An introduction
The Ontarion has finally given me a mandate, by which I mean a biweekly column that I hope will entertain and enlighten – however obscure the title, which I will explain. It’s taken from a book I poured over as a kid about the history of science fiction; specifically referencing a future timeline taken from the book Starmaker by William Olaf Stapleton. It stuck with me, and I felt if I was given a radio show, I would call it this. But radio is a pain, really, and you have to like making it or it isn’t worth the trouble. A column is easier because there’s less buttons to deal with, and I’m not obligated to devote 10 per cent of this column to Canadian material. I mean, I will, obviously, write about Canada and Canadian issues because that’s where I am right now; I would just rather not think I have to.
But the title of this column is also a reflection of my personal values, if you can buy that. I’m a staunch egalitarian, which means that I insist that everybody is just as intelligent as everybody else. I insist that nobody is “stupid” just because they don’t know the same things you or I do, and that this is, furthermore, an egregious misapplication of the term wherever a willingness to learn and correct that condition is evident. And I say that “I insist” because it is not a belief for me – not an article of faith, rather, an active and responsible strategy for defining my reality, if you accept that belief defines perception. I like to think we’re all part of the Galactic Mind Stapleton prophesied, and that truth and reason are accessible to all, however much or little they know now. You can rest assured, however, that I have some nicely caustic opinions to balance out the greeting card philosophy.
Before I knew I was getting this column, I did some footwork looking into the organization Sanguen, after a chance meeting with one of its workers over breakfast. Sanguen’s primary goal is to slow the spread of Hepatitus C through client treatment and outreach. Like anyone who consciously aligns themselves politically, I don’t always know exactly why I believe what I believe, just that I’m right. So Tamara invited me to join her colleagues at work in St. George’s Square so I could discover just how much and why I was right.
By “outreach,” they mean that one of the things they do is dispense safe injection kits, which are assembled by volunteers at weekly bees. They even include distilled water, as I was surprised to learn that Hepatitis C can be transmitted through the water used to cook the junk. The good cheer of the workers aroused in me a certain responsibility to my readers as to why they should care if drug users get Hepatitus C. This isn’t unfair to either Sanguen or my readers, when you consider that the ongoing opposition to the HPV vaccine – that prevents the transmission of certain cancers in both men and women – in schools is fomented largely because Catholic Church leaders believe it will encourage the premarital sex that is already happening, thereby shattering the illusion of the efficacy of promoting abstinence. So I was being a little interrogative, looking for my “hook” in the story.
A childhood friend happened by and greeted the workers. He told me about how he had been traumatized after I fell from a cliff in Rockwood when we were kids. My family held him responsible, when it was clearly my own doing. Incredulous, I told him that when he started his next round of recovery treatment, he should ask himself how often others held him accountable for something of which he was blameless. Then I asked myself how many times I had passed judgement on hard-luck cases I encountered, when it is possible that they were not entirely responsible for their condition. We know that some of us come from bad places because we read about it all the time; we just seem to forget when we’re confronted with it in the real world. People often drift into self-destructive lifestyles because they find acceptance in those circles where they didn’t find it elsewhere. Even if they are morally responsible for their state, does anybody deserve being punished with a debilitating disease for a mistake they made at a low time in their lives?
But if I assumed I knew everything, intellectually or morally, I would meet the criteria for bonafide stupidity. There are obviously exceptions to my forgiveness tract, and in two weeks’ time, I’ll turn my loving attention to one of them; Guelph’s favourite Conservative con-artist, Michael Sona.