IN CANADA'S ELECTION, LOCAL DEBATES MATTER (work-in-progress; updated!)

KEYWORDS: Canada, federal election, local ridings, McGill University, public debate

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Polling Station, Montreal, Canada

When I started this blog post over a year ago, Canada was mere days from a federal election that many hoped would end Stephen Harper's ten-year Conservative rule. As we know, those hopes were met. In fact, newly elected Prime Minister Trudeau stepped confidently into his role, bringing "fresh leadership" on a variety of issues. However, in the days leading up to election day nothing was assured. There was a pervasive sense of "every vote counts." That if we acted individually - even if tactically - we could collectively shift the politics in our country (i.e., from right to left). As it turns out, what political analysts and journalists described as a "significant" election, would turn out to be historic: nearly 70% of the Canadian electorate would vote. This suggests that public engagement just prior to October 19th was crucial. Did Town Hall meetings increase that public engagement and ultimately sway people's votes? I don't have a ready answer. I do know that joining a Town Hall meeting in my hometown brought each party's politics and personalities into sharper focus. Who would work steadfastly to realize the ideals of an inclusive society? 

My vote in Canada's 42nd federal election would be an informed choice - at least I think. 

How you vote depends on your values - what you do and don't believe in - and the extent to which they're reflected in society, not to mention the press that portrays that society (topic for a later post?). Rather cynically, it also might depend on where your first choice stands in the election race: you might feel obliged to make a tactical decision and vote for the "other" candidate to stave off your absolute least favourite candidate. Though I'm an educated adult voter, the strategies and tactics at our disposal still confuse me. What I can cope with are friendly discussions with neighbours and participation in local debates that I can reach by transit.

Engineers Without Borders hosts local election debate at McGill University 
in Montreal, Canada

Local MP candidates - from far left to right: NDP, Liberal, Green Party - prepare 
to debate Canada's role in international development.

Six days before the election, Engineers Without Borders hosted a non-partisan political debate at McGill University about Canada's role in the fight against global poverty. Of the five serious candidates vying to represent the Montreal riding of Ville-Marie/Le-Sud-Ouest/ile-des-Soeurs, three participated: two lawyers and one environmental scientist. As the NDP, Liberal and Green party candidates launched the discussion - talking points in hand - I began the very personal process of deciding. Nothing revelatory was debated, let's get that out of the way. What's interesting though is that as late as October 13th, I was what pollsters call: an "undecided" voter. And while decidedly against business-as-usual Conservatives and the separatist Bloc-Quebecois, their absence from the debate sent out certain signals: local debates don't matter much; local citizens, who may be undecided, don't matter much. I told you this would be a personal process. 

  

BOMBS FALL, I GO WHERE? (work-in-progress; updated!)

KEYWORDS: N/A (i.e., personal reflection)

SUMMARY: Will be phasing out "summary" feature.

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I admit the title of this post is rather macabre. "Bombs Fall, I Go Where?" It came to me while drafting a post on the siege of Sarajevo. I was enrapt by a photo of a man running along a bombed out boulevard in broad daylight. The infamous sniper alley. This photo here:

Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina, c. 1993 (source: unknown)

Nowadays, news of Syria's civil war, of Yemen, of Iraq are part of the psyche-bruising mix. My Twitter feed of needy humanitarian agencies representing vulnerable children and women have left their mark, too. Then there are the countless recollections of human cruelty by filmmakers and writers: world wars, genocides, bloody coups that long ago plunged a corner of my heart into darkness. My mum would agree that I am sometimes macabre. But to return to the question at hand: Where would I go, if bombs began to fall? And to further ask: Who would shelter me? How would I survive? Would I survive? Who would remain? You see, introspection often follows bad news, and it's certainly no different today. 

Yesterday, a deadly terrorist attack in Dhaka, Bangladesh, where I lived from 2012 to 2013, took place. This morning, I'm urged to take my thought experiment - those hypothetical "bomb-falling" questions -- to some kind of conclusion. Beneath (or beyond?) the sadness and anger lies the need to feel more prepared, as if I were now -- more than any other time -- susceptible to danger, which, according to crime experts, I'm not. My preparations involve dwelling on death: imagining, evoking, playing over possible scenarios in my mind. This mental habit performed in relative safety and often quietly, inwardly, keeps the notion of life's fragility close. Maybe too close. Forgive me if I sound trite. I've simply come to understand this: Why wouldn't bombs fall on me -- on us? If they haven't already, it's probably just a matter of time. Whether they be literal bombs or deathly devices of another kind (e.g., machetes, bullets, stones, a speeding car), I think my reader catches my drift: the degrees may vary but we're all vulnerable. Whether it be taken by sickness, accident or bomb, life must be honoured. 

My flat was in Gulshan, the posh Dhaka neighbourhood where Islamists murdered more than twenty people inside Holey Artisan, a popular lakefront restaurant. It was an oasis of calm in a clamouring, crowded, dusty city. This much I can tell from the pictures. I'd have been a regular at Holey, arriving after work by in my Toyota sedan to daydream in the expansive garden. Having no grasp of Bengali, I'd order coffee in English with my "regular" waiter, and recline in the thinly-padded wrought-iron chair, newspapers or books in hand. I'd occasionally wish I had company to discuss the news and avert the gaze that falls upon a lone woman dining out. But now, three years on, Gulshan's relative peace has been horribly disturbed. Caught in a terrible tragedy were patrons who were simply partaking in what is so ordinary -- almost mundane: an evening out at the local eatery. 

(To be continued.)