HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1993-04-21, Page 5HAVE AN
OPINION ?
The Citizen welcomes letters
to the editor.
They must be signed and
should be accompanied by a
telephone number should we
need to clarify any
information.
The Citizen reserves the
right to edit or not print
letters. We would appreciate
letters being kept to 300
words or less.
nternational Scene
aytnon an
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 21, 1993. PAGE 5.
Where does
New Intolerance
leave today's
teachers?
You know the PC Thing? Political
Correctness? Wherein a bunch of self-
appointed Good Taste Arbiters tell us what's
acceptable and what's not vis a vis culture,
fashion, language?
I get nervous when I see what the thin-
lipped PC police can do to culture and
fashion. How they can geld a Stratford
production of The Merchant of Venice or
torpedo a North York revival of Showboat. I
don't much care for what the PC movement
is doing to language either. Redefining short
people as 'vertically challenged' ... insisting
that a quadriplegic isn't crippled — merely
'differently abled'. Denouncing school
dictionaries as racist because one of the
many definitions of the colour "black" is
"evil".
Well, that's okay. Eons after our
humourless and soulless semantic monitors
have turned to dust, Dame English, feisty old
broad that she is, will right herself like a
gyroscope and sail on.
When it comes to the New Intolerance, it's
not language I'm worried about. It's
behaviour. Take for example, the hug.
Among the simplest of words ... hug. From
the Old Norse, 'hugga' meaning comfort,
Italy
Not so
controlled chaos
When I lived in Italy in the charming city
of Siena which seemed in so many ways to
still be back in the Middle Ages, I soon
came to the conclusion that the best way to
describe the country was as one in a
perpetual state of controlled chaos. Society
seemed to lack the discipline which is so
prevalent in Switzerland and I often used to
wonder how anything ever got done with
any degree of regularity. However, it did and
in many ways it was apparently done very
well when one looked at the final product.
I was not surprised when I subsequently
learned that Italy had the largest
underground economy in all of Western
Europe. It was estimated that a good 30 per
cent of the total output of the country's
economy was not reported in official
statistics. It is small wonder that many
entrepreneurs, both big and small, kept two
sets of books, one for the tax collector and
one to show the business person just how
much money he or she actually made. There
is the frequently told story that, when it
came to paying taxes, you told the tax
department how much money you made,
they told you how much they thought you
made, a figure which was, not surprisingly,
somewhat higher. You then negotiated on a
compromise as to how much you paid.
The country also had one of the largest
public sectors in the industrialized west.
Many industries were owned, either in part
or totally, by the government. Influence
peddling become a growth industry since, if
you wanted financing or even a job, the way
to go about it was through somebody that
soothe. It's a simple, basic word for a simple,
basic human activity: hugging.
Except it's not so simple any more. Ask a
teacher. Any teacher. When I was a kid in
grade five I had a teacher by the name of
Miss Sanford. She hugged. If you got
something right on the blackboard or
brought her a praying mantis or finally
mastered the nine times table or if she just
felt like it, Miss Sanford was apt to fling her
chalk skyward and throw her arms outward
and plant a great big hug on you. Girl, boy,
janitor, principal (well, not the principal —
but just about anyone else) — especially her
kids. I got some of the best hugs of my life
from Miss Sanford.
She's retired now — and a good thing too.
If Miss Sanford went around hugging her
students nowadays she'd probably wind up
serving three to five.
I'm joking ... but just barely. I know a
master printmaker and art instructor who
answered a knock at his door last year to
find a couple of policemen standing there.
"Yes?" he said. "You're under arrest" they
said. And they cuffed him and popped him
in the back of a cruiser and took him
downtown, without a word of explanation to
his family. Bosnia? No. Nicaragua? Beirut?
Nope. Small town Ontario. His crime? Well,
he had been playing a game of pickup
basketball with his adolescent son and a
bunch of kids in the schoolyard. That
evening, one of the kids had complained to
his parents that the teacher had 'touched'
him, during the game. That's all it took to go
you knew in the government, either an
elected representative or a highly placed
civil servant. What we could call corruption
became very much the order of the day.
Many of these corrupt chickens have now
come home to roost. A great many
politicians are now in the minestrone, ((I
mean soup) for having taken bribes of some
sort of even given them to achieve some
goal and have either been formally charged
or are under investigation by the police. This
extends right up to former prime ministers.
This is very much an ongoing event but, at
the time of writing, the current prime
minister, Guiliano Amato (his last name
means "loved" in Italian) is very much
unloved by a great many people for his
handling of the situation. It is not that Mr.
Amato is trying to sweep the whole mess
under the table; he is simply trying to handle
it as best he can with less than full co-
operation from the politicians with which he
has to work.
More than 1,000 politicians, business-
people and officials are now being
investigated which led Mr. Amato to state
that some solution must be found at the
earliest possible moment. However, what he
is currently suggesting does not meet with
public approval. He has started, for example,
by suggesting that those politicians or
businesspeople will not have to go to jail if
they confess their crimes and pay back three
times the money that they took. Furthermore
they must leave public life. All this sounds
to some like little more than an amnesty and
the Italian president did, in fact, refuse to
sign the decree, claiming it conflicted with
one of the 10 (no less) referendums which
are to be put to the public.
Needless to say, the same public is totally
fed up with all this to-ing and fro-ing. In
recent elections they have withdrawn their
support for traditional parties, such as the
right wing Christian Democrats, which has
from respected pillar of the community to
accused pervert in the lockup.
That teacher spent two nights in jail, then
one year of hell, waiting for his case to come
to trial. During that time, eggs were thrown
at his house, his kids were harassed at
school, there were obscene phone calls.
When his case came to trial, the courtroom
was packed. The man's minister was there.
So was his doctor and a platoon of loyal
friends who knew he was innocent. Just
about everybody this side of Mother Teresa
testified to the sterling character of the man.
The judge was furious. With a laser glare at
the police and a sulphurous lecture about
wasting court time on a case that was
without a shred of evidence, he threw it out
of court.
Which brings me back to hugging. If a
person can get arrested and humiliated for an
alleged accidental elbow in a game of pickup
hoop ball, what would the sentence be for a
Miss Sanford who hugged us all — with or
without a basketball?
More to the point, where does the New
Intolerance leave teachers nowadays? Is it
worth their career to ruffle a kid's cowlick
when he's just scored a touchdown? Would
they dare to comfort a student who
crumples, weeping, under the stress of
impending exams?
If your kid falls in the schoolyard and
comes up squalling with a bloody knee, is
the teacher going to be there to administer
the obligatory therapeutic hug?
Not bloody likely.
ruled ever since the end of World War II.
The Communist party, which at one time
was the largest in western Europe, has not
been able to benefit since they, too, have
been discredited by the collapse of their
ideology in eastern Europe and the Soviet
Union. That leaves room for the creation of
some new political movements and these
have not been slow in making themselves
felt.
By and large the Italian government is in
worse financial shape than the one in Canada
and any financial irregularities are a shadow
of what is currently going on in Italy and
which has apparently been taking place for
years. By the time you read this, there may
not even be an Italian government; political
crises are also part of the political scene in
that country, even without all the corruption
that has now come to light. What it will
really take for Italian politicians to clean up
their act remains to be seen.
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
Getting down
to earth
I love watching the effect spring has on
people.
Like children peeking behind the closet
door to see if the bogey-man is gone,
warming temperatures draw individuals
outdoors to participate in a variety of
activities, some pleasant, others not quite so.
I remember as a child, spring's arrival was
welcomed as a time to shed that oppressive
winter apparel and enjoy some freedom of
movement for exercise. Stepping outdoors
was a time for nothing but play. It was
hedonism at its best. As soon as school was
dismissed my friends and I gathered for
some disorganized sport, to be stopped only
by a call for supper and resumed im-
mediately after.
Going to my grandmother's was a special
treat as she had a massive country garden,
which provided perfect camouflage for tiny
hide and seekers.
As I got older, such energetic play was not
considered cool so our activities became
geared more to heat. As soon as possible, we
found a sheltered spot to catch the solar rays
and get a head start on our summer colours.
As you can see, spring and its welcoming
trends have never beckoned me outdoors to
perform manual labour. It was my fortune
that my childhood home was built in a new
subdivision so the task of landscaping began
from the ground up — literally. My mother
was never particularly interested in
gardening so there were few beds to
maintain. Good thing, because my intense
aversion to amphibians would have brought
staunch refusal if asked to enter flower beds,
anyway. Allergies gave me an immunity
from grass cutting duties. Also, without any
large trees on the property, raking was
minimal, and with an older brother and sister
it was not expected that the 'baby' should
have to do such hard work. Dad looked after
hedge trimming and pruning.
So, as you see, history has not made me
inclined to spring into action when the snow
disappears. With all my talk of taking time
to smell the roses, I guess I've always taken
for granted how the roses got there.
I am noticing, however, there is a subtle
metamorphosis occurring. For example, last
year, I experienced a strong desire one sunny
Saturday to go buy some annuals and plant
them in my front bed. I have family
members and friends who swear by the
therapeutic effects uncovered when digging
by hand in the earth, but personally could
never imagine it. Until that day, that is. The
experience was relaxing and rewarding. Like
a mother with a new child, I nurtured my
project watching daily for signs of growth.
Needless to say I wasn't too pleased the day
1 came home to find my flower beds buried
under the shingles of our old roof. Rather
than be discouraged, however, I began
thinking ahead to the next summer and what
I might try then.
That question was answered for me this
past weekend when a neighbour gave me
some perennials. Now, anyone remembering
the perennial beds which used to be part of
our property, may be a little puzzled that I
decided to accept my neighbour's
contribution. Frankly so was I. But I
thoroughly enjoyed the planting and already
can hardly wait to see them bloom. I think I
may even buy a gardening book to learn how
to care for them.
While I have no way of knowing how far
this transformation may take me; I still have
no desire for the more labourious aspects of
outdoor work and I still am terrified of
toads; I have at least begun to see the
attraction horticultural work has for many.
Playing in the dirt can be very therapeutic.
rthur Black