Canada -- Don't Ask Me to Take You Seriously Again

Growing up in Canada, one learns that an obligation of citizenship is to humor the nation’s delusions of grandeur.

In schools, to the extent history is still taught, Canada’s role in world events is revised to outsized proportions. Self-flattering terms like “moral superpower” are coined to imply that from the Cuban Missile Crisis to the supposed existential threat of “Climate Change,” it is Canada pulling the strings, like some benign and unfailingly polite Kaiser Soze.

One is enjoined to play along as Canada insists it is the best in the world at this or that -- oftentimes in qualitative, subjective fields such as the arts. Even here, anyone with eyes to see or ears to hear or good taste to consult recognizes this is not the case. But the Canadian thing to do is nod, smile, and not object.

It is perhaps fitting that a vapid scion like Justin Trudeau should be the leader of such a nation. A country of little consequence is led by a young man who has never faced consequences.

Since he first thrust his way onto the national stage almost two decades ago at his father’s funeral, I have found Justin embarrassing. I resisted opining on him for as many years as possible, even as I knew he would one day be prime minister, as I imagined the topic would demean me and my listeners.

Even so, Justin proved handy for profiling purposes. To wit, if I encountered someone who did not blush at his nonsense, while I would still endeavor to love them as a fellow child of God, I’d recognize that we were simply not on the same page in life.

One cannot improve upon Ben Shapiro’s economical take: “Justin Trudeau is what would happen if the song 'Imagine' took human form and then ate a Tide Pod.”

There is nothing so trendy and insipid that you will not hear it escape Justin’s lips, pronounced as though he had alighted upon some ancient and arcane wisdom.

Again, he would seem the ideal leader for a nation constantly slathering itself with self-important fantasy like so much maple syrup.

But here we find the nostrums of complacent leftism colliding with such force that I cannot, though my passport may depend on it, pretend to take Canada seriously again.

After a single, inevitable term as prime minister, Justin has been returned to power, albeit with a minority government (that is, winning a plurality, but not a majority, of seats in the House of Commons).

Canadian voters have ratified Justin’s rule and his absurd behavior. In this age of climate hysteria, female supremacy, and cultural hypersensitivity, Canada has re-elected a man who requires not one but two campaign planes, has groped, bullied, and sidelined female press and colleagues, and who has, on at least three documented occasions, performed in blackface while deep into adulthood.

In short, politically correct Canada has given the ultimate privileged white male a pass on conduct that would likely cost you, gentle reader, your livelihood.

It is not as though voters can point to a record of economic or policy success to justify this result. After promising to eliminate the budget deficit by this year, Justin has ensured that overspending will continue for the foreseeable future. He and his fellow-travelers have not been friends to industry and there seems no end to the number of Canadian jobs they are prepared to sacrifice to the gods of their weather religion.

Again, Justin requires two planes while you cannot have a plastic straw.

All this being said, I love Canada, as a place to live. I hold three citizenships, enabling me to reside in about thirty countries, but I chose to return home and purchase the house in which I grew up.

But let it not be misunderstood -- the splendidness of Canada is not due to Justin’s good offices, or the shrill politics of the frowny-faced moon maidens who support him. Rather, the nation lives on the capital of a society established before any of us got here.

From coast to coast to coast, the country is like one vast, holiday camp from reality. Canada is much like the Shire -- if it were criminal to misgender a hobbit.

The whole proposition is a race against time. Will this generation pass before Canada is hollowed out by rapacious nonentities like Justin and his ilk, or will the cloud of their smugness and silly-bears consume us all?

Either way, perhaps it is best for Canada not to be taken seriously rather than just enjoyed. As Alan Watts opined, “Man suffers only because he takes seriously what the Gods made for fun.”

Theo Caldwell is a Canadian, Irish, and American citizen. Contact him at  theo@theocaldwell.com

Growing up in Canada, one learns that an obligation of citizenship is to humor the nation’s delusions of grandeur.

In schools, to the extent history is still taught, Canada’s role in world events is revised to outsized proportions. Self-flattering terms like “moral superpower” are coined to imply that from the Cuban Missile Crisis to the supposed existential threat of “Climate Change,” it is Canada pulling the strings, like some benign and unfailingly polite Kaiser Soze.

One is enjoined to play along as Canada insists it is the best in the world at this or that -- oftentimes in qualitative, subjective fields such as the arts. Even here, anyone with eyes to see or ears to hear or good taste to consult recognizes this is not the case. But the Canadian thing to do is nod, smile, and not object.

It is perhaps fitting that a vapid scion like Justin Trudeau should be the leader of such a nation. A country of little consequence is led by a young man who has never faced consequences.

Since he first thrust his way onto the national stage almost two decades ago at his father’s funeral, I have found Justin embarrassing. I resisted opining on him for as many years as possible, even as I knew he would one day be prime minister, as I imagined the topic would demean me and my listeners.

Even so, Justin proved handy for profiling purposes. To wit, if I encountered someone who did not blush at his nonsense, while I would still endeavor to love them as a fellow child of God, I’d recognize that we were simply not on the same page in life.

One cannot improve upon Ben Shapiro’s economical take: “Justin Trudeau is what would happen if the song 'Imagine' took human form and then ate a Tide Pod.”

There is nothing so trendy and insipid that you will not hear it escape Justin’s lips, pronounced as though he had alighted upon some ancient and arcane wisdom.

Again, he would seem the ideal leader for a nation constantly slathering itself with self-important fantasy like so much maple syrup.

But here we find the nostrums of complacent leftism colliding with such force that I cannot, though my passport may depend on it, pretend to take Canada seriously again.

After a single, inevitable term as prime minister, Justin has been returned to power, albeit with a minority government (that is, winning a plurality, but not a majority, of seats in the House of Commons).

Canadian voters have ratified Justin’s rule and his absurd behavior. In this age of climate hysteria, female supremacy, and cultural hypersensitivity, Canada has re-elected a man who requires not one but two campaign planes, has groped, bullied, and sidelined female press and colleagues, and who has, on at least three documented occasions, performed in blackface while deep into adulthood.

In short, politically correct Canada has given the ultimate privileged white male a pass on conduct that would likely cost you, gentle reader, your livelihood.

It is not as though voters can point to a record of economic or policy success to justify this result. After promising to eliminate the budget deficit by this year, Justin has ensured that overspending will continue for the foreseeable future. He and his fellow-travelers have not been friends to industry and there seems no end to the number of Canadian jobs they are prepared to sacrifice to the gods of their weather religion.

Again, Justin requires two planes while you cannot have a plastic straw.

All this being said, I love Canada, as a place to live. I hold three citizenships, enabling me to reside in about thirty countries, but I chose to return home and purchase the house in which I grew up.

But let it not be misunderstood -- the splendidness of Canada is not due to Justin’s good offices, or the shrill politics of the frowny-faced moon maidens who support him. Rather, the nation lives on the capital of a society established before any of us got here.

From coast to coast to coast, the country is like one vast, holiday camp from reality. Canada is much like the Shire -- if it were criminal to misgender a hobbit.

The whole proposition is a race against time. Will this generation pass before Canada is hollowed out by rapacious nonentities like Justin and his ilk, or will the cloud of their smugness and silly-bears consume us all?

Either way, perhaps it is best for Canada not to be taken seriously rather than just enjoyed. As Alan Watts opined, “Man suffers only because he takes seriously what the Gods made for fun.”

Theo Caldwell is a Canadian, Irish, and American citizen. Contact him at  theo@theocaldwell.com