unity for so long that it had become a mantra, blinding us from seeing our purpose as a nation. In the name of unity, we abandoned the symbols of our nationhood, allowed the provinces a free hand in the world, stopped teaching history, shared no collective ideas and promoted no great project beyond diversity itself. Oh, we were a good country, but not a great one.
Now, in 2020, we look around in despair. In the voiceless country, there is no one left to recall its past, no one left to celebrate its principles, and no one left to speak its name.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The future in the minds eye
What will your life look like in 5 years? How about in the year 2020? What will Canada look like? That is the question that is trying to be answered in a project sponsored by the The Dominion Institute in partnership with CBC, La Presse and the Toronto Star. The poject includes a national survey and a number of essays from prominent Canadian writers.
Interested parties can access these essays at the CBC website.
Rudyard Griffiths, the Executive Director of the Dominion Institute, provided the following introduction to the project.
Does Canada have courage and vision for the future?
Rudyard Griffiths June 29, 2006
To encourage debate about the challenges Canada will face in the coming decades the Dominion Institute, in association with The Toronto Star, LaPresse and CBC News, has invited twenty leading thinkers to comment, over the next four months, on an issue or event that they think could transform the country by 2020.
Rudyard Griffiths, executive director of the Dominion Institute, introduces the Series.
Each day 1.3 billion Chinese wake up to confront a stark reality: China's blistering eight per cent annual economic growth is increasingly underwritten by foreign energy supplies, primarily oil. In Iran, Africa, South America and Canada's own tar sands, the Chinese are ruthlessly securing the energy supplies necessary to support an economy that is predicted to triple in size by the year 2020. Coping with the social upheaval caused by a roaring economy and ever mindful of their storied history of revolution, China's leadership knows that the future prosperity of the Middle Kingdom is inextricably linked with their pursuit of oil and gas.
It's not just energy-starved giants such as China and the United States that are trying to figure out what policies and priorities they have to put into place today to preserve their way of life over the long-term. On the other end of geopolitical scale, the likes of Ireland, Singapore and Finland are grappling with how to further the growth of their knowledge-based economies at a time when instant communication and new technologies are allowing developing nations to produce many of the same high-end products and services at a lower cost.
Through long-term investments in research, higher education, and increased productivity, developed nations who have neither a superabundance of natural resources or large populations are discovering new ways to compete in the global marketplace and improve the quality of life of their citizens.
All of these countries – large and small, East and West, developed and developing – possess what is called a "strategic culture". Whether they are faced with energy scarcity, regional instability, new technological paradigms, the threat of terrorism, or population growth, these nations are grappling with immediate threats to their future welfare. These "externalities" create in a country, such as, say, Finland a strategic culture that allows its leadership to cut through red-tape, sideline special interests, build consensus, and most important of all, forego short-term fixes to create policies that address long-term challenges.
Canada has been slow in developing its own strategic culture. For much the 20th century our geographic location and abundance of natural resources insulated us from the rest of the world. When major threats to our way of life did emerge we benefited from living beside the largest fire station in human history which we fought alongside in two World Wars, Korea and the Cold War.
In recent decades, two factors helped Canada create a home-grown strategic culture: a secessionist movement in Quebec and the challenge of sustaining a high standard of living with a small population in an era of globalization.
As debilitating as it seemed at the time, the threat of Quebec separation forced the county to confront its internal entropy and build the consensus necessary to patriate the Constitution (albeit imperfectly) and enshrine the Charter. Then, in the 1990s, in response to the pressures of globalization, Ottawa enacted painful but necessary long-term policies to reduce the federal debt and invest in education and research. Despite what was, at times, uninspired leadership and the near miss of the 1995 referendum, Canada benefited from having a series of well defined national goals (e.g. unity, fiscal responsibility and innovation).
Fast forward to today and our greatest challenge is increasingly the absence of any pressing issue(s) facing Canada. As the threat of Quebec separatism has receded and commodity prices soared, no pressing impetus exists to help Canada renew its strategic culture and get about the work of allocating scarce human and material resources to pursue well-defined "national" goals or projects.
Find a way for Quebec to sign the Constitution Act? Confront the systemic failure of regional income assistance programs? Provide free post secondary education to qualified high school graduates? Rationalize our immigration policies? Forget it. For a federal government awash in surpluses, it's easier to throw money at short-term fixes and sustain the status quo rather than build a stronger and more efficient federation. Case in point: less than a quarter of the spending in the last federal budget was on long-term investments (e.g. infrastructure, research and education) – the lowest ratio to total budget expenditures in over a decade.
Without a strategic culture born of shared challenges and equipped to advance common national goals, Canada risks becoming a shadow of its former self; a collection of disparate regions, interests and groups all bickering over the unearned spoils of a resource-based economy destined eventually to go bust.
Right now Canadians, unlike Chinese and Americans, and a host of other more powerful countries, have the material wealth and room to manoeuvre to renew a strategic vision for the country's future. Do we, for instance, want to be known as the first G8 nation to have a "green" economy? Should we extend our efforts in Afghanistan and become the world's leader in rebuilding failed states? Or, it is time to finally get serious about using our present-day prosperity to build a knowledge-based economy for when commodity prices go into a tailspin?
We need to anticipate now the issues that will shape our future – the raison d'etre of our Canada in 2020 initiative – and set about developing national priorities and goals to manage the challenges that lie ahead. Hard-won experience tells us that to tarry too long in the safe and comfortable present is a luxury we cannot long afford.
I'll be posting a new essay from this project each day along with a brief bio of the author.
If you would like to share your vision of Canada in 2020 follow the link and have your say.
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