MoneySense magazine ranks Hawkesbury 150th out of 190 cities, people ask ‘what the fuck is MoneySense magazine?’

Copyright Imagedowntown Hawkesbury, Ontario

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For a few years MoneySense, a Toronto-based magazine, has been ranking cities in Canada from best to worst. For the third year in a row they’ve decided Hawkesbury is one of the worst places to live in Canada, and the absolute worst city for household income.

The rankings published in the Toronto-based MoneySense magazine are based on a points system in categories like employment rates, crime, transit, population growth, weather, air quality, culture, recreation and sports, housing, income, and health professionals — such as dentists and doctors. Then each city is ranked and an anonymous junior member of the editorial team, having never actually stepped foot in your city, gets to write 600 words on how your city is an incredible suckhole.

MoneySense is basically a ‘lists’ magazine. The Rogers-owned magazine comes out six times a year, and to increase circulation and advertising revenue it publishes lists. Like the ‘Top 100 Dividend stocks to retire on’, or the ‘Top 500 US All-Star stocks’, or the ‘Top 200 Canadian Stocks of 2011’, or ‘Canada’s best credit cards’.

List features like ‘the best / worst city in Canada’ take very little effort to compile, no matter what the criteria, but they attract the most advertising dollars.

In Hawkesbury’s case, the MoneySense editorial board has decided the city’s numerous problems can be reduced to:

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“Hawkesbury’s tree-lined Main Street is quaint [but] the town lacks basic attractions like a movie theatre*.”
’11 Worst Places To Live’; A helpful suggestion from MoneySense Magazine

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Overall, MoneySense ranked Hawkesbury at 150 out of 190 cities. Hawkesbury was close to the bottom in “low crime”, affordable housing and “culture”. The city ranked 23rd in “walk/bike to work”, Hawkesbury has an incredible number of doctors per capita, and the city ranked 55th in “weather”.

What the magazine doesn’t tell its readers is that, for decades, Hawkesbury has been abandoned by both the federal and provincial governments. Or that Hawkesbury sits in the middle of the most economically depressed region in Canada, ranking highest in illiteracy rates, depression, addiction rates and crimes of abuse.

Or that Hawkesbury, once a thriving mill town, is still recovering from losing the thousand good-paying jobs the paper mill provided when it closed down in the early-80’s. Or from the hundreds of manufacturing jobs lost over the past decade, taking millions of dollars more out of the small city’s already devastated economy.

Hawkesbury was founded in 1859, and quickly became the regional centre for the pulp and paper industry. It sits on the Ontario side of the Ottawa River, roughly halfway between Ottawa and Montreal. Eighty-five percent of the city’s current population of 10,550 speak French as their first language, making it the largest concentration of Francophone’s in North America outside Quebec.

Nine generations of Hawkesbury’s people worked in the paper mill, most of them either getting hired before high school, or right out of grade nine.

When the mill closed in the early-80’s there were hundreds of families in a city of less than 9,000 people who had done nothing else for 200 years. And then there was nothing for them.

If MoneySense, or anyone else, needs an example of what Hawkesbury would eventually end up like after the mill closure, take a look at Detroit when the car manufacturer left. It’s called institutionalized poverty. And it brings with it crime, addiction and paralysis.

Not the kind of things that can be fixed with a downtown, two-screen Multi-Plex* where kids get in half-price on Sunday afternoon. Not the kind of thing that can be summed up in a 600-word magazine piece calling your town a shithole that desperately needs some entertainment*.

To blame the people who live in Hawkesbury for the city’s current household income level is like blaming people for drowning when all the boats were swept away as soon as the levies broke.

Yes, Hawkesbury’s problems are mostly self-inflicted, but in the same way that a town recovering from a tornado has no timber or hammers to rebuild — they have to make do with the broken scraps that are left. Without outside help, without charity from surrounding cities, without government support, there’s no option but to fail in the rebuild over and over again.

Hawkesbury is an ugly, scarred little city with very little hope or prospects left. The best thing you can say about the place is, after all this time, there are still people living there who care enough to try and rebuild.

There have been attempts, big and small, over the past twenty years to make Hawkesbury a better place to live, and to visit — they have festivals now, they have street fairs. But it can’t be a surprise when some ideas end up in failure.

Ten years ago (or so) they had the chance to build a commercial and tourism destination along its Ottawa River waterfront, instead they handed the prime real estate, just seconds from downtown, to a developer, who then promptly built six ugly grey homes with an ugly privacy fence.

Instead of a walking and biking trail along the river, linking West Hawkesbury to downtown, and having a waterfront shopping and recreation district with open air food markets and a park extending from the McGill and Main Street intersection to the bridge, there’s nothing of value left along the river.

Downtown Hawkesbury is now completely isolated from the Ottawa River.

Then there was the decision to build a bypass around Hawkesbury’s downtown. Because Main Street turned into a two hour parking lot every weekend, a bypass was desperately needed. And built. But now most traffic never sees the trees and restaurants and businesses of downtown, except from the back.

The bypass snakes past all of the major downtown parking lots, and the back-ends of half the major downtown businesses, and, fifteen years later, still no one has put up one single sign giving anyone travelling on the bypass a clue as to what those businesses are.

Or put up new paint. Even if people know what business is in which building, just getting into the parking lots from the bypass is difficult. Some lots are blocked off entirely from the bypass, which doesn’t really matter, because there are no directions. No arrows, no signs saying “Pharmacy Parking here”.

See, we know what the problems are. We know what mistakes have been made, and we know they’ll be made again. Because for the past thirty years the people of Hawkesbury have been trying to rebuild their town using broken boards and bent nails.

And they deserve more respect than being told “you’re the worst” and then being given suggestions on how to improve by someone who, ten minutes ago, never heard of Hawkesbury, and really has no interest in the city beyond telling people what a failure the city is fills some space in their magazine.

In a magnificently tone deaf press release, Sarah Efron, the managing editor of MoneySense, blamed the decision to rank Hawkesbury as one of the least livable cities in Canada on Hawkesbury’s “negative population growth” and its “household income” — which, for more reasons than I just covered, remains the lowest in the country.

Well, with respect Sarah, what you and your magazine have done with this list is tell someone dying from asbestos poisoning that they look like shit, and maybe they should eat something.

Maybe, in next year’s best / worst list feature, your magazine can take a more serious look at the problems in Hawkesbury, and maybe bring those problems to the attention of people who can help.

Because, really, who gives a shit that Ottawa is the most livable city in Canada. Maybe, I don’t know, it’s the “bottom eleven” who deserve the most time, space, effort and attention in your publication.

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*There actually is a two-screen movie theatre barely a two minute drive from downtown Hawkesbury. $20 will get you two tickets to a new feature film, two regular bags of popcorn and two regular drinks. Surely having such a value so close to downtown should bump Hawkesbury up a few places.

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Posted in Canada, Champlain Township, Eastern Ontario, Hawkesbury, Journalism, News, Politics, poverty, Vankleek Hill, Writing | Tagged , | 12 Comments

Sunday Blues Spotlight: Derek Miller

Copyright ImageTrans-Am Apocalypse No. 2, 1993 by John Scott

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I first saw Derek Miller when he was featured on the live music TV program, ‘Arbor Live’, on the APTN (Aboriginal Peoples Television Network). Arbor Live is a fantastic show to catch great new and independent bands. Unfortunately the budget must be tiny, because they can’t afford to keep those TV labels telling you who’s playing, plus the song and maybe the album, up on the screen for more than a few seconds.

So by the time you realize the act you’re watching is totally fucking awesome, and you’d really like to find out more about them, the label is long gone and no one ever mentions the name of the band ever again.

Thankfully I caught a repeat of the Derek Miller interview and performance. And, having learned my lesson, when Derek’s performance started I grabbed my glasses and got to within a few inches of the TV, and there it was… “Derek Miller”, ‘Devil Come Down Sunday’. Fucking awesome.

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‘Devil Come Down Sunday’, The Dirty Looks (2006); Derek Miller

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‘Lovesick Blues’, Music is the Medicine (2002); Derek Miller

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‘Stoned for Days’, Derek Miller with Double Trouble (2010); Derek Miller

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Derek has incredible skills, and ‘The Dirty Looks’ is now one of my favourite albums. “Devil Come Down Sunday” is probably one of the best guitar-heavy Blues songs to come out of Canada since… I don’t know, lets say Big Sugar’s “Red Rover” in 2001. “10 000 RPM”, “Malibu”, “Shot o’Cake” and “Mystery Train” are also all excellent tracks. I’ve seen Derek live on Arbor Live, and on fan-generated videos on YouTube, and he’s someone I’d definitely spend money to see.

Unfortunately, for whatever it’s worth (and, unfortunately, it’s worth a lot), Derek’s social media / Web presence sucks dry donkey balls. He’s one of the 200 people left with a MySpace page, but it hasn’t been updated since March, 2011. He has an “Official” website, but it’s still pushing a documentary that played three months ago, and the trailer is “locked”.

The blog attached to the “Official” site hasn’t been updated since 2010, but it does have a great idea for ‘free music downloads’, all you have to do to get “Oh Boy” from his 2010 album ‘Derek Miller With Double Trouble’ is Tweet about it. Unfortunately I don’t Tweet, but there’s only the one song available for download so it doesn’t really matter.

Derek does have an active Facebook page (6,676 followers) and Twitter account (1,522 Twits), but his YouTube account has four videos and not much else. Which makes sense. Social media takes time, and even cash, and I don’t get the feeling Derek has a lot of either. Especially the cash part, what with him being a blues musician… from Canada. That’s not even a licence to print Canadian Tire money, let alone the real stuff. Still, it’d be nice if he logged into his accounts once in a while, just to keep those accounts relevant.

The man has played with Buffy Sainte-Marie, Double Trouble (Stevie Ray Vaughn’s backup band) and Willie Nelson, he has won a couple of Juno Awards and played the closing ceremonies of the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics.

His music can be found on iTunes, and his awesome 2006 album, The Dirty Looks, can be downloaded as a Torrent… not that I’d ever, ever suggest doing so. But, fuck, if there’s no HMV in your neighbourhood, and you’ve got no credit card, or you don’t want to supply your credit card number to a gagglesack of 15-year old hackers, how the fuck else are you going to make a mix-CD for your girlfriend?

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Posted in Canadian Music, Entertainment, Sunday Music Spotlight, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pregnancy Update | she’s a girl.

Copyright ImageEvangeline's first photo

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Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together,
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted;
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,
All things were held in common, and what one had was another’s.
Yet under Benedict’s roof hospitality seemed more abundant:
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father;
Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it.

‘Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie’ (1847) by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

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We’re having a girl, and her name will be Evangeline. She will be born during the fist week of August, which makes sense because August is an awesome month.

Diane, my girlfriend, chose Evangeline, so I’m currently working on a middle name, although I do have a super-secret and totally awesome one already. Choices other than my awesome but secret one include:

My great-grandmother was named Rose, which goes back a few more generations on that side of the family. My grandfather had sisters named Bernadette and Rita (who was also an actual Catholic Sister), her middle name was Gratia, or Grace. There are also a few Léa’s in my family history, so if George Lucus hasn’t copyrighted it that could be cool.

There’s also Arvilla, Hazel, Josephine, Annabelle and Eliza. My three sisters are in the mix as well, and so is my mother. Or I could go with Cooler, which is my cats name. Evangeline Cooler Landriault… it has a ring to it.

I didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, but Diane wanted to tell me so badly she looked like she was about to burst. Just based on how she was bouncing around after getting back from the ultrasound I kind of had a pretty good idea it was a girl.

We started discussing having a second child almost immediately after our son was born, in 2009. And Diane always had a semi-secret smile when she talked about the possibility of having a girl.

She wasn’t the only one, her oldest son has been talking about having a little sister for a year now. And my mother has wanted a protege for a long, long time.

I’ve been telling Diane I was totally cool either way for our first, and for this one. But, honestly, the idea of raising a girl is freaking me out.

It’s probably not rational, but raising a girl just seems insanely complicated. And scary as hell. Not the clinical stuff, or at least not specifically the health stuff, but mostly teaching her how to be safe. Or how to be a princess.

To be honest I find most “girl” things are, mostly, ridiculous. Ponies? Gymnastics? I have to go to gymnastics meets now? Unicorns, I’ll have to learn about unicorns. And sparkles.

Teaching my (currently two-year old) son how to defend himself will be easy. People who meet him are all certain he’s going to be a large person, so teaching him to defend himself is basically going to be me showing him how to throw a punch from the shoulder. He’s already beating up his six-year old brother.

But I’m already starting to have nightmares about my daughter asking me how to defend herself against the insanely vicious self-esteem attack-games girls make on other girls. Jesus, what if she’s the first one in her class to “develop”? What if she’s last?

What if she asks me for advice on dealing with the ‘mean girls’ in her class and I screw it up? Christ, she’s probably going to want to date.

Obviously I’ll try my best to get her interested in sports, like real sports. There are soccer and rugby leagues in this region for girls, and also a mixed hockey league.

But what do I say when she asks me for advice on boys? How do I keep her safe from the ‘pornification’ of high school dating?

How long do I wait before explaining to her that people like Rush Limbaugh exist?

Thankfully there are a lot of women, alive and not so much, on my side of the family who will serve as excellent role models for my daughter. My paternal grandmother, for example, was a mathematician who worked on developing radar during WW2. My three sisters are all brilliant, strong women, who have lived interesting lives.

My mother had her poetry published when she was barely twenty. She went on to work as a book and magazine editor, and was the editor of the local paper. Her aunt became a Catholic nun when she was a teenager, and taught high school for forty years. She was also a brilliant painter and could kill a person with a stare at thirty paces.

So maybe, with living examples and stories about her ancestors, Evangeline might have a chance to survive despite my neophyte parenting skills…

There’s a young woman who works weekends at the gas station where I buy my milk and pop, she’s being raised by her single mom, she plays rugby and soccer, gets marks in the mid-90′s and is going to university next year to learn how to bio-engineer a cure for cancer.

I have to find her mother and interview her.

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Posted in Evangeline's Week In Review, Family, Humor, Humour, Parenthood, Parenting, Vankleek Hill, Writing | Tagged | 5 Comments

Little Victor Update | the TV zombie

Copyright ImageVictor the TV Zombie

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I think I’m about to find out how much TV is too much TV in the safe development of a child’s mind. My two-year old son can recognize Dog The Bounty Hunter’s voice, and has now started to respond to Dora The Explorer.

Dora is something new for Victor, we just started watching mostly-age-appropriate cartoons together a few months ago. But “Dog”, which comes on in the afternoons on A&E, and because there’s very little else on for his father to watch in the mid-afternoon, has been part of Victor’s life since he was just past his first birthday.

To be fair to his mom and me, Victor watches less than six hours of TV per week. I’d say it’s closer to four, and that includes DVD’s. But, for a two-year old, I do find it a little weird that he knows how to use the remote to turn on the TV, and change channels. He’ll also stop and look at the TV when he hears Dog’s voice. Which is one reason why I haven’t watched Dog in a few months.

But I’ve noticed recently, during those six or four or three hours a week, that his jaw is slack, his mouth is open and his eyes are glazed over. And that has me a little freaked out.

TV is definitely not Victor’s surrogate parent, or even his bored high school-aged constantly-texting babysitter. He spends most weekdays with me, in my apartment, and the TV is almost always off or on one of the news channels — which, for the most part, are really just poor quality versions of Dora and Dog… which are really just poor knock-offs of Bugs Bunny.

Which is what makes the glazed look all the more… disturbing.

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One of the biggest changes in Victor’s life over the past couple of months is how much time he has running free. His mom moved into a new house, with wide open spaces and a long hallway, for Victor to roam around in. He finally has lots of space to ride his little vehicles and, in the spring, there’s a great backyard for him to play in.

I’ve also started to trust him to not run into the corners of my tables, or bring down my bookcases, in my apartment.

When Victor is loose, he’s a running, laughing stamina-filled, oatmeal-fueled machine. His balance and coordination have improved so much over the past couple of months. Just last November, when he was out of his ‘play area’, I felt I had to follow right behind him at all times. It was the only way I felt secure enough having him whipping around my apartment.

But now I’m confident enough in his abilities I can just set him down and get back to writing — after making sure the exacto-knives are out of his reach, of course. I also have to unplug the PS3 so he doesn’t trip over the wires… but then he tries to plug them back in.

The kid is crazy like that. He’ll take an empty pop can off my coffee table, and bring it to my recycling bin. He’ll pick up a DVD case off the TV table, walk around with it over his head, then put it back exactly where he found it… like, exactly. He’ll even nudge it a little with his finger to get it right.

He seems to know, or remember, exactly where everything goes.

If I tell him, without pointing, to put whatever he’s carrying on the table, he’ll put it on the table. When his mom says “give it to daddy”, he goes out of his way to find me and hands me whatever it is he was carrying. My favourite is “where’s your bottle?”, then he runs off and finds it. I just find that fascinating, that he understands what we’re saying, without having the words yet.

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His favourite word of all time, or for the past few months, is “ball”. Or “bahll” / “bawl” / “ball-e”. It’s also his favourite thing, and his favourite shape. He has a giant yellow bouncing ball, a rubber Christmas ball that’s roughly the size of a softball, and a hacky sack.

They’re almost like a security blanket for him. He can live without them, but once he realizes he doesn’t have access to them it can be a problem.

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…something Victor doesn’t really have is a security blanket. Until recently he refused to sleep under a blanket altogether. And he barely tolerates the two little teddy bears we leave in his crib / playpen — although, if I hug one of his teddy’s, he’ll hug the other and say “teddy”. As long as he has a pillow, and access to a full bottle at 2:30am, he’ll sleep right through the night.

The only reason, as far as I can tell, that he has started to use the blankets is because my slumlord landlord won’t fix the windows in my apartment so, in the winter, when there’s a wind, there’s a -10C draft from every one of them.

I leave the heat on all night when Victor is here, and the baseboard heater is just a few feet from his crib, but still… when there’s a wind, the curtains move.

Which also freaks the cat out.

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One other thing Victor loves doing that blows my mind is stacking stuff. He loves stacking thing on top of other things, or putting things into other things.

He’ll take a box, like an empty diaper box, and walk around picking up his toys and random objects — empty water bottles are a favourite — and storing them in his box. Then he’ll carry his box around my apartment for a little while, then take stuff out of the box and stack the objects on my shelves or tables.

He can unscrew the canister his bum cream comes in, he can turn my printer on, he knows how to turn a juice box into a squirt gun, and he loves to dance to everything from Muddy Waters to The Weeknd.

But my my favourite thing Victor does is when he lifts his arms over his head, his hands all balled up with his thumbs sticking out, and he yells “YAY” with a big grin… except when I’m carrying him and he buries his head into my cheek. That’s definitely my favourite thing, by far.

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Photos Of Victor’s Week(s):

Victor's Week

Victor's Week

Victor's Week

Victor's Week

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Posted in Family, Humor, Humour, Parenthood, Parenting, poverty, Vankleek Hill, Victor's Week In Review, Writing | Tagged | 2 Comments

The greatest Christmas movie miracle of all time

Copyright Image...how Canadian babies are made.

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This originally appeared as a column in the December 22 print and online editions of the North Bay / Nippissing News, the weekly newspaper I’ve been writing for recently. I’ve been recovering from some fairly serious illnesses over the past few years, so I haven’t been able to write professionally. At least not often. Most, or possibly all, of the profanity was edited out before publication.

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A few nights ago I was watching the greatest Christmas movie ever made, Die Hard, and flipping over to A Christmas Carol during the commercials. When I was a kid the Scrooge movie freaked me out just enough so I haven’t been able to watch it all the way through since – just to add to the freakiness, this time it was the colourized Ted Turner Edition, so everyone was wearing pastel coloured waistcoats, and 1850’s coal-oil soaked London looked like 1985 Miami.

But I must have caught it at just the right – or wrong – commercial breaks because I didn’t see the movie as a condemnation of Scrooge, or even his lifestyle. When the Ghosts started popping up, especially the Ghost of Christmas Past, the movie actually offered perfectly sound reasoning for Scrooge’s behaviour.

Scrooge’s mom died during childbirth, so his father resented him. When Scrooge was old enough – four or five – his father sent Scrooge away to school in an attempt to get rid of the kid. As a child the only friend Scrooge had was his sister, who died giving birth to a son, who Scrooge would hold responsible for his sister’s death. To add to the insult, Scrooge’s nephew comes back later in the story as a poor, but frustratingly happy young man.

Despite everything Scrooge remained a Christmas lover, and moved to the big city where he got a job as a clerk. At this point he met and gets engaged to Alice, a beautiful and deluded woman who believes it’s a virtue to be poor. She and Scrooge are very happy together for a few years. When Scrooge attains a certain level of success she breaks up with him – Scrooge says “I love you, I’ve struggled to be better than I was.” She says “fuck you, you’ve changed, here’s the ring, I’m outta here.”

At this point Scrooge rightfully swears off personal relationships, except the one with his business partner, Jacob Marley. Years later, after being told Marley is not long for this earth, Scrooge tells his clerk there’s no point rushing to Jacob’s bedside because “we’ve all got to die, Cratchit”.

It seems as though his entire early life was just one swift kick to the groin after another. In a purely historical context I understand how Scrooge must be seen as the ‘really bad dude’ — the beginning of the Industrial Revolution was not a kind time for the working man. But even in that context Scrooge remains a sympathetic character. I always thought, just from watching the Muppet version and reading some of the book, Scrooge was meant to be a character without a soul and the Ghosts were trying to give him one.

But Scrooge was just a decent dude who had everything taken from him, and the Three Ghosts were ultimately just showing him what he had left was worth living for. Even though they’re basically the same character, Scrooge is definitely not Henry “scurvy little spider” Potter from “A Wonderful Life”. That’s definitely a hateful bag of hate in dire need of a life enema.

In the end, however, by far the biggest Christmas movie miracle of them all has to be when LAPD Sgt. Al Powell puts five shots into the torso of the ‘previously presumed to be dead’ Euro-trash Terrorist, thus saving the lives of John and Holly McClane at the end of Die Hard.

God bless us, every one.

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Posted in Christmas, Entertainment, Humor, Humour, Journalism, Writing | Tagged | 1 Comment

How the death of Steve Jobs could save Canadians

Copyright Imagea Vankleek Hill columnist

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This originally appeared as a column in the November 3 print and online editions of the North Bay / Nippissing News, the weekly newspaper I’ve been writing for recently. I’ve been recovering from some fairly serious illnesses over the past few years, so I haven’t been able to write professionally. At least not often. This was my third column with NBNN… so far so good. That is my arm in the photo. A few weeks of generic Polysporin and gauze bandages later and it’s a nice, healthy, virginal pink scar.

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Steve Jobs was a lot of things, apparently one of them was foolish.

Jobs, with some help, created Apple Computers and turned it into one of the most important technological forces in history. His genius was his ability to take an existing product, like a tablet computer, and change it’s interface so it became something else. Something convenient and beautiful. Basically his genius lay in squaring the base of a taco and charging us $599 for the privilege of ownership.

But, since his recent death from a case of pancreatic cancer diagnosed in 2003, we have found out that with his genius came intense stupidity.

Shortly before his death, in a confession to his biographer, Jobs admitted his nearly obsessive embrace of alternative medicines to treat cancer, ultimately led to a premature death.

The type of cancer Jobs was diagnosed with in 2003 was treatable, and survivable. But instead of seeking out care from a modern hospital, he spent months insisting on relying on basic quackery, health guru’s, spiritualists and the authors of self-help books. He made the decision to treat the cancer primarily with dietary choices.

By the time he accepted help the cancer had spread to other organs. He had waited too long, he told his biographer, before getting treatment that could have saved his life.

So, how can Canadians learn from the premature death of one of the truly great captains of industry? By following the example he set when he realized he was killing himself by not using modern health care.

By seeing a doctor who graduated from a reputable university based in a real country.

According to Health Canada more than 70% of Canadians use some form of natural health products regularly. These include nutritional supplements, probiotics, traditional Chinese medicine, vitamins, herbal products, and homeopathy.

Nutritional supplements are great, if what you’re looking for is a placebo effect with no medical documentation to support the claims either of the manufacturer or the recommendations of the person handing them to you.

There are literally thousands of products in Canadian stores promising, sometimes in the vaguest of terms, a healthier life. Some, like folic acid to prevent birth defects, are vital to our health. But they’ve been tested, there have been university trials proving the importance of calcium.

Just to have a basic regulatory framework in place, in 2004, the Natural Health Product Regulations (NHPR) were created under Canada’s Food and Drugs Act to regulate these products. But the new regulations meant only testing these products for manufacturing quality and safety standards.

There’s nothing in the NHPR forcing manufacturers to prove the effectiveness of these products.

So Suzanne Somers is free to get obscenely rich selling books marketing untested, unproven products in this country, and people like Kevin Trudeau can go on television and hock books telling people specific types of calcium farmed from seashells can beat cancer.

These books are poured over by people who would otherwise mock the idea of an aphrodisiac made from powdered tiger penis, but will then lecture you about the healing properties of a faux copper bracelet, or St. John’s Wart, or Lithium oratate.

People who can explain the details of the thousand years of ‘traditional’ Chinese medicine, based on herbs and the mystics of Earth-power, are generally unaware Canadians live longer than the Chinese, both our infant and maternal mortality rate are significantly lower, and Canada has never sent a potential plague into the world.

Of course this isn’t a panic, or an epidemic, it’s just one American industrialist who was, like thousands of Canadians, sucked into the unregulated and illusionary world of ‘alternative medicine’.

So be like the reasonable Jobs and embrace your inner MRI.

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Posted in Canada, Journalism, Politics, Writing | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments