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I
knew there had to be a good reason why I could never vote for Andrew Scheer,
the leader of the Conservative party.
Of course, I never have, and never
could, vote for a Conservative in any circumstances, nor for a Liberal. But
many people would not think that a good reason, or at least an adequate one.
I came across the real reason I could
never vote for him in an article on his wife in today’s Globe and Mail. They apparently have five young children, which
might be a factor nudging me towards voting for him. Maybe. But not quite.
Like, not by a thousand miles.
No, the reason lies in a tiny item
that gives him away totally in my eyes. He finds the time to spend with his children
every evening, if he can, to watch The Simpsons ---- “always checking it in
advance to make sure of its suitability.”
That’s the kicker info right there.
Scheer is a man who brings up his children in a manner that insulates them
against even the mildest impropriety. He’s not a man who, like me, will ever
experience his seven- year-old son coming home from school and snarling at him,
about his teacher, "I hate that shrimpy fucking nun!”
The little Scheers are evidently
being brought up in a world free of obscenities or of difficult relationships.
Or of sceptical opinions. Or of anything that might upset them in any way. Presumably they will go to some private
school where they will be filled with twee ideas that will delight Mummy and
Daddy, and Uncle David and Auntie Mim.
Perhaps I am being unnecessarily
unkind to Chez Scheer, but I know I
will never be close enough to them to be appalled by them. In their excessive
concern for whitewashing the world in which their children function, they remind me of an incident I
remember from the years I spent hanging around the National Film Board. That estimable
organization had a number of studios devoted to special work. One, known as
Challenge for Change, was devoted “ to preparing Canadians for social change.”
That is the one I did most of my work for, although I admit it was based on a
false premise, namely, that if only the government knew what was happening out
there in society, it would make haste to do something about it.
Another studio specialized in animation
films, in which they have attained an international reputation, and for
which some of the world’s most skilled
film animators carried out their daily tasks.
It always seemed to me to be a complete justification for the very
existence of the NFB that a modest little Scots-Canadian called Norman McLaren could be seen shuffling
around its corridors in his slippers, a man who just happened to have made some
of the most imaginative and beautiful animated films ever seen.
Another studio specialized in
“women’s" films, which brings me to the point of my story. One woman producer employed by this women's studio reported that
she was having a special difficulty because pornographic magazines were being
placed in low positions in news agents racks,
well within the reach of her 13-year-old daughter and “what am I
supposed to tell my daughter about this?” My question was, what sort of mother
would find it difficult to talk to her young daughter about pornography?
But the film-maker’s response was to
make a film called Not a Love Story dealing
with pornography and its horrors. This was a propaganda film, about which I had
and have no qualms, but it was used to propagate a case for censorship,
something I don't believe the NFB should ever have countenanced. Just
incidentally, I doubt it was ever particularly effective in that aim; rather it
had the opposite effect in that it was the first NFB film ever to be screened
at lunchtime screenings in New York to audiences of bald middle-aged men.
One of my sons has warned me that The Simpsons could be a rather raunchy programme.
He instanced a statement by Homer Simpson on one occasion that “I am a choc-a-holic,
only with booze.”
Well, Andrew and Mrs. Scheer, I doubt
that your little ones are going to be
ruined by anything they hear or see on The
Simpsons. They might be better prepared to face the world if they are
permitted so see and hear whatever comes across their ken, and if any of it
troubles them, if they are given by adults
they trust some reasonable, factual information about its meaning or lack of
meaning.
They might trust you, and I hope they
do: but me? Since you seem to be asking
I’m afraid I will never trust you, either to run this country, or to make any
other decisions on my behalf.
Sorry about that, but wot the hell,
wot the hell!
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