Poor Kathy D.
Everyone’s picking on her. Everyone, that is, except your diehard, dyed-in-the-wool, ultra-right-wing, “progressive conservative.” For he/she/it, Kathy D. can do no wrong.
On the other extreme, for your diehard, dyed-in-the-wool, far-out-type Liberal, she can do nothing right.
I don’t know what’s worse. Neither end of that spectrum can be trusted to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help them God. They’re incapable of it. Neither side would recognize truth if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.
That isn’t the area of the body where truth is normally found, of course. Emanating from that particular location more than anything else is the raw poop one associates with the male gender of cattle.
It’s enough to drive you to watch “Coronation Street.”
Strong loyalty is one thing; blind allegiance is another. Legitimate criticism is one thing; nothing but constant attack, again, is another. BS comes to mind.
I belong to the great five per cent majority constituting the middle-of-the-road, common-sense voter who doesn’t stand a chance of giving legitimate direction to government.
It’s bad when 95 per cent of the politically minded doesn’t know its arse from a hole in the ground.
I, myself, have many criticisms of the premier. Some of those are too infantile to talk about, but I’ll mention just one because it would drive a sane man to attend an NDP political luncheon. I’m not that bad, but when she’s talking in the House I rarely get what she’s saying. I know that it has something to do with Muskrat Falls because that’s 90 per cent of what they’re on about.
In all truth, whenever Ms. D opens her mouth, all I hear is “Mr. Speaker, Mr. Speaker.”
It’s “Mr. Speaker” this, and “Mr. Speaker” that.
“I would like to say, Mr. Speaker, to the honourable member, Mr. Speaker, that, Mr. Speaker, as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Speaker, I am very pleased, Mr. Speaker, to have you there, Mr. Speaker, because if you were not, Mr. Speaker, I’d have no one to talk to.”
You’re sick of it already? Imagine having to sit in the House day after day. That’s why they have so few sitting days. There aren’t enough psychiatrists in the province to handle the resulting insanity.
But, as I say, that’s only minor. Most people think they’re all nuts, anyway. That being so, you might ask yourself who put them there.
My more serious concern with our premier is the ongoing affair with that champion of everything that’s good for Newfoundland and Labrador, Stephen Harper, a.k.a. the prime minister of Canada.
I know that’s not a romantic affair because who could possibly get romantically involved with The Iceman? He’s colder than an Arctic mackerel.
I think she made a serious mistake in befriending Brother Harper at the beginning.
I know why she did it, but I wish she had not. In theory, it sounded good. In trying to fill the shoes of a very strong premier, she had to make her own mark and do it quickly. What better way than to forge a peace treaty with Ottawa, to begin a new era of peace and understanding and all that.
Surely he, too, would be happy — if not anxious — to meet the new premier on those terms.
Oh sure, he seemed like a scorpion with a particularly poisonous sting when dealing with Danny Williams, but one had to call in the big guns when battling Newfoundland and Labrador back then. Now it would be different.
You all know the story about the scorpion who asked a small boy for a lift across a stream. The boy at first refused and said he was afraid the scorpion would sting him. But the scorpion promised so sincerely he would not that at last the boy carried him across. No sooner were they on the other side than the scorpion stung him.
As the boy lay dying, he asked, “Why did you do that? I carried you because you promised.”
“Ah yes,” the scorpion said, “but you knew I was a scorpion when you agreed to take me.”
Pierre Trudeau said that living next to the United States was like a mouse being in bed with an elephant. I’m afraid Ms. D is discovering that our province dealing with the Harper government is akin to that of a girl being in bed with a scorpion.
The unfortunate part is that we are being stung, over and over by the Scorpion King, who feels he has divine right to hit us where it hurts most.
Didn’t most of us in this province vote against him last time around? Of course we did, being wiser by far than your average Canadian. Our premier should have taken her cue from that. War is hell.
I was listening to her this morning with Randy Simms on “Open Line.” Didn’t get it all, so I may have missed something significant that would have affected what I’ve written here.
However, as the man said, “What I have written, I have written.”
Didn’t hear anything new from a lady who is probably a nice person and doesn’t really deserve all the bad press.
She may be getting some bad advice when she didn’t meet with the family of that boy. The possibility that it would have been a miniature inquiry? Don’t think so, Ms. D. You would have lost less by going ahead with it.
In the meantime, perhaps you could take this piece of advice from one of the five per cent. Perception, as you well know, is everything. Whatever you think you are and whatever you think you’re doing, look at it from the point of view of your people.
Fall, climb, leap, jump or levitate, by one means or another, but get out of bed with the scorpion.
Ed Smith is an author who lives in
Springdale. His email address is firstname.lastname@example.org