I don’t know how many times I’ve embarrassed myself on Facebook. Probably more times than I even realize.
Recently, at about one in the morning, I came across a humorous anti-gun cartoon good enough that I thought I’d share it. I wrote a caption to the effect that as long as at least some people on the planet were thinking in these terms, there was hope for humanity. I felt good about myself.
The next morning I woke up, opened up Facebook, and the anti-gun cartoon had somehow turned pro-gun. I had posted a pro-NRA gun cartoon and loudly proclaimed this kind of thinking to represent salvation for humanity!
What an idiot.
So I wrote a comment clarifying my views. Later in the day I looked at the cartoon again and thought, well, maybe it could be interpreted as anti-gun, if you squinted right. When I realized that I could no longer even interpret the cartoon correctly, either due to the ambiguous nature of the cartoon or impending senility, I decided the best course of action was simply to delete the cartoon, which I did.
Later, one of my Facebook friends, Canadian science fiction writer Edward Willett, posted the following on his Facebook page:
Social media reveals to you what your acquaintances think about all sorts of controversial issues. I am not sure this is a good thing, since it is likely you will then discover that your acquaintances appear to be blithering idiots about this or that issue on which you disagree, which may have a harmful effect on otherwise friendly relationships.
When I read that I thought, My God, he’s talking about me. Okay, probably not specifically me, but it could certainly apply to me on occasion.
Because sometimes I can’t resist sharing cartoons, essays and whatnot that I think reflect my views. Only they may not entirely reflect my views, either for reasons of stupidity as noted above, or because I’m being flip. Because let’s, um, “face” it, Facebook may not be the best forum for in-depth intellectual discourse, and sometimes (I would even say usually) when I post or share something, I’m doing so without a whole lot of thought behind it.
Recently I was called out for this flip-ness. Flipness, it seems, doesn’t translate well on Facebook. People take you literally. A couple of weeks ago I shared someone else’s essay on how modern filmmakers should not eschew analog film in favour of more modern, but more expensive, digital equipment. I agreed with some points of the essay. But I posted it because I like to indulge in a tongue-in-cheek preference for analog over digital because I run a department called Digital Production Maintenance. Sometimes the digital broadcast equipment my department maintains drives us absolutely bonkers with the need for constant upgrades and the software bugs such upgrades inevitably create. I joke that life would be a lot easier if we reverted completely to analog and changed the name of the department to Analog Production Maintenance. But I am joking (mostly). When I shared the essay on Facebook I did not make this nuance clear and at least one friend took me to task for my apparent gullibility. Perhaps others thought the same. There is a real (if slim) chance that such “mis-posts” could potentially even harm my career, were the wrong person to misinterpret such a Facebook post.
I have also noticed that whenever I go to the trouble of posting something with a little heft to it (such as this essay), it is usually completely ignored. Whereas when I post an anniversary announcement, or a cute picture of my kids, the “likes” sky-rocket. I am tempted to conclude what most people have probably known from the beginning. That it’s best to play it safe on Facebook. Leave religion, politics and other serious thinking out of it.
However, I am not inclined to leave religion, politics, and other serious subjects completely out of it. As Edmund Burke once wrote, for evil to flourish all that is needed is for good people to do nothing. I subscribe to that whole-heartedly. It is not my nature to stay completely neutral, posting only innocuous posts about baby kittens and friendly whales.
But clearly I need to modify my approach. When I do stray into dangerous territory, I need to exercise more care. I need to be clear, not flip. I must make sure that I am not misrepresenting myself in any way.
Heaven forbid someone should think I’m not in favour of baby kittens or friendly whales.
Got up this morning, ate my usual English Muffin with peanut butter and jam accompanied by a banana, an orange, and a glass of water, opened the Toronto Star, and was immediately confronted with hatred.
There was an article about a man who, along with his family and several hundred others, was rounded up in 1941 and marched at gunpoint to a pit in the forest where they were all murdered and buried in the pit for the crime of being Jews. The man survived to tell the tale so that I, in the comfort of my peaceful, middle class home seventy-two years later, could learn about the capacity of the human race to hate. And not just hate, but HATE.
This depressed me. It probably depressed many decent people. How is such hate possible?
Later I was listening to CBC Radio’s DNTO which today is about the elasticity of gender, where I was confronted with my own capacity for hatred.
I grew up in Prince Edward Island where I encountered to my knowledge two gay men and no gay women that I’m aware of. I know now that there were many more but at this time only two were out of the closet. I did not hate the two that I knew, in fact one of them was a favourite teacher, a drama teacher, who cast me in one of his plays, and the truth is I didn’t think much, if ever, about the fact that he was gay.
It was only later when I was in university in Nova Scotia and in the company of many shallow youth such as myself that I began to contribute to the culture of intolerance and, yes, hatred for homosexuality. I did not understand it, I thought it was wrong, I was surrounded by like-minded people who affirmed this kind of wrong-headed thinking. Thinking created by not thinking with any kind of intellectual rigour about homosexuality, thinking manufactured by fundamentalist religious views, thinking promoted by wanting to fit in, to become that much more accepted by your peers by generating a few laughs about an easy-to-target demographic that you think has nothing to do with you, really.
I moved to Toronto to attend university there. I got a job as a security guard at 77 Carleton Place. My first boss was George, a World War Two vet who went abroad to fight against exactly the kind of hate that I started this post with. “We’re not allowed to carry weapons,” he told me when I started. “We are allowed to carry keys, though.” And he produced a key attached to a long wooden stick that I hope to God he never actually had to hit anyone with.
George also talked to me about one of the other security guards, a handsome, fit man in his early forties who also worked as an underwear model. I can’t remember George’s exact words about this gentleman, but it was clear what George thought his sexual orientation was, and that George did not entirely approve.
George got sick and the handsome man became my boss. One night myself, the handsome man and another security guard happened to be working together and the subject of homosexuality came up. This was not as random as it might seem because there was a tenant in the building dying of Aids at the time. He looked terrible and was the first person I’d ever met who I was aware suffered from Aids. I do not believe he survived long after I met him.
Anyway, in a moment of candour I wish I could erase from my life (along with the attitude that produced it), I told my new boss (conveniently pretending that I suspected nothing about his sexual orientation) what I thought of male homosexuality.
I never worked as a security guard again.
My next job was working for a private production company. One of the biggest jobs I worked on for this company was producing a documentary on Aids. It was about a young man dying of Aids and the struggle of his family to come to terms with both his sexual orientation and the fact that he was terminally ill. Before the father (a tough, grizzled autoworker) learned of his son’s illness he was every bit as prejudiced as I was at the time. He’d never really thought about the subject before. But, he told us on camera, choking back tears, nothing mattered to him now but his love for his son.
This was just one brick in the wall of my own education on the matter. After that I went to work for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. My first year there I fell in love with a woman who never loved me back, at least the same way, because she was gay. I won’t write any more about that for reasons of discretion except to say that this was the emotional juggernaut that prompted me for the first time to really think about the subject. I talked to people, visited bookstores in which I spent hours reading about homosexuality, trying to understand. I started from the position that homosexuality was a choice, a bad choice. I seriously thought I could get this woman to change her mind. I actually told people that I thought a crime had been committed, as if someone had corrupted her in some way. I would get her to come around, I thought.
But the crime was mine, of not understanding.
My feelings on the matter were further complicated when I moved in with two women who, two days before I moved in with them, informed me that they were gay. I had guessed because of a certain lack of bedrooms. They were going to tell me the day I moved in. I lived with them for six months during which they treated me abominably, ignoring me, not speaking to me. It was a terrible, emotionally damaging experience, and one of the happiest days of my life was the day I moved out.
You would think that experience might have deepened my prejudices, but in fact I was already starting to come around. I had friends by this time who were clearly gay and I would defy anybody to truly be friends with someone either gay, Jewish, black, animal, alien or otherwise and remain intolerant. Or at least I hope so.
To this day I don’t think I have any true comprehension of what it’s like to be gay or the subject of any real intolerance, prejudice or hatred. I’m a straight white male who in many ways has it easy. But I hope, I hope to God, that I have eradicated as much hate and intolerance from my being as possible. I attended a church for a while, full of people that I like, but who adhered to a certain fundamentalist perspective such as an intolerance for homosexuality that after a while I couldn’t look past, that to me amounted to just a different kind of hate. So I stopped attending.
After a while of living I realized that my true religion was people. People over ideals. My idea is that as long as I place people first, whether gay, black, pink, purple or what have you, I can’t go wrong. I don’t care what you believe, if it places any kind of people anything other than first, you wind up with hate.
Author Iain Banks summed it up nicely: “F*** every cause that ends in murder and children crying.”
Happy Pride Week.
I like Joni Mitchell.
Not just because her music is awesome, but because of a simple gesture on her part.
Several years ago she came to the Broadcast Centre for a series of interviews. I’m pretty sure the main interview was for Morningside with Peter Gzowski, because Trish Thornton was still with CBC Radio, and she was Morningside’s tech at the time.
I believe Trish recorded Joni performing one of her songs. Then I was booked in the studio immediately afterward to record Joni for another show (I can’t remember which one) while Trish went off on break. I remember being mildly impressed that the guest was Joni Mitchell. I went into the booth to meet her and the show’s producer and I asked, “So what are we doing? Recording a song?” I was prepared to mic her guitar, do whatever else was required, and I was disappointed when I was told that no, we weren’t recording any music, it was just an interview.
So I went back in the control room and recorded the interview. I can’t remember a single thing about the interview… mind you, I’ve recorded hundreds and hundreds of interviews and don’t remember much about most of them.
What I do remember is this. To most guests, technicians are little more than pieces of furniture. Or another piece of equipment. Barely human, certainly not worth paying any attention to. So I was always pleased when a guest treated me like a human.
The interview finished. The interviewer (I can’t remember who) led Joni out into the hall. It wasn’t necessary to pass by the control room. I thought, yeah, there they go, both of them, ignoring the tech as usual.
Until Joni deliberately broke free of the interviewer and marched back up the hall to the control room, where she sought me out, caught my eye, and said, “Thank you, it was nice to meet you.”
“It was nice to meet you,” I said, and we smiled at each other.
Like two human beings.
I was listening to the Beatles today. Sgt. Pepper. Such a great album.
And I got to wondering. Did the Beatles ever just pull that out to listen to when they were in the mood? Do Paul and Ringo, today, sometimes just stick it on to enjoy? Or would they be embarrassed to do so? Is it considered somehow gauche to listen to your own stuff, even at that level? Is it something you can do with other people over, or is it something you can just do by yourself?
I’ve recorded a few tunes of my own over the years. Strictly amateurish stuff, but I like some of it. It’s on my iTunes on my laptop. It’s in the rotation, and sometimes, when it comes on, I listen to it.
We had Gordon Lightfoot in Studio 212 one day. It was for a television thing but I was in charge of 212 that day, so I was in the studio with him and about a hundred of his hanger ons. He was in a mood and one of his hanger ons told me and some others to leave while they dealt with it. While I was standing outside the studio I talked with one of his lesser inner circle and they told me some Gordon stories.
One of the stories was that at Gordon’s parties they play Gordon Lightfoot music. And we wondered. Was that weird? Or did it make sense? I would be the first to admit that Gordon Lightfoot’s music is awesome. I’d put some of it right up there with the Beatles. Should he not have the right to play it when and where he wants? Would I play my own tunes publicly if I were as good as Gordon?
Doesn’t seem quite Canadian, somehow. Immodest.
So I’m going to go with probably not.