HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1995-06-07, Page 5nternational Scene
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THE CITIZEN WEDNESDAY. JUNE 7, 1995. PAGE 5.
I want you
to know I'm naked
I make my fashion choices based
on what doesn't it.
Gilda Radner
Let me declare my position on haute
couture right off the top. I am not a fashion
plate. My wardrobe could perhaps best be
described as proto-Slobovian. I look like a
walking rummage sale. My idea of formal
wear is runners with the laces tied.
When it comes to Klein, I'm more Ralph
than Calvin. Lately I've been happier than
Rita McNeil at an All You Can Eat
Smorgasbord.
It's the Business Fashion Revolution. For
most of the past year, there's been a kind of
renaissance in business dress. Everywhere
you looked the crusty, blue serge troglodytes
that run the wheels of commerce in this
country were suddenly, unaccountably
Lightening Up. Secretaries, accountants,
salesmen and other office functionaries were
allowed to show up for work in casual attire.
The president of IBM appears on the front
page of The Globe and Mail's Report On
Business dressed in Jack Fraser slacks and a
cashmere sweater.
My teller down at the local branch cashed
my pay cheque while wearing a T-shirt and
Canada's
finest hour
I was greatly moved in watching the TV
clips on the Canadians who went to Holland
to take part in that country's celebrations of
the 50th anniversary of V-E day.
As many of you know, it was Canadian
soldiers who liberated most of Holland from
the Nazi regime towards the end of the
Second World War, for which the Dutch
were truly thankful.
However, what turned this emotion into
something more than simple thanks were the
efforts made by the same soldiers to feed the
population during the lean winter of 1944-
45. I think this, as much as anything, was
responsible for the great outpouring of
affection which greeted the veterans who
were able to return to the country for the
celebrations. I must honestly say that I have
never seen anything quite like it if the TV
clips were representative of the celebrations.
I became aware of this humanitarian act
partly by accident. Somewhere in my travels
or studies I met a Canadian who had been
part of the liberation and subsequent
supplying of food to the Dutch. He told me
that, if I were ever in Holland, I should call
on the Dutch family where he had been
billetted during his last days in Holland. The
family lived in Doetinchem which is located
not far from the German border.
I tucked away their address and a few
years later decided to make a grand tour of
parts of Western Europe by bicycle. I set out
from Basel, in Switzerland and cycled along
the Rhine River all the way to the Dutch
border. I then cut across country to
Doetinchem, having written to the family in
advance to ask them if I might drop in on
them some time in the future.
When I arrived, I found that some
Levis.
General Motors of Canada announced that
its 5,000 salaried workers would be
permitted to wear jeans on Fridays,
providing they each contributed a loonie to
the United Way.
I was delirious. At last, after a lonely
lifetime shuffling along in droopy (but
comfortable) drawers and ratty runners -
vindication! The rest of the world had finally
noticed that Dressing Up is a pain in the
butt.
And in the throat, and feet and everywhere
else business dress conspires to throttle, and
enslave the human body.
Take the necktie. What kind of a sadist
decided that what the men of this world
really needed was a strip of cloth knotted
like a garrote around their adarn's apples for
eight hours a day?
The business suit is just as senseless. Not
heavy enough to keep you warm in winter;
not light enough to stop you from sweating
like a boar in a sauna, come the dog days of
summer.
And then there's the dinky little toe
rubbers you're supposed to put over the
dopey little business shoes.
And women's fashions! How about those
abominations we expect women to put up
with? Such as corsets. Brassieres. High
heels. I haven't even mentioned that stuff.
Mostly because I hardly ever wear 'em.
But as I say, no need to wax apoplectic
unexpected company had arrived and so they
put me up in a local hotel, stating that I
might like some quiet rest after so many
nights in youth hostels. They were right; I
did, but what I remembered was not only
their hospitality but their heartfelt stories of
what the Canadians had done for them in the
dark days of that winter. I was not even 'a
Canadian at the time but they argued that
they were delighted to see me anyway and
asked for news of our common Canadian
friend.
I left two days later fully aware of the
great humanitarian act of the Canadian
soldiers.
The next time I was in Holland for any
time was after I had become a Canadian and
was working for the Department of External
Affairs in the halcyon days of Lester
Pearson. We were bringing Hungarian
refugees from Vienna to Holland and put
them up in a Dutch army camp not far from
Venlo.
When I was finished in Vienna I did my
job while living in Holland, more precisely
in Scheveningen, a suburb of The Hague. I
decided that, since I already spoke German
and English, it would not be too hard to
learn Dutch.
I went at it with a vengeance, refusing
even to speak English unless it was
absolutely necessary. It turned out to be the
last and the easiest language I learned to
speak.
I must confess the Dutch people I met
could not get over the fact that a Canadian
had taken the trouble to learn their language;
it seemed that the Dutch were supposed to
learn English, which many of them did. I
have forgotten how many times I heard in
Dutch, stories of Canadian kindnesses in the
1944-45 period.
When it came time for me to leave
Holland, I was at Schipol airport and, as
airports were not as busy then as they are
about the horrible constrictions of business
attire any longer, because the Tycoons of
Commerce, God bless 'em, have finally
wised up.
Or so I thought.
Turns out I was premature. The pin-striped
pinheads at the top have had yet another
change of heart.
The Dress Code Backlash is under way.
First sign of it was a terse directive from
Mr. D. W. Munger, vice president and
general director of personnel for General
Motors of Canada. Basically, the memo says
that Jean Days for GM employees are toast.
Cancelled immediately.
Why? Because, claims Mister Munger, the
wearing of jeans "conflicts with GM's efforts
to set dress standards for salespeople."
The suits in the boardroom freaked
because they feared many workers were "too
relaxed".
Geez. Can't have that, can we?
Ah well. I knew in my unkempt heart of
hearts that the liberalization of business
dress was too good to last. No doubt other
businesses will follow the GM lead and start
placing their employees in polyester
bondage once again.
Not that it affects me personally. If there's
one job you don't have to dress up for, it's
writing a newspaper column.
In fact, Mister Munger, if you're reading
this...
I want you to know that I'm naked.
now, I asked the KLM (Dutch Airlines)
clerk if I could use the phone to call The
Hague. The Dutch family where I lived were
late getting back and had missed me at the
terminal. I felt I should take proper leave of
them and so called them from the airport.
Our conversation was in Dutch, of course,
and when the clerk heard the conversation he
got this amazed look on his face. He had
never heard of any Canadian taking the
trouble to learn Dutch. He proceeded to tell
me his version of the Canadian kindnesses
and promptly put me in the VIP lounge and
bumped me up to First Class. I told him that
it wasn't necessary, that I had not been in the
war.
What was his reply? Simply that this was
some way that he could pay Canada back for
what their soldiers had done for his country.
On behalf of Canada, I accepted the
promotion to first class.
For these reasons, even though I had
nothing to do with the liberation of Holland
nor the subsequent kindnesses of the
Canadian soldiers, I was able to watch the
proceedings on TV in May with
considerable understanding and emotion. It
was a delight to see that it had not been
forgotten all this time.
Surely there are no closer relations
between any two countries than between
Canada and Holland.
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. Letters may be
edited for content and space.
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
Time to turn
it around
The home team is down at the bottom of
the third by eight runs. It's their inning,
there are two down and two on. A base hit
and the crowd goes insane. Just one run has
scored but the fans have faith that their guys
can turn it around, that one good inning can
make a difference.
When you think about it these days there
seem to be a lot of times when you just have
to have faith. No matter how many times
you get burned, no matter how many times
the team lets you down, you just hold on to
the thought that this time things might
change.
Which is probably the reason why so
many of us cynical, disillusioned people
keep doing our civic duty and showing up at
the polls to vote.
Each party makes its promises and more
and more people I talk to believe less of
what they are hearing from any of them.
Yet, tomorrow many of these same people
will still choose someone they think is the
best person to represent their interests in the
provincial government, hoping that this time
they'll pick a winner who can turn things
around.
I have always been confused by trying to
make that choice. Even in high school when
party policy had less to do with a decision
than the popularity of a candidate, I seldom
voted with a clear conscience, not believing
100 per cent in the choice I had made.
As a journalist, I have found voting to be
an even more interesting proposition, being
as professional integrity suggests we remain
unbiased. (Now I realize there are many in
the media who not only don't try to veil their
preference for a certain party, but actually
use their voice to campaign for them. I hope
I am not one of them.)
As a reporter, I try to keep an open mind
when listening to the candidates. However as
a constituent I obviously have to make a
choice which becomes extremely tough as
the other half of me, as I said before, in
weighing the pros and cons, has tried to
balance the scales.
Complicating things further is the fact that
one family member, a first-time voter, has
been seeking advice and my impressions
regarding the best candidate and the best
party to be in power. And all I can tell her
as election day draws closer is a pathetic, "I
really don't know anymore".
What stands out most clearly to me in my
jaded mid-life is that every party has burned
us and every party has done some good
things. It's just that sometimes it takes
awhile before we forgive and forget.
I have always found it an interesting
aspect of selecting a government that we can
feel so antagonistic towards a party we upset
their government, them give them a lift back
sometime down the road. I know it depends
what we're looking for from our government
at that point in our history, but it is a bit
whimsical. "Let's sec, who hasn't had a shot
at this for awhile?"
I hear candidates talking the same rhetoric,
singing the verse they think we want to hear
and can't help feeling more convinced that
they will change their tune if elected.
What I think people need to know from
their government in this unstable society is
less what the promises are, and more that
they will be kept. For me, I am looking for a
candidate that has managed to inspire my
trust and a little hope that if elected he/she
will go to bat for us. I'm looking for a power
hitter who is going to hit a home run and
turn this game around once and for all.
Arthur Black