Blood and Daring

Sir John the Saviour

/ John Boyko / 1 Comment

Part of the joy of being an author is the privilege of travelling the country and meeting people who share a passion for books and ideas. Interviews are fascinating too because questions reveal the issues that are stirring interest. The questions are sometimes surprising.

Last January I was speaking with an American journalist from Louisiana about my book dealing with Canada and the American Civil War. She said, “I read your book and admit I had never heard of John Macdonald. It seems like he was quite was a big deal.” “Yes,” I offered politely, “He was and is quite a big deal.”  She continued, “So how would you explain Macdonald to our American readers in one sentence?” “Well,” I said, drawing a breath, “Macdonald is like America’s James Madison in that he led the writing of our constitution, and he is like your Thomas Jefferson in that he provided the ideological basis and political justification for the creation of our country, and he is like your George Washington in that he was our first chief executive that put flesh on the country’s skeleton while his every decision provided a precedent that resonates to this day; so our Macdonald was your Madison, Jefferson and Washington rolled into one man.”

I could have said much more. We can’t escape Macdonald. Every time we discuss the Senate, or the power of the prime minister, or the role of an MP, or government’s power we are revisiting his vision. We know that he created and built Canada. Less well known, however, is how he saved Canada.

Image Sir John A. Macdonald

In 1871, Canada was four years old. The American Civil War that had affected how and when the country had been created had been over for six years; but it was not really over. When the war began, Britain had declared itself neutral. That made Canada neutral too but still about 40,000 Canadians and Maritimers broke the law to don the blue and gray and fight. Canadians sold weapons to both sides and housed a Confederate spy ring that organized raids from Toronto and Montreal. John Wilkes Booth visited Montreal to organize Lincoln’s assassination. All of this and more led a great many Americans to call for revenge; generals, newspapers and politicians called for invasion and annexation.

Throughout the war, Britain had ignored its neutrality law and allowed ships to be bought or built then sold to dummy companies that turned them over to the Confederate navy. One such ship was called the Enrica. The Americans knew about it even while she was under construction at the Laird Yards in Liverpool in the fall of 1861. The British government allowed it to be built and then snuck down the Mersey to the Azores where it was refitted for war and rechristened the CSS Alabama.

The Alabama roamed the seas and eventually sank 64 American commercial vessels and a warship. Lincoln ordered it destroyed and the global hunt was on. In July, 1864, the Alabama was sunk outside a French port.

Image CSS Alabama

At the war’s conclusion, the United States continued its Manifest Destiny driven desire to have Canada. Annexationist Secretary of State William Henry Seward purchased Alaska in 1867. He explained that the purchase was merely a step in driving Britain out of British Columbia and eventually all of North America. But Macdonald stopped him by persuading those in Vancouver and Victoria to join Canada. Seward negotiated with Britain to purchase Rupert’s Land from the Hudson’s Bay Company – nearly all of what is now northern Ontario and the prairies. But Macdonald stopped him again by negotiating around the United States and buying it for Canada.

Seward had one card left to play. He argued that by allowing ships such as the Alabama to be built and bought that Britain had prolonged the Civil War and cost America money and lives. He added up everything from lost ships to increased maritime insurance rates and presented Britain with a bill totalling an astronomical 125 million dollars.

Britain would not, and in fact simply could not pay. Its economy would be crushed. Plus it needed what money it had to build its defence in light of growing troubles in Europe. It reacted to what became known as the Alabama claims by playing the diplomatic game of deny and delay.

By 1871, Ulysses S. Grant had become president. Like Seward, Grant hated the roles Canada and Britain had played in the war. He told his cabinet, “If not for our debt, I wish Congress would declare war on Great Britain, then we could take Canada and wipe out her Commerce as she has done ours, then we would start fair.” Grant’s Secretary of State Hamilton Fish spoke with the British minister to Washington Edward Thornton. He said that Grant would waive the entire Alabama reparation payment if Britain would simply hand over Canada. Thornton said the Canadians would probably not like it but that he would inform his government. Shortly afterwards, a conference was convened to settle the matter. Grant was pleased and said that if Canada was annexed then the Alabama claims could be settled in five minutes.

Image President Grant

In February, 1871 five Americans, including Secretary of State Fish, welcomed five Brits to Washington. As a courtesy, the British allowed Sir John to be a part of their delegation. Macdonald knew that the future of his infant country was at stake. He took the proceedings so seriously that he even abstained from drink for the entire conference!

Macdonald maneuvered the agenda so that they began negotiating the American abuse of rules regarding inland fishing rights. It was an enormously important issue for Canada and he refused to budge an inch. But focussing on fishing was also a brilliant strategy for no matter how many other matters were raised Macdonald kept coming back to fishing. Every time anyone brought up the main question at hand – the Alabama claims – Macdonald talked to Fish about fish.

The Americans badgered him during the day. The British delegates badgered him every night. The Brits threatened him with a withdrawal of British military support. He was unmoved. They tried to bribe him with an appointment to Her Majesty’s Privy Council. He laughed them off. When cornered, Macdonald delayed by saying he needed to write home for advice. It was later discovered that his cables to the cabinet and governor general were being boomeranged back to Washington by Governor General Lisgar who had more loyalty to Britain than Canada. The backstabbing double-cross meant that British delegates knew exactly what Macdonald was doing and all of his fall back positions; but they could still not best him.

The conference ended after 9 weeks and 37 meetings. Macdonald won everything he had wanted. Fishing rights were settled in Canada’s favour. Because the Americans refused, Britain would pay Canada 4 million pounds in compensation for losses incurred in the Fenian Raids; Macdonald would use the money for railway construction. Free access to the American market for a number of Canadian products was guaranteed while Canadian tariffs could remain. Two concessions were more important than these and others. First, the Alabama claims would be settled by an international tribunal and it was agreed that the reparations for Canada swap was off the table. Second, it had been established that the ratification of the Washington Treaty would need approval by the American Congress, British parliament and by the Canadian parliament.

The Washington Treaty was the final battle of the American Civil War. It was the final episode of the American Manifest Destiny dream of Canadian annexation. Macdonald ensured that Canada could thrive because it would survive.

When he arrived back in Ottawa Macdonald delivered a four hour speech in the House. He did not strut. He did not gloat. Rather, he acted as a responsible statesman who respected Canadians sufficiently to explain what had been at stake and what had happened in all of its complex detail. He then went home and for the first time in over two months enjoyed a drink; perhaps more than one. He deserved it, he had saved his country, and that was quite a big deal.

It Was More than the Naked Women

/ John Boyko / 2 Comments

In retrospect, I should have expected the naked women. You see, twenty years ago I was a Program Consultant at what was then the Peterborough Board of Education. I applied to the Asian Pacific Society and was shocked when chosen to be one of ten Canadian educators to join groups from 29 countries for a three-week junket to Japan. The trip changed me; and it wasn’t just the women.

Tokyo was a marvel. The airport was packed but efficient. The bus ride was an assault on the senses with a guide chattering, horns honking, and a jungle of primary-coloured vertical neon festooning every building for mile after traffic-jammed mile. My hotel room was the smallest I’ve ever seen. Its bathroom was constructed of a single fiberglass mold with a drain in the middle. I saw my first flat screen TV, about six inches from the end of my tiny bed, and found J. R. Ewing much less menacing when speaking in high-pitched Japanese.

Tokyo

Our large contingent was split into groups of fifteen. Every morning found us at a different school. Each was large, inviting, sparkling clean, and technologically advanced. We got used to kids standing when we entered classrooms and were reminded that smiles break barriers of language, age, and culture. It was interesting though that the happy kids in marvelous schools were learning by rote, memorizing more than understanding, thinking not critically but obediently, and all feeling the enormous pressure of preparing for standardized exams that would dictate their next school and the rest of their lives. In a Math class, a teacher offered us his chalk. A Polish woman glanced for a second at the calculus problem the teacher had been demonstrating and then was applauded when she walked to the board and completed it. I thought that perhaps not music but mathematics is the true universal language.

Each evening and a couple of free days were ours to explore. At Hiroshima we visited the Peace Park; ground zero for the atomic blast that obliterated the city in 1945. I wept at seeing tiny, folded paper doves. Children across the country made them and on pilgrimages to the park they hung them on every monument and tree – there were thousands of them, maybe millions. I cried again without shame at the small museum when I stood before a piece of concrete that had once been the outside wall of a bank. A guide explained that the two dark smudges, one large and one small, were the shadows of a mother and child who had turned to face the blast, and when its blinding brilliance bleached the wall, they were vaporized, leaving only their shadows as ghosts of remembrance.

Hiroshima

We took the bullet train to Kyoto and were overwhelmed by its beauty. Historians and architects had convinced the American bomber command to leave it alone and so it is Japan’s only major city that was left untouched. We saw the stable with the original wooden carving above the door of three monkeys indicating that they saw, heard and said nothing. Thousand year old gardens and temples spoke of tranquility and urged a cleansing of the mind and heart.

The highlight, however, was my home stay. I was picked up at the airport by a friendly woman who had worked as an airline stewardess and so, with the help of her always present translation book, spoke understandable English. She drove as her husband sat looking morose; my visit was obviously her idea. When Mister Grumpy grumbled, we pulled over and he slumped out and purchased two cans of beer from a vending machine that sat next to a Coke machine. Sipping my Sapporo I giggled and said that the beer machine must be very popular with local teenagers. “Well no.” she said, “You can’t drink alcohol until you are 21.” “Well sure,” I said, “But after dark do the kids not line up and empty the thing?” “No.” she repeated, “They can’t drink until they are 21.” She could not understood my question. A short exchange in Japanese led to a confused glance over his shoulder as Mr. Grumpy must have wondered what kind of country I was from where children disobeyed perfectly simple rules.

Entering their middle class neighbourhood was like driving into a maze. Each immaculate, wood and glass house with its stone yard and ornate water garden was surrounded by an elaborate eight to ten foot fence or hedge. At each intersection were hung large, round mirrors – like those in our convenience stores – for drivers to see around corners. Having learned nothing, I laughed and said, “Kids must enjoy using them for target practice.” My host said no, and asked why children would want to intentionally break something. I admitted that I did not understand, but I think I was beginning to.

Home was small and spotless. I met their eight year old son who was far more interested in his transformers than me and their gangly twelve year old daughter. It became quickly apparent that her questions were meant not so much to converse but rather to show her parents how adept she was becoming in the English lessons she was taking at her evening cram school – school after school – remember those exams.

Their home struck me as tidy but sparse. But then I saw what I had been seeing for days but had not really seen. It was not bare; it was uncluttered. It was like all the gardens I had been admiring that, unlike the riots of colours and jumbles of textures in so many of ours, instead offered the gift of order, the serenity of empty, and always the rejuvenating, tinkling of water. Perhaps the houses and gardens offered a sanctuary from the craziness of the cities and the pressure to succeed. I was suddenly embarrassed by all my stuff; by all the dusted and cleaned and treasured and boxed and stored and totally unnecessary stuff in my house back home.

I was taken to the living room and to grandfather who was sitting cross-legged on a beanbag chair watching a baseball game on TV – Hawks versus the Carp. He ignored me. When the inning ended I pointed at my chest and said, “Toronto.” “Ah,” he said, “Blue Jays.” “Yes,” I smiled, “the Toronto Blue Jays.” They had recently won their back-to-back World Series. Grandfather clasped his hands and gestured the swinging of a bat. He leaned forward and whispered, “Joe Carter.”  “Yes.” I replied, “Joe Carter.”  He looked back at the TV. He’d used up his only four words of English. He’d been a pilot in the Second World War; and now we were friends enjoying a beer and ball game.

After dinner – I was getting quite adept at sitting on the floor – I was told that Mr. Grumpy was taking me to a public bath. It looked like a three story apartment building. He paid the receptionist and we climbed the stairs. We stripped and hung our clothes and the bag of clothes we would wear home on a hook – no lockers, no locks, and no worries. I followed him into a narrow room with a wet, gray cement floor and about fifteen men, all older than me, and just as naked. When they saw me there was silence and stares. My host muttered something and they bowed. I bowed as I had learned to do.

A long counter containing ten sinks before a half-wall of mirrors was on the left. Along the right was a wide step before a trough and a row of gleaming silver taps about a foot from the step. Following my host and several others I squatted on the step and desperately tried to do as they were doing so adeptly. Many of the men pointed and grinned as I clumsily soaped up and tried to rinse with the bowl and twice lost my footing. Moving through a door I gasped to find myself outside, on the roof, overlooking the city’s lights that seemed to go on forever. I sank into a large, gurgling hot tub with about ten other men. We sat in silence. Most had their eyes closed. Gazing up at the canopy of stars I found the big dipper. It was tilted in an odd way but there it was; the same constellation that my wife and I see on summer evenings from our back deck. We really are one world.

Padding back inside, I was handed a new bowl and a shaving kit. I followed my host to the row of sinks. Now, I had heard the women on the other side. I knew they were there. The problem came when I stood before the mirror and realized that the half-wall had been built for Japanese people and not six foot tall Canadians – it came to about my nose. And there I was, wide-eyed, looking into a roomful of twenty, naked Japanese women.

I yelped “Ah!” and jolted myself down. I had reacted so quickly that I smashed my elbow on the counter and I yelled out again. As I crouched on my haunches rubbing my arm I heard laughter from both sides of the wall. A number of men gestured for me to stand for another peek. From over the wall I heard the unmistakable, language-busting sound of an inviting, “Yoo-hoo!” followed by more laughter. Even Mr. Grumpy managed a smirk.

I smiled. I nodded. And as I crouched to shave I noticed that what they say is true, when you have no clothes, you blush all over. Of all the lessons I learned in those three weeks, three weeks that led to many changes in my life and more that I am still trying to master, it was the least important.

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Civil War Hero or Villian

/ John Boyko / 6 Comments

Civil War Hero or Villain

You may not know Jacob Thompson but he knew us. One hundred and fifty years ago this week Thompson brought the American Civil War to Canada as it hadn’t been before and helped spur Confederation. His role in our birth reminds us of the ideas that seem to be motivating us still.

The winter of 1863-64 was tough on the Confederate States of America. Its armies were losing men and battles, its cities saw food riots and its dollar was plummeting. President Jefferson Davis needed to turn things around and so he turned to Jacob Thompson.

Image

Thompson was a Mississippi lawyer, politician and former federal cabinet secretary. Davis asked him to save the South by going north. He was given one million dollars, an astronomical sum at the time, and ordered to harass and distract Lincoln’s Union from Canada.

Thompson arrived in the first week of May, 1864 and established offices in Montreal and in Toronto’s swankiest hotel, the Queen’s, located where the Royal York is today. He mobilized Confederate deserters and escaped prisoners and Canadians sympathizers.

One of his first acts was to invite America’s most influential newspaper publisher and Lincoln’s personal secretary to Niagara Falls under the pretence of negotiating a peace agreement. When Lincoln set terms the South could never meet, Thompson’s contacts pilloried him in the press for being a warmonger with no interest in peace. Lincoln’s already shaky support in the war-weary North suffered.

Union ships on Lake Erie were hijacked. Attempts were made to free Confederates from Northern prisons. Arms and ammunition were manufactured in Guelph and Toronto and shipped to the South. Thompson worked with the Copperhead movement to stop Lincoln’s re-election and split the North by creating a new, independent country. The Copperhead leader ran operations from his hotel in Windsor. Thompson and the Copperheads disrupted Lincoln’s Republican Party convention.

Thompson’s underground actions led to more Union troops being moved to the border. American ships ignored a War of 1812 agreement and rearmed. In response, more British soldiers were deployed to Canada along with more complaints from London that the colony was too expensive and should be left to its own devices. Canadian militia units were mobilized with the realization that the broke, politically dysfunctional colony could not effectively defend itself in the face of growing American threats.

John A. Macdonald knew that Thompson’s actions had enraged a United States that was already upset with Canadian war-time actions and attitudes. The likelihood of a post-war invasion seemed real and terrifying. For years, Confederation had been an interesting idea but it had become a necessity. To save itself Canada needed to create itself. It is no coincidence that five months after Thompson arrived in Toronto the Fathers of Confederation arrived in Charlottetown.

While Macdonald debated Thompson terrorized. His men simultaneously engulfed a number of Manhattan’s hotels and theatres in flames and then fled back to Toronto. Among the New Yorkers caught in the chaos on Broadway was the famous actor John Wilkes Booth. As part of his plot that killed Lincoln, he spent a week with Thompson’s men in Montreal.

Several of Thompson’s terrorists raided St. Alban’s, Vermont. They robbed its banks, killed a man and then fled with guns blazing and a posse in pursuit. They were caught by Canadian authorities but a judge freed them. American newspapers insisted that Lincoln immediately invade Canada in retribution. The American Senate reacted by ending the Canadian-American free trade agreement and taking other actions that promised to economically punish Canada. Canadians were further convinced of the threat to all they valued and yearned to preserve.

With his country dying, Jacob Thompson inadvertently aided in the birth of ours; he was our Uncle of Confederation. Considering his role in motivating change allows us to consider the degree to which our political decisions are still based upon equal parts courage, hope and fear. And, as in politics so often and war always, we are left to ponder whether Thompson was a hero or a villain.

Image

Read more about Jacob Thompson and about Canada’s role in the war in the bestselling Blood and Daring: How Canada Fought the American Civil War and Forged a Nation.

http://www.amazon.ca/John-Boyko-Books/s?ie=UTF8&page=1&rh=n%3A916520%2Cp_27%3AJohn%20Boyko

http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/home/search/?keywords=john%20boyko

It’s Time to Put R. B. Bennett on the Hill

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It’s Time to Put Bennett on the Hill                                                       

History matters. It is the stories we tell ourselves and others about whom we are and who we aspire to be. Among the important ways we tell those stories are through the monuments we erect on Parliament Hill; the lawn outside our House. Sir John is there. So are Diefenbaker and Laurier, the Queen, the Famous Five, and more. But Parliament Hill’s story is incomplete for it is without a statue of Prime Minister R. B. Bennett. He deserves to be there. We need him there for visitors to ponder his life and contributions as reflections of the values we cherish as Canadians.

Bennett was a remarkable man. Born to a poor New Brunswick family, he was a school principal by age 19. Wanting more, he attended law school. Senator James Lougheed was so impressed with the young student that he offered a full partnership so that Lougheed-Bennett was born in the Wild West boomtown of Calgary. Bennett was soon president of several companies and on the boards of more. Through hard work, connections and good luck he became a multi-millionaire. But he was never inspired or impressed by wealth. He owned neither a car nor, until retirement, a house. He gave nearly all of his money to individuals, charities, schools and universities.

Bennett was an engaged citizen. He believed in the nobility of public service. He was a city counsellor, territorial representative, and then a member of Alberta’s provincial parliament. He was the first leader of the Alberta Conservative Party. He won a federal seat and served in cabinet. In 1927 he became leader of the federal Tories and then, in 1930, Canada’s prime minister – the first, but not the last from Calgary.

After suffering defeat in 1935, Bennett was an effective opposition leader for two years but then fulfilled a life-long dream and retired to England. The Second World War drew him back to public service. He led the preparation of the Royal Air Force by coordinating the building of planes and air strips. Churchill rewarded him with an appointment to the House of Lords where he worked hard to prepare for the post-war years.

Bennett was a transformational leader. He became prime minister just as the Great Depression was entering its darkest days. The Red Tory principles that he had espoused throughout his life led to policies that respected the positive power of capitalism and a constructive role for government.

Bennett’s government provided immediate relief for those in need and then restructured the economy to mitigate the impacts of future economic calamities. He modernized unemployment insurance, established a minimum wage and limits on work hours, extended federally-backed farm credit, enacted anti-monopoly legislation, and saved thousands of farms with a revamped Wheat Board. He wrestled control of monetary policy from chartered banks with the establishment of the indispensable Bank of Canada. To protect and promote Canadian culture and national unity, Bennett formed the Canadian Radio Broadcasting Commission that became the CBC.

His legacy also includes increased trade with a host of countries and a trade deal with America that was enacted weeks after he left office. He negotiated a treaty that later served as the framework for the construction of the St. Lawrence Seaway. Bennett’s bold actions led to a reinterpretation of the constitution that allowed the creation of many of the social policies which Canadians now proclaim as their birthright.

Bennett was not a perfect prime minister. There is no such thing. He was not a perfect human being – none of us are. But he was a remarkable man, a generous philanthropist, an engaged citizen and a transformational leader. His contributions, principles, and the questions his life forces us to ponder helps us understand ourselves and our country. R. B. Bennett’s story deserves to be a larger part of our collective story. We should begin our consideration of its place and lessons by placing a commemorative statue of R. B. Bennett on Parliament Hill.

(For more on R. B. Bennett see Bennett: The Rebel Who Challenged and Changed a Nation (Goose Lane Editions) available at: amazon.ca and chapters.indigo.ca

(This was published as an op. ed. column in Ottawa’s Hill Times on April 28, 2014)

 

 

 

 

What If It Had Rained in Dallas or Diefenbaker Forgot About the Tree?

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What If It Had Rained in Dallas or Diefenbaker Forgot About the Tree?

Anniversary journalism is lazy but inevitable. We were bombarded with the fiftieth anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination stories and more than once I turned away from the horrible film clip of a man being murdered. I thought it fascinating that through the mourning porn, few stopped to consider Kennedy’s impact on Canada – and it was enormous. More fun, I thought, would be to play the “what if” counter-factual game of historical inquiry and ponder the effects on Canada not of his life but if he had lived.

After all, Kennedy’s living past November 1963 could have happened if one of two things had changed. First, if it had rained in Dallas that day then his limousine would have had its roof in place and Lee Harvey Oswald (or whoever) may not have found his target. Second, on a 1961 visit to Ottawa Prime Minister John Diefenbaker had insisted on Kennedy planting a ceremonial tree at the Governor General’s residence.  While shovelling dirt he had seriously reinjured his already weak back and so was fitted for a stiff brace. He was wearing it that day in Dallas and after the first shot it had kept him erect and a sitting duck for the second and deadly shot.

So what if it had rained in Dallas or Diefenbaker had forgotten about the tree?

JFK and Dief

                 President Kennedy and Prime Minister Diefenbaker in Ottawa

JFK was a careless philanderer. He consorted with prostitutes, movie stars, and even a mobster’s girlfriend. He was once asked what he wanted for his birthday and he pointed to a young Hollywood starlet in a magazine. Guess who was with him a few days later?

In August, 1963, the F.B.I. told Attorney General Robert Kennedy that his brother was having an affair with East German communist spy Ellen Rometsch. This was different. This was serious. She was quickly deported on an Air Force plane. Days before Kennedy left for Dallas, the Senate Rules Committee was preparing to subpoena Rometsch in its investigation of Bobby Baker who was suspected of having shady financial dealings with Senators and of arranging many of the president’s dalliances.

The sex-spy scandal could have shattered Kennedy’s presidency. There would have been significant ramifications for the increasingly left-leaning Canada if the uproar and possible impeachment had led to the election of the Republican’s 1964 presidential candidate, the extreme right-wing Barry Goldwater.

But what if Kennedy was re-elected? He and Diefenbaker hated each other. The president knew and liked Liberal leader Lester Pearson and so his government helped defeat Diefenbaker in the April, 1963 election. Kennedy then ordered a resumption of positive Canadian-American interaction. The vastly improved personal relations between leaders could have earned major dividends for Canada.

Pearson had campaigned on a promise to surrender to Kennedy’s pressure and house American nuclear missiles in Canada. In the subsequent months, though, Kennedy worked to end nuclear proliferation and signed the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty. He was sending signals to the Soviet Union with hopes to create what would later be called détente. It is likely that Pearson would have reacted to the changing Cold War policies and tenor and revisited his long-held views on disarmament and used his relationship with Kennedy to get the weapons of mass destruction back out of Canada.

Kennedy invited Pearson to his home and asked for advice on Vietnam. When told he should get out, Kennedy laughed and said that any fool knew that but the question was how. After the 1964 election, Kennedy would probably have withdrawn the American military ‘advisors’ he had dispatched and there would have been no Americanized Vietnam war.

Without the Vietnam War, tensions caused by Canada’s opposition to it would not have existed. Eighty Canadians who went to the U.S. to serve would not have died. Tens of thousands of American draft dodgers would not have crossed the border. Without Vietnam, African Americans and Canadian women and youth fighting for change would not have had the link that helped unite and strengthen their movements. The young, for instance, would probably have initiated their cultural rebellion but without much of its anti-war inspired, revolutionary anger. Vancouver’s Gastown, Toronto’s Yorkville and conversations at dinner tables across the country would have been different.

After eight years of Kennedy’s growing liberal consensus, and without the war tearing America’s social fabric, the ‘silent majority’ that helped elect Richard Nixon may not have evolved. No Nixon would have meant no anti-American wave caused by Nixon’s 10% tax on Canadian trade and by his Vietnam policies. No anti-American wave could have tempered the uptick in Canadian patriotism – our negative nationalism.  No Nixon would have meant no Watergate so we might not still be suffering its sad legacy of wrathful, prying journalism and popular political cynicism.

John F. Kennedy was America’s first celebrity president. He taught all future leaders – Trudeau, Clinton, Obama and Trudeau again – the efficacy of image and television. He was a flawed man but a transformational leader with a positive vision and the courage and intellect to pursue it. Had he lived and dodged scandal, Canada would have been different then and different now.