“Tis a tale told by a schizophrenic; full of words and arguments, but signifying indecision.” (Shakespeare, after a fashion)
I wanted to praise Brian Mulroney for his decision on the Strategic Defense Initiative. But, then again, I didn’t. You know?
I thought that the SDI would bring the world closer to the brink of nuclear destruction by shifting the delicate arms balance. I also thought that the SDI was our only hope of breaking away from the insane policy of Mutually Assured Destruction, and a method of safeguarding the future of the North American continent for decades, perhaps centuries to come.
But, I was angry that Mulroney encouraged Canadian businesses to participate in SDI research. As a dove, I felt that if he was serious in opposing it, he should have discouraged Canadian participation in it at all levels. As a hawk, I was angry at Mulroney for not officially endorsing the SDI, and using the possibility of private sector participation to pacify the Americans. If he thought it was worthy of business involvement, Mulroney should have committed his government to it.
I was giving myself a splitting headache, so I decided to take a break from serious political pontification and relax for a while. I got on a subway and headed for the main library downtown. Halfway there, I decided that I really wanted to go to the zoo. After a long bout of give and take (which might more aptly be described as a bout of take and take), I ended up standing on the platform of the Glencairn subway station with no clear idea of where I was or where I was going.
“I wish the two of you would make up your mind,” I said, bitterly. “We can’t stay here all afternoon.” Great, I thought, another party heard from.
“I heard that,” I bitchily said.
I went home.
I put on a Marie Osmond tape and started to make myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich. As I was putting the two pieces of bread together, I realized I had put on a Marie Osmond tape while my back was turned, and I knew that I hated that stuff. Angry, I replaced it with some Twisted Sister. I would have thrown the Marie Osmond tape in the garbage, but I have too much respect for other people’s property, even if it is my own.
I bit into the sandwich. Uggh – peanut butter and jam. I was going to throw it out, but I hate to waste food, so I scraped the peanut butter and jam off the bread and used what was left to make myself a corned beef sandwich instead.
I sat down, sandwich in hand, to read the newspaper. I don’t read the newspaper much any more; when I do, I almost always seem to get into an argument. I’m pretty passionate about my politics, you see, as am I. Still, the paper was there and I was there…
After a while, my attention drifted to a feature on South Africa. “My goodness,” I said to myself, “don’t they realize that they’re heading towards a bloodbath?”
Unfortunately, I was listening. “Oh,” I said, “I suppose you would just give all the blacks the vote tomorrow…”
“That is what democracy is all about, isn’t it?” I asked. “Do you believe that enslaving the black majority in South Africa is just?”
“How can you be so naïve?” I asked myself, hot. “Let’s forget, for the moment, that if we allowed the blacks to vote, South Africa would go Communist overnight…”
“That’s idiotic,” I interrupted.
“I suspected you’d feel that way,” I said. “And, believe me, if you weren’t me, I’d probably sock you on the jaw for making that crack. But, you are me, so I’m willing to forget that argument. My point is, if the blacks were allowed to have political power, the physical safety of the white minority would be in serious jeopardy.”
“You cannot justify safeguarding the white minority by holding the black majority hostage,” I told myself, as if lecturing a child. “What you’re really doing is grasping at straws to justify your support for a racist government.”
“Aww, finish your sandwich!” I shouted. I always get irrational when I’m losing an argument, especially to myself, a notorious bleeding heart.
Better a bleeding heart than no heart at all, I thought.
I finished eating my sandwich in silence.