A Hard Case

Robert Latimer, the Saskatchewan farmer convicted of the 1993 killing of his 12 year old severely handicapped daughter Tracy, is up for day parole on December 8. Legal experts say that it is extremely likely he will get it. Although it’s certainly an issue that sharply divides Canadians, public sentiment appears strongly on the side of Latimer, and those connected to the court system have shrugged their shoulders in helpless sympathy through the years at the case of a man for whom the law had no loopholes available.

In his second trial (the first was quashed by the Supreme Court because of jury interference by RCMP and prosecution), Latimer was found guilty of second degree murder for asphyxiating his daughter, an act normally abhorrent beyond comprehension to a loving parent, but brought on in Latimer’s claim, out of love to stop her steadily increasing suffering. In a cruel path of legal pitfalls, his jury was strangely not aware that the Canadian minimum for second degree murder is 25 years, 10 years without full parole, as they recommended a sentence of one year jail and one year house arrest to the presiding judge. Confronted with what they had inadvertently done in the aftermath of the trial, several jury members wept. Only too aware of the jury intent versus the cold Canadian law, the judge attempted to foil the mandatory requirements with a ruling that the sentence was “cruel and unusual punishment” and grounds for exemption, but this was overturned in appeal and this supported by the Supreme Court. With the usual legal wrangling and court time, Latimer and his wife and other two children spent years following the charge dealing with the court system, and he only began his 25 year sentence following the Supreme Court decision in 2001, with some allowance for time served. Continue reading

Remembering again . . .

For the last ten years or so of my teaching, I arranged the Remembrance Day services at our high school, when dwindling numbers of WWII vets would come and be cheered by the interest the students demonstrated on that day. Remembrance Day posters and samples of student work assigned by teachers would decorate the halls and the gymnasium. Our huge Styrofoam cenotaph cross, made by a former Industrial Arts teacher, would have been hauled out of storage and patched up to take centre spot on the stage. Following each of two services, students would come onto the stage and be allowed to stick their poppies into the foam, their own little gesture of remembrance.

Very few of them knew a lot about the wars. Obsessed as we have been over the last decades with getting “Canadian content” into our history, the war years have tended to fall into a chapter of history texts that teachers struggled to get covered in the spring, following a year’s march through the course that left birch bark canoes, “coureurs-de-bois”, John Cabot, and Wolfe & Montcalm scattered along the path. Certainly a whole course could be taught on any week of one of the wars—try to cover it all in a hurried chapter in spring.

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Thinking in the Dark


I had notions of writing this article on Saturday, but the power was flickering as former hurricane Noel probed its way into Nova Scotia. The notion might have returned on Sunday, but at that time we were without power, and I was walking from room to room, flicking on light switches out of habit, and flicking them off again out of common sense.

We went 16 hours without power, all because of a little jumper wire between the main line outside out house and the pole transformer being off and swinging in the breeze. A ten minute repair job, but with whole communities off the grid due to the storm, we weren’t a top priority.

We were fairly geared up for the event, since when we first built it seemed that longer duration power outages were a regular winter event (thankfully there hasn’t been that many since). Our furnace burns oil or wood, and while we can’t “blow” the heat around, when the power is off I remove the doors from the furnace blower compartment, keep open the basement doors, and like a central heating furnace of old (remember those big black grates in the hall floor?), we let the heat rise and fall of its own accord. We have lamps and candles, and if needed I haul out a propane camp stove for primitive cooking. Water is a bit more of a problem, but I ran off four water cooler bottles before things started.

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Keeping our Distance


Few people doubt that we are fortunate people here in Canada, and in North America in general. One aspect of protecting this undeserved good fortune has been that we have wide oceans that lap our shoreline and keep us isolated from the rest of the world. Although events like 9-11 have poked holes in that ocean-insulated security, we still manage to spend most of our lives oblivious to what is going on in the rest of the globe, or at least insulated enough that we can pass off any concerns aroused by disturbing newscasts with the comfort of a “Good thing we don’t live there!” kind of thought.

We don’t seem to realize the full extent of our wealth and good fortune. I suspect that if we did a little survey, many Canadians would indicate a belief that we have about as much wealth as most people in the world, but allow that we have certainly more than that unfortunate group of poor people in the “disadvantaged” countries.

The fact is, we are very well off, even the less fortunate of us, in comparison to most of the world around us. North Americans number only 5% of the world population, and together with another 5% from Europe, this 10% has for decades been in the unique situation of having more than the vast majority of people in the world, while we have used up much of the resources of the world, and polluted more than most in the world (China is rapidly moving into the lead in the area of pollution, largely in its rampant industrialism that caters to our insatiable need for goods).

In Canada, social scientists and government agencies have set a current “poverty line” at about $25,000 a year family income. That’s quite a bit more than the vast majority of the world has at its disposal. An interesting web site called “globalrichlist.com” allows you to compare your family income to the rest of the world. A family income of $25,000 puts you close to being in the richest 10% of the world (10.6 % actually). That’s our poverty line, and almost 90% of the world doesn’t meet it! A family income of $50,000 a year places you with only 1.78% of the world’s financial elite… in other words, 98.22% of the people in world have less income than you do. If we run things up a little further, if you are fortunate enough to have a family income of $100,000 a year, you would be in a group of less than one percent of the people of the world, with more than 99% of the world having less money than you. Your group would measure only 44 million people in a world of 6,600 million+, and you are in there with Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, and Oprah. I hope you feel special.

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The Scouts they are a-changin’


I suppose with “Be Prepared” still one of the guidelines of my life (on the negative side, probably an aspect of being a control freak), it was only natural that as a youth I got involved in the Boy Scout movement.

I don’t recall being in Cubs long, but I did attend for a time. Squatting down with fingers to ears chanting “A-Kay-La!” didn’t inspire me that much I guess, but I did take more to the older Scouts themselves, and remember proudly being a patrol leader and wearing a silver scout emblem on my mountie-like hat. Carving a particularly nice walking stave was also something I liked. I recall it was marked off in feet for the first five or six, and then about six one-inch markings on the top, useful for measuring all kinds of things. Likely now the pole is gone (insurance rules to avoid injuries) and the marking would have to be metric.

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And the villages search . . .

OK, we just manage to get comfortable with getting our tongues around the name Osama bin Laden, and suddenly to be able to talk intelligently about world affairs, we have to learn to say “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad” (or various other spellings, like “Amadinejhad”). The always opinionated, sometimes dangerously scarey Ahmadinejad, President of Iran, just finished his hurried, but highly unappreciated visit to the United States, culminating with a protested appearance at Columbia University.

The university committee that invited him to speak felt that everyone has a right to be heard and debated, no matter how far off the mark his or her view of the world seems to be– certainly a noble aim for a university, but they didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet when Columbia President Lee Bollinger introduced the guest speaker by calling him every name in the book, including “astonishingly uneducated” and a “petty, cruel dictator”.

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