Lo, Rich Times.

Section Two of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms deals with the fundamental freedoms that all Canadians should enjoy under the law. It reads as follows:

“Everyone has the following fundamental freedoms: (a) freedom of conscience and religion; (b) freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication; (c) freedom of peaceful assembly; and (d) freedom of association.”

This may seem like a fairly obvious set of rights for any liberal democracy to extend to its citizens. For the most part, these rights are honoured by the average Canadian, and the political and legal establishment. There are, of course, notable examples of where Canadians have had these rights trampled. The purpose of this essay is not to recount these miscarriages of justice, but to speak about what is, to me, the ever-increasing spectre of religious meddling in political arenas.

At this point, after mentioning Section Two of the Charter, it would be fair to point out the Preamble of the Constitution:

“Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law”

The Preamble and Section Two seem to be at direct odds with each other. How can all citizens practice their freedom of conscience and religion when they live in a country that “recognizes the supremacy of god?” What of those Canadians who follow a different god from the Judeo-Christian deity we assume is referenced in the Preamble. What of those Canadians who follow no god at all? Surely freedom of religion includes freedom from religion. In Diana MacPherson’s “Separation of Church and State” May 22, 2014 article for Canadian Atheist, she makes the strong case that Canadians accept this in spirit, if not in literal definition.

“We are decidedly a liberal democracy that recognizes the separation of church and state and accepts that freedom of religion includes freedom from religion.”

So how do Canadians reconcile this knowledge with legislative agendas that hold religion at their core?

There are no legal restrictions to abortion in Canada; not since a 1988 Supreme Court decision that struck down an earlier, more regressive 1969 law. Ever since, there have been rumblings that a law proscribing abortion must be created. The arguments for this almost always come from a religious ethos, bible verses helpfully included. While Prime Minister Stephen Harper has said that his government will not seek a change in abortion laws, Conservative Party of Canada backbenchers have proposed private member bills that would do just that. Many Canadian political pundits and analysts have wondered if these private member bills are part of a Harper strategy to test the waters. Could enough political capital be generated and spent on such an endeavour?

Proposals for laws such as this, as well as those controlling pornography, same-sex marriage, and a number of other social issues, have been proposed. As with the abortion laws, arguments always come down to some sort of religious imperative.

From where does this religious imperative come? Religious doctrine/dogma is the obvious answer, but not a complete one. It’s far too simple for a religious person to say “the rules of my faith tell me that I must believe this, or act in this way.”

That idea, at its core, is perfectly acceptable in a liberal democracy. Canadians can and should act as they please, provided they break no laws, honouring their religious motivations, or lack thereof.

However, it never seems to end at Canadians “acting as they please.” No, some Canadians insist on making sure that other Canadians walk in a lockstep of religious-inspired behaviour.

But why? Why does this happen? Why do some Canadians insist that the rest of the country follow rules that are antithetical to their own conscience?

Quite simply, they are afraid that they will be punished by their deity for not changing the behaviour of their community. People who are literally worried about being sent to a fiery, painful eternity of fire and brimstone.

As I write this, I am trying very hard to not let this essay fall into the mire of name-calling. I am trying very hard not to point out the ridiculousness and cognitive dissonance required to engage in fundamentalist religious belief. I am trying very hard to avoid pointing out that you have to be a childish, close-minded lemming to believe so firmly in life-after-death that you have to force others to live their lives as you see fit.

I am mostly failing.

It would be easy to just tell religious people to leave others alone. But it’s not effective. First, they simply won’t listen. Any argument you may offer would be countered with something that culminates with “but I don’t want to go hell for your transgressions.” There is, of course, no way to convince a convicted religious person that their proselytization doesn’t have to be a part of their interactions with those outside their faith group.  Just try presenting an argument that says something along the lines “look, you can go ahead and believe what you want, but I want to be left alone.” Their beliefs explicitly implore them to not leave you alone.

Of course this doesn’t just end in the proposal of preposterous laws that impact the entirety of Canadian society. It’s not just repressive legislation that tells someone how to express their sexuality, which consenting adult they can marry, or what a woman can do with her body.

Often, religious meddling goes deeper into society, irrespective of laws, controlling how individuals, often the most marginalized and vulnerable among us,are allowed to behave.

Young girls are told they cannot receive the HPV vaccine because it leads to promiscuity. Of course, to these people, promiscuity means sex before (or outside of) marriage. And it’s well-established in Judeo-Christian law that this type of behaviour is unacceptable. It’s yet another attempt by our misogynistic, patriarchal society to control women’s bodies. Never mind the fact that administering the HPV vaccine to girls around the age of puberty is the most effective way to prevent cervical cancer. No, these women must not think the vaccine shields them from anything, nor must they think they have agency.

Transgendered teens, many of them homeless and living below the poverty line, are told their gender identity is an abomination before god. If only they could accept Jesus into their hearts, and accept the sex assigned to them by the creator who “makes no mistakes,” everything will be fine. And so the insipid religious meddler, perhaps an employee at an outreach program, attempts to control another person’s path through life, ignoring the mountain of scientific data that proves these transitions provide a safe and healthy environment.

Or what of the lesbian couple, one of whom is paid less than her male colleague for the same work, her partner recently fired for “extenuating circumstances” when her boss discovered her sexual identity? The boss, likely propped up by a system of white privilege, feels that it’s his moral right and duty to punish these women, lest he incur the wrath of his god.

Some of these individual issues can be mitigated by legislation. However, if systemic oppression still exists, if laws are ignored or poorly enforced, no amount of regulation can help. So what do we do to stop parents from refusing to allow their daughters to receive the HPV vaccine, transgendered teens from slipping through the cracks, or bigoted employers from discriminating?

We speak out; loudly, emphatically, and without reservation.

This will probably be easy in certain situations, especially for accomplished public speakers seated with panels of experts. You might be able to have these conversations with friends you love and trust. But it gets a lot harder in most other instances. I’m not advocating that those who may be adversely impacted by standing up for themselves (or others) should do so. I would not suggest a course of action that would end in loss of life, limb, or income. Yes, systems need to be setup to allow for any employee of any organization to be able to lodge a complaint, but, until the day those systems are ubiquitous, some people will have to choose survival over advocacy.

This means that it is all the more important for those of us who can stand up and speak out to do so. And because we are advocating for others, it’s important to be even louder than we would be for ourselves.

Religious meddlers may never understand that their actions and beliefs are damaging, and to what degree they damage. However, supporting the people they damage, and constructively encouraging the marginalized to continue on their righteous and correct course of action, is the most optimal and unparalleled choice.

My father died on Thursday, October 9, 2014.

He and I did not see eye-to-eye on a number of things; politics and religion mostly, but, far more importantly, general human behaviour. He was a C/conservative man, espousing the value of living in a similar way on just about every occasion made available.

I am far more likely to wear my heart on my sleeve, generally not afraid to share my feelings, even those of a personal or raw nature. Is my disposition towards public displays of emotion part of my genes? Did I inherit this from my mother? Perhaps my father was the outlier in his family? Maybe the rest of my extended family is far more likely to talk about their feelings, in depth, than I would imagine?

Or perhaps it’s not nature at all. Recent scientific study shows us that the separation between nature and nurture is far murkier than we may have imagined. It could be that this is all a function of non-familial environment? It may very well be that I imprinted onto someone (or some people) who was radically different than what my genes, or the behaviour of my family, would suggest.

I mention this because my propensity for sharing of a personal nature is probably the only reason why I’m able to write about and publish what you’re reading right now. And, of course, because this essay features my reaction to my father’s death so prominently.

During the visitation, one of my oldest friends and I had a very intriguing conversation. His family had grown up right next to mine, both geographically and metaphorically. He and his three brothers were a good match for me and my two brothers. We spent a lot of time together, and his mother was even my primary babysitter before I went off to kindergarten. His mother passed away years ago, and he relayed a very curious reality of that process during our talk at the visitation. He said that, one day, perhaps months or years from that moment, while I would be engaged in some innocuous task, a song would come on the radio, or be played on a generic fruit-based device, that would remind me of my father. This moment would likely turn me into a blubbering, incoherent mess.

At the time I believed this to be a possibility, though not a distinct one. I figured I had the intellectual wherewithal to avoid the grittier parts of such a situation, while still being in touch with my emotions. I was very cognizant not to suppress my feelings, as I am well aware that such actions cause strife in the future. This scheme allows one to embrace their humanity while avoiding the pitfalls of spending too much time in an inconsolable state.

I thought about that conversation quite a bit as I wrote and gave my father’s eulogy. In the moment, with the stress of being sure to honour my father while faithfully relaying what I believed to be his impact on the world, it was very hard to give into my darker emotions. I wanted to cry, and I did, but it was not easy to do when my mother required support, funeral arrangements had to be made, and a slew of family members had to be informed.

Of course I was wrong. It only took a few months, but, as I was driving home from work one day, the song Abraham, Martin, and John, by Dion, came on the Sixties on Six satellite radio channel.

For those that don’t know the song, I encourage you to listen to it. Not only is it a great protest song (or, at least, one that ought to remind you of protest), but it’s actually a beautiful piece of music. From the opening, classical-inspired oboe and violin notes; through the zippy, driving baseline; to the unexpected harp flourishes; the almost dirge-like organ solo; and finally Dion’s haunting vocals, it’s a real testament to the underrated production work of Phil Gernhard and the writing of Dick Holler.

When I was a kid, my family would travel an awful lot by car or RV. Before my tenth birthday I had seen most of the Canadian provinces and east coast of the United States by road. Accompanying us on these trips were The Solid Cold Collection of tape cassettes. These were a promotion given out by Shell whenever you filled up your hungry tank with gasoline. One one such trip, safely clad in our gold-with-wood-side-panel Oldsmobile Delta Eight-Eight station wagon, I must have heard Dion’s plaintive words for the first time.

The human mind is incredibly poor at remembering actual details and circumstances of our past. In fact, we pretty much stop being able to accurately relay what we saw, heard, or felt almost immediately after the event. What we do retain, is a usually a false memory, and as we get older and older we simply remember that false memory. And, worse, we probably lose our ability to recount those memories faithfully to others. It’s not a failing, it’s just a reality.

So I’m not entirely sure if I remember this correctly, but I seem to recall liking the musical portion of Abraham, Martin, and John long before I knew of the cultural or historical significance of the lyrics. I seem to recall my father, sitting in the front seat of that old Olds, sort of craning his head back towards us, attempting an adequate explanation of what happened to Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Bobby and Jack Kennedy. It’s not that my father lacked the historical knowledge to relay these stories. It’s just that when you’re trying to keep your eyes on the meandering blacktop of Interstate 77 in the rural backwoods of West Virginia, it may not be the most appropriate time to detail the intricacies of political assassination.

Eventually the explanation did come, and in due time I learned a fair bit about the four men who are the subject of this fantastic song. Both my mother and father were intersted in history, so it was important for them to pass that along to their sons. We watched a lot of historical documentaries detailing the mid-twentieth century, and my father was always very interested in the Kennedy Camelot. While I don’t think my father was a banner carrier for the civil rights movement, he did believe in equality, and was interested in the life of Martin Luther King, Jr.

What was really important to my father’s experience of these revolutionaries was the fact that he was there, that he remembered their lives and deaths. He may have been a conservative, but he was saddened by the death of the Kennedys and King, and talked to me about what it was like to be one kind of witness to the loss of those great men.

Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in 1865, and though my father lived to seventy years of age, he did not quite remember the President. However, he was a very active civil war buff, and was especially engrossed in Lincoln’s life.

I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling that Abraham, Martin, and John may have been a song that was of some significant importance to my father. I know that I don’t have my father’s historical frame of reference for the song. I wasn’t alive when any of those assassinations took place, I’m not that much of an American Civil War buff, and the song was released ten years prior to my birth. But I do know that I like the song very, very much.

The last time I heard it was a couple of days ago, having put the music of my generic fruit-based telephone device into shuffle mode. This time I didn’t turn into a blubbering mess. I didn’t have to breath a sigh of relief that I was close to home, pulling my car into a parking space right after the song came on the radio those few months ago. I didn’t have to gather myself together before walking from the car to the house, and I didn’t have to calm myself down, tell myself everything would be okay, and didn’t have to again wonder what it would be like to live without a parent.

This most recent time was on an afternoon walk from home to a local food market, to pick up some supplies for a barbecue with friends. The weather was lovely, a cool breeze blowing through Leslieville, the sun shining just enough to bring warmth but avoid the oppressive heat of the dead of summer. Of course I instantly remembered that moment in the car, and had a bitter-sweet feeling of both that memory and the death of my father. But, as I said, there was no need for a handkerchief to dry my eyes, or a session of internal dialogue to talk myself down.

Instead, I found myself feeling a peaceful emotion. My father is dead, and there is nothing that can be done about it. It’s not so much that I have come to the realization his death is a harsh reality, or come to terms with his death, per se, but rather that I now know that everything will, in fact, be alright. Not the “be alright” that you use to calm someone down, but rather the “be alright” of someone who knows that the end is not nigh.

While it’s true that my father would not necessarily approve of my life, all of the choices I’ve made, or the way in which I comport myself, I do know that he’d be proud of me in general. He would approve of the woman I’ve asked to marry me since his death, and the way our family has come together to support each other. I think he’d be happy for me. But, more importantly, he’d want me to be happy.

I’m always going to remember my father when I hear Abraham, Martin, and John. At this point I can’t say if each of these instances will end in an dark, contemplative Chris, or a contented Chris. I’m not entirely sure that it matters which ending I get. What’s important is that I recognize the value in being content, and the very different value in contemplation.