As Harry walked to work the next day, wondering what he would do about his situation, he walked by the newspaper vending machines on Division Street. Normally, he didn’t pay them much attention—he usually read the paper online—but he saw the word “Library” from the corner of his eye. Was he being paranoid? He stopped to look at the newspaper. It read:
“Library Director target of Human Rights Complaint.”
His heart sank. Now everybody would know about it. He rushed to the library to get to his office and read the article.
It wasn’t a horrible article. But still, the news was out there. Now he was the subject of public disapproval. Here read the comments following the article:
That man should be fired! Who in their right mind allows a book in a taxpayer-funded library that suggests women should give up their rights? That’s just asinine!
...
Why doesn’t he just take down the book? How many people are going to read it, anyway? My tax money is going to this?
...
Bravo to Gisela Gruber for standing up for women! That Harry Harman should be ashamed of himself and I hope the Library Standards Commission fires him.
...
I thank my inner goddess that I live in a country that values human rights and is willing to go the distance in making sure they are not violated. He doesn’t respect human rights. He should be fired. His job is to promote Social Harmony, instead he’s promoting misogyny.
...
Harry Harman should be left alone. He should be able to display any book he damned well pleases. The government is persecuting an innocent man for doing his job. The government is becoming fascist.
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Feminazis are trying to take over this country and operate a fascist police state. This hairy-legged mafia is trying to dictate to people what they can or cannot say, read or write.
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Our public policy should not be fashioned on the fly by ball-busting vagina warriors who’re too ugly to get laid.
...
...
The leftard butches and their metrosexual enablers should take their human rights complaint and stick it where the sun don’t shine.
He didn’t want to read any more. He was aghast that the people who defended them were the ones who comments dripped with bigotry and misogyny; the very people whose existence justified the need for the creed of Social Harmony. Now, not only was he embarrassed and angry to be the subject of a Human Rights Complaint, he was an icon for the Free Speech movement, which consisted mainly of a bunch of right-wing extremists, who couldn’t otherwise get their views taken seriously by mainstream society. And no wonder. How could anyone take such vitriol seriously? Hairy-legged mafia? Feminazis? A bunch of uneducated, knuckle-dragging rednecks—that’s what they were. No self-respecting Canadian would give them the time of day.
He was disgusted that his case was fodder for the push for freedom. Which was code for selfishness. Freedom was for racists, sexists, homophobes, religious fanatics, gun nuts and all manner of extremists.
Fine upstanding citizens did not need freedom.
He was confident that his case could be won on merit, not on the basis of some American-style concept of free speech. It was plainly obvious: discussing the possibility of restricting a type of abortion that only a handful of women actually performed in Canada would pose no threat to women’s rights. All he had to do was persuasively make that case with facts and logic, and he would win the day. It was open and shut, so long as he was given the opportunity to present his views.
Mrs. Keeble phoned to say she would be late, so Harry took over the front desk while he waited for her to arrive. The first person through the door when it opened was the scrawny, black-haired Stacy Cameron. She went directly to the front desk as soon as she stepped through the door.
“I am so sorry.” She said. “So sorry about this stupid Human Rights Complaint. You are being royally shafted.”
“Well…that’s—very nice of you,” said Harry, unsure as to how to react.
“You know, I skipped economics class to come here. They were teaching some socialist bullshit anyway, so I didn’t much. The point is: I came here to support you. You are a victim of over-arching government encroachment. They have no right to tell you that you can’t display a book simply because they think it's offensive.”
“I’m not upset that they want to remove a book they consider offensive, it’s just that….it’s no threat to women.”
“Harry, you don’t have to apologize for James Robinson. You should simply be able to transmit any idea you like.”
Harry cringed at that statement. Her defense of freedom was so very adolescent.
“I wasn’t really thinking of doing that, “Harry said as he scratched the little bit of hair left on his head.
“You weren’t? “ Stacy said, disappointed. “Why not? Your job is on the line. Are you just going to let these people steamroll all over you?”
“Not at all. I’m sure the Library Standards Commission will hire a very competent lawyer for my defense.”
She scoffed. “You think your future rides on a lawyer’s briefs? Are you kidding? Some tax-paid buffoon is not going to go to bat for you. Whether you win or lose, he still gets paid. Ah man, this sucks. I thought someone might actually stand up for freedom in this country.”
There was that word again. “Sorry to disappoint. I just don’t think this is about free speech. It’s really about whether this is threatening to women.”
“You are so naïve,” Stacy shot back. Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her arrogance. “The judge is going to find you guilty. And then you will pay. And then you’ll be fired.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Human Rights Commissions have a 100% conviction rate in cases involving Section 13”
“A hundred per cent conviction rate.” He repeated flatly.
“Of course. Your arguments are useless. You’re done. You can’t win in that arena. You can only win outside of it.”
Harry was skeptical, but she seemed so sure of herself, and she wasn’t one to make a statement without having some kind of grounds for saying so.
“Ah man, I risked detention for this. Look, call me when you need me. You know my number; it’s in your database.”
She walked out of the hall in disgust.
Throughout the morning, Harry carried around her statement in his head—that the Human Rights Commissions had a 100% conviction rate. When Mrs. Keeble checked in for work, he went to his office to search the internet to see what was at the heart of her assertion.
He discovered that the right-wing blogosphere had jumped all over this case, and they assured the world that when any Section 13 case came to a hearing, the defendant lost.
There was no way to verify that. But it made Harry a little nervous. It sounded like he would have to make a deal with Gisela or else lose his job.
He tried googling to see if he could find a defendant that had been acquitted under Section 13.1
He couldn’t find one.
Perhaps it was time to consider taking down that book. He did not want to lose his job. Where would he find one as good as working in a library all day?
He got up from his desk to go himself some coffee, but the coffee pot was empty, and they were no more filters.
He decided to take a breather and walk to the small shopping centre down the street where he could order double-double at the Tim Horton’s stand. At this time of the morning, the food court was populated with retired and semi-retired old fogeys who gathered there to shoot the breeze and play some cards. These old men had their age etched in their wrinkles. They reminded Harry of old bloodhounds who had lost their hunger for the hunt and just wanted to lounge around all day. This sentiment made Harry a little self-conscious, as he had attended school with some of these men.
Harry bought his coffee and went over to a table with four old-timers seated around it. Leo looked up and saw his old school buddy and his eyes lit up. “Hey, Harry, glad to see you. “
“Hi Leo.”
“I’m just astonished at the complaint they laid on you, “said Archie. He was fat and wore a baseball cap to hide his balding head.
Harry pulled up a chair from another table and sat down. “I’m kind of at loss of what to do, guys. It’s not looking good right now.”
“What can you do? Said Ernie as he picked up his cards. “The deck is stacked against us.”
Sal shook his head. “Thank goodness you’re close to retirement. You can take your pension.”
Retire? Harry thought. “I wasn’t thinking of retiring just yet. I like my job.”
“What’s the point? If it’s not this complaint that’ll get you, they’ll come after you with another one,” Sal replied.
“That’s Canada today. It’s not the same place as when I was growing up. It used to be people cared about being able to speak up. Not anymore.” Said Archie.
Harry liked his old friends, but they were always so down on Canada. He suspected it was because they were so ignorant of Canada’s past and its great accomplishments. They were the kind of fellows who admitted to listening to Joe Colpitts and happily called up to agree with him and vent their spleen. Joe Colpitts, Hockey Night in Canada and the local tabloid rag were the only culture they knew. Harry felt a little sorry for them. He knew they meant well. But they just never caught on to the fact that Social Harmony was a great thing and that it did a world of good for Canada.
Stacy walked to mall, figuring she might as well make the most of her self-selected holiday from school and decided to hang around the mall while she internally grumbled about the state of affairs in her country. There was just something about window shopping that made her feel better and soothed her hurt and despair.
When she came to the food court and saw Harry and the men talking. She could hear them talking about the Human Rights complaint. Talk, talk, talk. That’s all people do, she thought. It exasperated her.
“So what are you going to do about your job, Harry? “ Stacy jumped in. The four men looked up in surprise.
“Who’s that?” Leo asked, pointing with his thumb.
Harry was mildly embarrassed. “She’s a patron.”
“I am not just a patron. I’m a freedom fighter,” said Stacy.
The four old-timers chuckled. “With the Che Guevara contingent, are you?” Said Ernie.
“Don’t insult my intelligence!” Stacy said with disgust. “He was a political terrorist.”
The men were impressed with her moxy, but unsure as to her purpose.
“Are all you guys going to do is fart around and whine about the government? “ Stacy demanded. ‘Cause that’s pathetic.”
“If I talked to my elders like that when I was a kid, my folks would have taken a switch to me, “Sal informed.
“Someone needs to take a switch to you now for not being so sassy,” Stacy shot back. “Are you going to roll over and let the government do this? Not protest? Not demand change?”
Leo spoke to her gently. “We’ve done all that. I’ve written letters to the editor. They were rejected. I’ve tried getting the CBC to broadcast our views, but no going. The politicians don’t care. They promise one thing, and do another. There’s just nothing to be done. It’s stacked against us little people.”
“The CBC? Why the fuck are you farting around with the CBC?”
“Because they’re tax-funded; they use our money.”
“All the more reason to run as fast from the CBC as possible. Why don’t you get your word out on the internet? You know. Make some noise. A letter to the editor…pfft. That’s not going to do anything. You have to take political action. You have to get people organized. Not just send a lame-assed letter to the editor.”
The four men were getting annoyed with her youthful exuberance. Her naiveté and abrasiveness were turning them off.
Stacy detested their defeatism. They obviously did not understand what was at stake here. They were too weak-willed to overcome little defeats like having a letter rejecting.
“You guys don’t deserve freedom. Freedom is not for the weak. Weak people get pushed around. You’re letting yourself be dictated to. Whatever happened to ‘give me liberty or give me death?’ For goodness sakes, no one is asking you to like actually die for your freedom, “she ranted as they played cards. They ignored her like a troublesome housefly.
Stacy sighed. “Well I, for one, am not going to let this go. You guys don’t feel like you have to stand up for yourselves because you’ll be dead in ten years. I’m not going to roll over and let the government tell the good people what they can or cannot say or read. I’m organizing a protest.” She looked to Harry. “If you want to join in, my number’s in your database.”
And she walked off and left the mall to go back to her English class. Nobody censored her there. Yet.
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2 comments:
Ignore what those closed, minded, bigots over at Canadian Cynic, Red Tory, and Voice from the Pack had to say. Keep on writing. It's your right to express your ideas in writing, whether or not those on the left agree with them.
That's exactly what I intend to do.
I do not expect any different from that crowd.
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