Cometh the Hour, Cometh Pierre

 

So far, so-so.

The good news is, Pierre Poilievre won the Conservative Party leadership in a mortal beatdown. This was always going to happen, inasmuch as the half-million normal people who bought party memberships in recent months, this writer included, did so just to vote for Pierre and an outside shot at being left alone.

The disquieting bit, yet to be confirmed, is that Pierre et al. gave the impression they are poised to perform that grotesque and misbegotten political maneuver: The Pivot.

In the fundraising email Pierre sent out just before the results were announced (all the candidates sent similar missives; it was a cloying look), he cautioned that if he were to win the leadership, Justin Trudeau’s Liberals would seek to define him as an extremist right away.

Gentle Reader, you and I have been here before, so we need not make a big, hairy deal about the details. In sum, unless a nominally conservative politician agrees at once with the Current Thing, whilst energetically denouncing the Current Bad Thing, he is a monstrous istophobe who uses guns to guard his guns and probably didn’t even see Captain Marvel.

Taking all that as read, the mistake supposedly conservative politicians make is to allow fear of such characterization to define them. What they fail to understand is that they can be an invertebrate, lefty squish and not only will they still get the same treatment from liberals and their media allies, but their putative voter base will abandon them, as well (for details, consult President Romney).

To wit, upon his victory, Pierre ascended the podium and sounded suspiciously like one of Them. It is possible – hopeful, in fact – that I am overreacting to minor portions of his remarks. I may have been primed to do so by the brutal, brain-melting manner in which the results were presented.

In short, it was the most Canadian thing you ever saw. We half-million normal people who signed up just for this received an email saying the results would be announced online at 6pm. Like a dummy who’s never been here before, I clicked the link at the appointed time and sat there.

Out came some shouty, boxy, Canadian woman of a certain age with those glasses and that haircut (you know the one). I am not certain she introduced herself. It bears repeating that Canadian politicians are deeply weird and this manifests, in part, by assuming everyone recognizes them on sight.

Beside her was a second woman who, we would come to learn, was there to repeat the remarks of the first woman, only in French and much, much louder.

Fine, one supposed, someone has to set the stage, the new leader isn’t just going to poke his head out like Richard Nixon saying, “Sock it to me.”

But then it kept going. By and by, it became clear these people were doing a floor show. There were, appropriately, remarks on the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, followed by a rendition of God Save the King on saxophone (reached for comment in the afterlife, Oliver Cromwell remarked, “Told ya so”).

There was the ubiquitous modern grovel to the Indians, asking if it’s okay for us to have the hall for an hour. People refer to this in passing and capitalized as the Land Acknowledgement, the way previous generations would speak of the Lord’s Prayer (every society is a theocracy), as though it’s perfectly normal. It’s not normal, it’s enough already.

O Canada was performed with Justin’s updated commie lyrics. Videotaped messages from every Conservative Member of Parliament were played, along with an extended address from Pierre’s predecessor as leader, Erin O’Toole (more on whom in a moment).

On and on it went, genuflecting to every woke totem and with all the production values of a Christian game show. As I say, it was the most Canadian thing you ever saw.

One respite was the YouTube live comment section, where a number of we normal half-million were saying much the same as what I have written here. In short, we didn’t sign up for this, these are not the things we care about, and just tell us who won.

Being Canadian and “Conservative,” however, the party administrators shut down the comment section. That’s enough out of you, actual people, now hold still and listen respectfully to the throat-singers.

After about two hours, a pair of middle-aged men appeared onstage, waxing about their long, strange journey the past several months, all the hard, hard work they had done, and how it all began for them (“I’ll never forget, I was in my rumpus room in Sudbury when the phone rang…”).

Back and forth they went, congratulating and thanking one another, with no thought having been given to a wrap-up. It was like one of those technical awards at the Oscars, where the winners have some Magna Carta-length list of people to thank, only with no music to play them off.

Finally, one of the men proclaimed, “The moment you have been waiting for is here.” A whoop of joy and relief went up from the crowd (apparently some normal people had slipped into the hall).

He quickly added that he meant they were just about ready to tally the votes. At this point, the crowd might have been forgiven for chanting “WTF” in unison.

Now, now, he informed us, it was simply a matter of sending the results through the computer – “They’re ready to push the button” – and, Gaia willing, he and his accounting partner would be back onstage in 10 to 15 minutes. So we had THAT to look forward to.

Whereupon, the screen went blank. About half an hour later – there was some imbroglio with the elevator, about which you don’t care any more than I do – they returned and, after suspenseful language about having “SOME results,” announced that Pierre had eaten everyone’s lunch with somewhere north of 68 percent of the vote.

There were cheers and applause, of course, if perhaps somewhat less jubilant than they might have been at, say, 6pm.

Obviously, none of the foregoing can be laid at Pierre’s feet, as he was not yet Leader. What follows, however, is all him.

After an interminable evening of bait-and-switch CanCon, preceded by an unnecessary 6-month campaign (the entire point of which, it says here, was to give establishment candidates a chance to beat Pierre), people wanted to hear, at last, from the Man of the Hour.

Instead, a woman few of us knew ascended the podium and spoke passionately in French, Spanish, and English, about herself, her racial history, and her family’s struggles. At long last, she had finally made it.

One wants to be careful here; nevertheless, it ought to be said. I was aware Pierre is married, and I am sure she is tremendous. We who supported him in this bid respect who he is and what he is trying to accomplish; doubtless, she has much to do with that. But with a monsoon of respect, no one voted for her.

Again, the soul-crushing hours leading up to the announcement may have frayed my patience. After months of campaigning and an evening of beaver-juggling and speeches that sounded like Air Canada safety instructions, Pierre needed no one to “Introduce” him, as was her stated task.

And unlike those poor souls in the hall, I was in the comfort of my home and the movie channel was showing a Rocky marathon. So, you know, I had options.

Someone should have called an audible and just let Pierre address his patient supporters. If that’s all it was, so be it. But if, as part of The Pivot, they plan to exploit Pierre’s wife as some kind of Venezuelan Hillary two-for-one deal, it needs to stop, and right now. Canada is too perilously close to becoming the actual Venezuela for that kind of play.

When he did speak, Pierre was fine, and no better. We who had seen his outstanding videos online throughout the campaign recognized some of the notes. He plans to tackle inflation, support farmers, and restore freedom (which really is the key). But we also heard a lot of stuff that most definitely was not in the Welcome Package: “climate change,” electric cars, and “it doesn’t matter who you love” (egads, the grammar).

Wait, what? Are we doing this again?

Let us reflect, for a moment, on how we got here. Pierre’s predecessor, Erin O’Toole, was a pal of mine since before he entered politics. I just considered him a solid, normal guy I knew and no one was happier than I when he won the leadership. Sadly, I was just as relieved when he stepped aside. And why did that occur?

Honk, honk, mes amis.

The truckers drove Erin from office and gave Pierre his moment. These past couple years, when the mask slipped (so to speak) and government revealed itself to be the necessary but malign force many of us always knew it to be, Erin was nowhere. Indeed, I am being kind for old times’ sake. He was dead wrong.

Justin, the champion of “my body, my choice” when the topic is eliminating children, decreed that all must receive injections of his choosing. There could be no more egregious violation of personal freedom and bodily autonomy. And where was Erin? Agreeing, in the main, on this and everything else. Premises we accepted, The Pivot was performed, and all was lost.

Pierre, meanwhile, was out there giving coffee to the truckers who braved deep snow, frozen bank accounts, and police brutality just to give normal people hope.

But now, in his first speech as Conservative Leader, Pierre box-ticks a bunch of lefty nonsense, performing The Pivot for fear of being badly defined.

Allow me to be clear, for the benefit of those who pretend not to understand: A person can have tolerance, compassion, and Christian love for others, regardless of where they come from, what they look like, or WHOM they love, yet simultaneously be sick to the teeth of Diversity Enforcement.

Besides which, all these are luxury priorities for rich societies not facing crisis. At this moment, Canada, and the West in general, is neither. 

One hopes Pierre noticed that the loudest cheers he received in his speech came when he renewed his promise to eliminate all remaining Covid mandates, as well as Justin’s Satanic, citizen-tracking app, ArriveCan. These are the issues that removed the old guard and gave him his chance.

If Pierre runs in the next election as Jean Charest in problem glasses, it will go as badly for him as when Apollo Creed took that exhibition fight against an unknown Russian.

Pierre’s victory is cause for celebration, but also caution. This really is our last chance, in my estimation. Western elections are now so utterly “fortified,” Pierre may need to prevail by a similar margin to his victory in the leadership race in order to form a government. To do so, he must remember how he got here.

Congratulations, Pierre, thank you, and please don’t mump this up.

Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com

Chrystia Got Yelled At

 

Chrystia Freeland is, as Thomas Hobbes described a state of nature, “nasty, brutish, and short.”

You may have come across breathless news accounts of how Freeland, Canada’s Deputy Prime Minister, was variously “attacked,” “assaulted,” or “accosted” (and those are just the A’s) by some unruly citizen who temporarily forgot his place and his sleeves.

If you are on a schedule, allow me to cut to the chase: Chrystia was none of those things. Nor was she threatened, impeded, or harmed in any way. She was subjected to a harangue no worse than one might expect in a heated exchange over a parking space.

Nevertheless, Canada’s state-sponsored media (which is to say, just about the lot of them), has erupted with apoplexy about the safety of politicians, the dignity of public office, and how hard, so very hard, it is to be a woman and do anything or go anywhere.

It practically writes itself. “Growing Concerns” abound, politicians “Condemn” and “Speak Out” in defense of this put-upon damsel who has her own driver.

For what it’s worth, I spent about a decade working in Canadian news media and the landscape is like a Hieronymous Bosch painting, only with hairspray in place of flames. It is peopled by the sort of women who have “Growing Concerns” non-stop, and who assume the rest of the population shares their aggrievement.

Before proceeding further, allow me to play Chrystia’s advocate for a moment. As a man (kinda), I aver that men ought not to go after women in an angry fashion. Normal people, male and female, will understand my reasoning.

First, it is ungallant, and chivalry is not dead whilst I draw breath. Second, as a practical matter, it is a no-win situation, as just about anyone, this writer included, will intervene on the woman’s behalf as a matter of instinct. Finally, notwithstanding the intervention of third parties, there is an intrinsic unfairness to doing so.

Men don’t fight much anymore (probably good for me since, as I type, I am a mere hundred-fitty pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal); nevertheless, when two guys start shouting at each other – say, over the last pair of on-sale slacks at Sears or which was the greatest British Prime Minister (answer: Lord Palmerston) – there is at least the theoretical possibility that they will have to back up their words with fists. Again, in this pansified, lactose-intolerant age, it does not happen so often, but it still could, and both men know it.

But when a man argues with a woman, and since we do not live in a Marvel movie or the fevered imagination of a Wesleyan grad, she is unlikely to lift him over her head and toss him through the uprights.

Agree or not, you take my point.

Chrystia’s interlocutor, however, violates almost none of these norms. Whoever he is, I would be honored to buy him a pair of Sears slacks, full price. While shouting at politicians in public is not my jam (I repair to my study and write pithy prose – QED), his frustration is apt.

I have previously plagiarized somebody or other who proposed that the next world war will be between citizens and their own governments. As we awake each day to some fresh hell of whatever they are doing to us next (“No booster for you until you finish eating your crickets…”), does this not seem more and more the case?

Chrystia Freeland and her patron, Justin Trudeau – and it cannot be said often enough that there is something seriously wrong with both of them – personify the situation.

Lest we forget, it was only a few months ago that Chrystia stood before the nation, giggling and twitching like the demon-possessed creature I believe her to be (prove me wrong, kids), to proclaim that bank accounts of those who supported the Truckers’ Convoy would be frozen. Word went out to investment houses, financial institutions, and even crypto exchanges, lists were distributed, and citizens who had donated even a few dollars to the cause found their assets seized.

Concurrently, horses trampled protesters, windows were smashed as truckers were violently arrested, and political prosecutions, complete with imprisonment without bail, commenced.

At the time, I wrote that Justin, Chrystia, et al., had violated the tenets of free society such that they ought to be drummed out of public life, prosecuted, and, if convicted, imprisoned. My view is unchanged and it does not exceed the boundaries of civil order to say as much; rather, it bolsters that order, since the nature of free society is sufficiently precious and fragile that its undermining cannot be tolerated.

So yes, Chrystia got yelled at. Canada’s federal police force, the RCMP, is “investigating.” What, pray tell, is there to investigate? Lavrentiy Beria himself could look through the case until his eyes fall out and find no crime. But this is the nation, and the world, in which we now live.

Even a lesser-known but strikingly handsome scribe such as this one has a remote concern that my accounts will be seized for publishing a piece such as this (joke’s on you, coppers – don’t spend that all in one place).

The Hobbesian reference at the top was not included merely to give the appearance of sharp cleverness (although there is that). To paraphrase with abandon, Hobbes was describing a broken society, without laws, with no reliable order, in which humanity reverts to its primitive, desperate condition. 

Across the formerly free world, normal people are coming to understand that, to whatever extent law exists, its enforcement is capricious. To wit, the favored few are spared (Hunter Biden, call your office), while the unfavored are hounded (Tamara Lich, call your lawyer).

Only a fool would trust his government today, and it would take a madman to believe it has his best interests at heart. Chrystia Freeland, as much as anyone, is responsible for that.

Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com

A Fool and his Hair

 

Remember the good old days, when climate change wasn’t causing toddlers to have heart attacks?

Boy howdy, am I sick of lies and death. You?

I can’t handle Las Vegas for more than about 48 hours. I’m actually a fairly decent gambler, inasmuch as the moment I’m up, I walk away from the table and spend the rest of the trip at the Bellagio buffet or watching a Cirque du Soleil show (I’ve yet to be chosen as a volunteer from the audience; they always pick the guy wearing a harness).

Rather, I get tired of being crowd-controlled. Every aspect of the place, from the direction of the hallways to the angle of the air conditioners, to the ugliness of the carpets is engineered to make you move and behave as some dopey marketing expert would prefer. The constant manipulation gnaws at my soul.

This is how it feels to live in the Current Year.

Everything is a story, a narrative, a strictly enforced catechism of nonsense that no one really believes but everyone is obliged to repeat. You see this, you’re living it, and you are likely frustrated by it, too. If you immediately understood the first line of this column, you know of which I speak.

Discussion of lies, death, and stupidity leads us, of course, to Justin Trudeau. As you may have seen, Justin has cut off all his hair, like some chick getting over a breakup.

In terms of immutable characteristics, people cannot help the way they look. This is something we should be taught in childhood and, if we develop human empathy, come to appreciate as adults. As a general rule, if you are going to comment on a person’s appearance, it ought to be a glowing compliment.

But then, there are choices. If you decide to get a tattoo across your forehead that reads “Don’t F*ck with Mr. Zero” or a trauma haircut like Justin’s, well – game on.

Something is up with that guy (something is always up with that guy, amirite?) and it augurs well for us.

As Perceval said to King Arthur in the underrated 1981 epic, Excalibur: “You and the land are one.” Similarly, Justin personifies the Globalist-WEF-Davos-Tower-of-Babel Brigade (this is a cousin to Ben Shapiro’s observation that Justin is what would happen if the song “Imagine” took human form and then ate a Tide Pod).

Whatever is eating at Justin, it isn’t so much about electoral prospects. I am on record as predicting he has pranced through his last race. Corrupted as elections might be across the West, no amount of snow-fortification could shore up enough votes to return Justin to power if Canadians get another chance to pass judgment on him.

Besides, Justin has entered into a pact with Canada’s millionaire socialists, the New Democratic Party, to keep him in power until 2025. For what it’s worth, I have also predicted this grotesque partnership will not last that long. The human toll of being so hated as Justin and his commie enablers will prove too much. The haircut, I think, is part of that.

Someone whose name I forget, but whom I have often plagiarized, averred that the next World War would be between citizens and their own governments. Across Europe, North America, and even Asia, one sees how this might be correct. And the people are growing stronger.

Did the fall of Sri Lanka cause Justin to slump into the salon chair and say, “Gimme the Pee-wee Herman”?

It’s possible. These secret-handshake wankjobs who run everything talk to each other, and they are privy to inside information. Some fronts are going well for them – they’re able to lock up freedom protestors like Tamara Lich and Pat King, as well as anyone who so much as changed planes at Dulles on January 6, while releasing not a single name from Ghislaine Maxwell’s client list – whereas others are not (Italy and the Netherlands come to mind).

The Death Sniffles and attendant injection campaign did not go as they had hoped. Indeed, when all comes to light, the fallout may see some of our overlords ascending scaffolds.

In every case, the momentum is in one direction. Literally no sane person alive today is developing greater trust in government, central planning, corporate media, and globalist bureaucracy. There is a long struggle ahead, but people are waking up.

But let us return, as we must, to Justin’s coiffure. They say the eyes are the window to the soul but, for Justin, it may be his hair.

I have learned, particularly in the past two years, that there is no point trying to convince people who do not see what you do. Perhaps you have come to the same conclusion. It’s the reason I don’t write as much as I used to, and why I certainly don’t argue in person.

If, for example, people look at the faces of Chuck Schumer, Nancy Pelosi, Bill Gates, Joe Biden, et al., and don’t immediately see satanic malice and demonic confusion, there is not much for us to say to each other about it. Yes, each of those named is a child of God, with hope while they breathe, yada-yada but, in practical terms, they wield outsized power and do not wish us well.

I used to ask regarding Hillary Clinton – could you ever imagine her committing a selfless act of kindness for another human being? Anything, really, but something done purely out of love, with no ulterior motive or manipulation behind it? Me neither.

Since Justin first flounced onto the scene, I’ve maintained there are two types of Canadians – those who find him embarrassing, and those who do not. It is an unbridgeable gap.

Even before he opens his mouth to talk about rearranging space and time, or to wonder aloud where the white goes when the snow melts, his visage has always appealed to me like one of those from the parade of horribles listed above.

That combination of imperiousness and stupidity, arrogance and spite, were written clear as day across his face, at least to my looking. Now, with his shimmy-mane shorn, I wonder if others see it, too.

Moreover, perhaps he wanted it that way. People tell you who they are. They want you to know, even – and perhaps especially – if it’s an ugly tale.

For years, I never paid much attention to the rumors that Justin was Fidel Castro’s son. It seemed like the sort of sensationalist, mean-spirited thing folks say about famous people they don’t like. Besides which, no one can help who their parents are.

But now, with the jawline and nose and such made more prominent, of COURSE he’s Fidel, Jr. (not to mention, Justin’s demonstrated penchant for unleashing war measures upon his own people, seizing bank accounts, and locking up political opponents).

As stated, elections across the formerly free world are hideously compromised (if this seems outrageous to you, insert the Willy Wonka meme here whilst you explain to me how a Democratic presidential candidate loses Florida by 4, Ohio by 8, yet wins…Georgia, while shattering Barack Obama’s vote record by over 10 million).

But as someone who does not want to have to tap the sign, much less get out of my chair, I’d rather find a peaceful way out of all this, and voting is better than nothing, albeit insufficient.

In the United States, you can see they are trying to get the covid band back together in time to fortify this November’s midterms, but it seems doubtful that will work. Besides, it is a bigger lift to manipulate individual district races than to swipe a presidential election, which requires only a few broken pipes and late-night drop-offs in a handful of cities (and sorry, just one more word on that – not since George H. W. Bushwhacked Mike “the Tank” Dukakis, beyond the margin of caterwaul, have the Democrats conceded defeat or failed to screech about some kinda fraud, so I’m disinclined to hear that it’s untoward to question whether Sniffy Joe managed 81 million votes).

All that said, lotta good it will do. If you think Speaker Kevin McCarthy will fix everything, you’re probably due for a booster.

Canada offers a bit more hope (or despondency, if you happen to be Justin). “Cometh the hour, cometh Pierre” is a line I keep trying to make happen.

As a final prediction, in response to questions precisely no one asked me, Pierre Poilievre will win the Conservative Party leadership in a walk, then prevail in the subsequent election in a landslide. This is splendid.

One of the immutable laws of nature is that when somebody solid appears on our side, people who think they know something insist that candidate needs to be more "moderate." This is almost always wrong (just ask President Romney, or Prime Ministers Scheer and O’Toole). In cities particularly, where even people who think they are right-wing walk around with liberal-left assumptions, whether they know it or not, the condition is acute.

Pierre is not one to fall for it. He is not oleaginous like Romney, or insipid like Scheer and O’Toole and, most important, he understands this moment. It is not just a Canadian thing, as I think he comprehends, but a worldwide contest.

To be clear, I don’t work for Pierre, and I have not spoken to him in over a decade. This column does not put its faith in princes. But the fact that he gets it – what you and I and so many others are seeing and living right now – is a breath of fresh air.

When he says he will make Canada the freest country in the world, that’s Jerry Maguire “hello” right there. Yes, he will do infuriating things, he will be wrong and make mistakes. But how long has it been since we’ve had a shot at a leader who speaks of freedom and human flourishing, rather than what you must do and what you can’t have?

If you were one of those who only loves people in groups of a million or more, whose reason for being is derived from controlling others, would you be feeling hopeful right now? Or would the awakening of the population, their voices rising to demand liberty, darken your spirit?

It might be enough to make you shave your head.

Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com

Justin Trudeau is Arranging his Exit

 

You and I look at Justin Trudeau and see an obvious imbecile. Be advised, however, this is not how he sees himself.

Even before he was elected to anything, Justin babbled on about being born into greatness by virtue of his parentage (discuss among yourselves), and this was cringeworthy enough. But the development of his absurd, messianic self-image since practically flinging himself onto the casket at the funeral of his official father has been embarrassing for us all.

A handy guideline is to suppose that whatever opinion normal people hold on pretty much anything, Justin’s is the exact opposite, and this includes his reflection in the mirror.

All of this is stated not merely as gratuitous insult of Canada’s most ridiculous Prime Minister (although there is that), but to propose that much of the analysis of the recent Liberal-NDP coalition deal misses the point.

Commentators are aghast at the idea of suffering under Justin until 2025, and this is perfectly understandable. A single day being governed by that lisping nincompoop is one too many. But if one considers the pact in the context of Justin’s child-like narcissism, a different narrative emerges.

Unlike you, Justin is a Man of Destiny, born on Christmas Day to lead a nation of benighted snow-monkeys to the carbon-neutral Promised Land. And he will be doggoned if he is going to let you, or anyone else, tell him what to do or when to leave the office that is his birthright.

One suspects that after trampling citizens with horses, confiscating bank accounts, and generally irritating everyone all these years, Justin is unlikely to win another national election. Yes, there will always be lunatics with food allergies and problem glasses who vote Liberal no matter what (I live amongst them, and can see some walking their hypoallergenic dogs whilst wearing masks in the snow as I type) but, as I have witnessed several times with my own beautiful eyes, blue like the sea after a storm, after two or three election wins, Liberal awfulness becomes too much and Canadians vote the other way.

Perhaps Liberal polling or qualitative analysis augurs this. Maybe Gerald Butts broke out the finger puppets to explain it to the Great Man himself. Whatever the case, Justin’s deal with the NDP is not about him staying, it’s about him leaving.

By ensuring the NDP will support him in all things – taking a de facto arrangement we all understood and making it de jure – Justin has secured for himself a graceful exit.

Graceful in his estimation, that is. To the rest of us, Justin’s departure will seem as unforced as when Michael Scott played Sarah McLachlan on his handheld tape recorder whilst swanning out of The Office.

Most important, Justin will not be humiliated, brought down by a no-confidence motion or, more the horror, rejected by the voters themselves. Remember, always, that Justin’s career is a personal passion play and we are the captive audience. It is as though we are at a school talent show and the doors have been locked so parents cannot leave after their own child has performed.

My guess is that Justin’s walk in the snow will come sooner than 2025, after which we will be subjected to a miserable but mercifully brief interregnum under Chrystia Freeland, a twitchy and bizarre woman clearly in need of an exorcist, whereupon the Liberals will be shellacked in the next election.

While I am talking through my toque, notwithstanding all the media ballyhoo, I suspect the Conservative leadership race is a foregone conclusion: Cometh the hour, cometh Pierre. I do not know Pierre Poilievre well, but his simple message seems precisely what normal people have been pining for. To wit, when he is elected, Canada will be the freest country in the world. As for those desperate to make this a horserace, I propose that the Conservatives did not go to the trouble of ousting one pasty, non-entity of a leader only to replace him with another (Jean Charest, call your office).

In any case, before Justin departs, he is still positioned to do a variety of damage. Apart from my own theory that the NDP deal facilitates Justin’s movie star exit, kayaking off into the sunset, it has been proposed by others that it enables him to accomplish something substantial before he goes.

Here, our contemplation turns dark and, if nothing else of this prose resonates with you, please take heed of this part. If, as I deeply fear, Justin intends to implement a Central Bank Digital Currency (CBDC), we must oppose it until each one of us lies choking in his own blood upon the snow.

Others have suggested Justin wants some national pharma program or, who knows, a law that French on cereal boxes in Vancouver must be even larger (“Now with more Accents Aigus!”) and all that can be undone by a saner government.

But if, as has been proposed by globalists aplenty, including the Blofelds at the World Economic Forum, Justin aims to replace dollars with a currency issued and controlled by the central bank, digitized and fully traceable, there is no going back.

Your money will not be your own, it will be issued from a single, government source, can be spent only on approved items, and can be frozen at will. We caught a glimpse of this when Justin, Freeland, et al. tracked and froze the accounts of Canadians who gave as little as 20 dollars to the truckers’ protests.

Did you note the relish with which they did this? And didn’t you think it odd how quickly they pivoted to Bitcoin, rolling out new rules for exchanges and wallets across the country?

Whether or not a Digital Currency is their plan between now and 2025, have you any doubt that these people would delight in such a system?

This is, as stated, the darkest scenario and I outline it here to add my voice to the many others warning against it. Of the foreseeable dangers before us, a Digital Currency is the one from which a free country cannot recover, and we must be vigilant.

To conclude where we began, however, and to light a candle rather than curse the darkness, the key is that Justin is leaving. Having him in our face until 2025 is the cap on our misery.

One expects that the human toll of being so despised will shorten the timeline. Justin was lambasted, to his face, by members of the European Parliament on his recent trip and I do not believe he was expecting that. Likewise, the condemnation of the Liberal-NDP deal from people of all political persuasions must have come as a surprise to Justin and his enablers. Reason being, statists and central planners such as they are not very good at anticipating how normal people think.

The most of which they are capable are awkward gestures in the direction of normal human behaviour. They are like someone speaking a language they have only learned phonetically. For this reason, they could not anticipate that Justin would become a laughingstock for traipsing around India like Peter Sellers in The Party.

So Justin will depart, on his terms as he understands them. He will not allow even the appearance that anyone else dictated or influenced his actions. This is why, even as open-air prisons like Australia and New Zealand remove their Covid restrictions, formerly free Canadians cannot board a plane, train, bus, or boat, or even leave or enter their own country unless they receive Justin’s decreed injections. To grant that liberty now, so soon after the Ottawa imbroglio, would give the impression that disobedient protesters made a difference.

“Beware an old man in a hurry” goes the maxim. As we keep a cautious eye on the calendar and Justin’s final actions, Canadians might adopt a similar adage: “Beware a spoiled brat crafting his exit.”

Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com

Abolish Justin Trudeau

Ordinarily, when one inveighs against a Western political leader, the prose is filled with qualifications regarding established norms, liberal democracy, and the dignity of office. This is not that column.

Justin Trudeau must be removed from his position, prosecuted, and imprisoned, or else forced to flee to some country that will grant him asylum (Cuba, perhaps?). His legacy must be uprooted, the earth salted, and his children should feel compelled to change their name.

The same goes for Justin’s grotesque sidekick, cackling goblin Chrystia Freeland, who has evinced such twitchy, demonic delight in detailing the harms she will visit on citizens for their defiance, one expects she would make a fine Deputy Prime Minister of Hell itself.

This is not proposed out of anger – although there is that – but from a bone-deep understanding that justice must be done. If we, as Canadians, allow a leader to abuse our trust and persons as Trudeau has done, and permit those excesses to go unpunished, how can we, as a nation, go forward with dignity?

(Simpsons scholars will recall the zookeeper’s admonition when Ned Flanders fell into the baboon enclosure: “If they don't kill the intruder, it's really bad for their society.”)

Therefore, Justin and his minions, along with all that they represent, must be defenestrated through the Overton Window of acceptable conduct, without the benefit of it being open.

Faceless government stormtroopers advance upon peaceful, joyous protestors, running them down with police horses, bashing bodies and cracking skulls in the snow while, in climate-controlled offices, state enforcers and their impish aides in the press confiscate the savings and crush the livelihoods of ordinary people.

There are not two legitimate sides to this. There is right and there is wrong and now, no matter your politics before, you have no choice but to see it.

Some will choose evil, or at least refuse to acknowledge it. Justin, et al., for all their moral hideousness, are still human, as are those who support them. You may have such people in your life. Self-satisfied city-dwellers with hyphenated, made-up jobs are especially prone to justifying wickedness if it keeps them in comfort.

But what man intends for evil, God uses for good, and the events of the past few days – indeed, the past two years – have removed the veil of so much that is wrong.

It was troublesome enough when Justin was an embarrassing, feckless pusscake. As Ben Shapiro famously observed, “Justin Trudeau is what would happen if the song ‘Imagine’ took human form and then ate a Tide Pod.”

But many sensed that, beneath the yoga-posing, hair-shimmying vapidity, Justin is a bad joke with a dark side.

The Left always creates the world they want for people. Their plans always come to police batons, guns, horses and tanks, line-ups for food, despair and bleakness. Always.

Those of us who spent our lives on the “right” – an anachronistic and useless term that here denotes we who maintain traditional beliefs in basic normalcy – are inured to being unpersoned and labeled istophobes for defying, or even hesitating to celebrate, whatever collectivist cause was foisted upon us.

Others may have wondered why we went to the trouble, rather than just get with the program. It is because we realized that behind all the heart-hands and rainbows were the police batons, bank runs and food shortages.

One can know this from even a cursory reading of history, or by hearing it from the heart, if one chooses to listen.

God creates each one of us in perfect equilibrium between good and evil with the freedom, and responsibility, to choose. It is this capacity to discern that makes us human. At every turn, the Left seeks to remove that choice from us, thereby robbing us of our humanity.

We all shoulder some small part of society – on this, they and we agree – and no one else can carry it for us. Where our paths diverge, however, is the Left invariably decides there is One True Path that we all must follow, and it will be enforced.

Besides that this robs others of their human agency, it is also a lie. The human desire for power over others is perhaps our strongest instinct and, once indulged, it is insatiable. Rather than resist it, the Left makes it their god, and that – not some cuddly codswallop about the greater good – is their motivation.

If you seek some proof in this proximate crisis, consider that there has been precious little talk of health or covid or characterizing of the Ottawa protests as a “super-spreader” event since this began. Reason being, this is not about people’s welfare and never was. The only crime they condemn is disobedience.

It was inspiring to see protesters speaking of love and forgiveness to faceless police who would shortly run them down. Previous to that, the will and logistics that brought the Freedom Convoy together were a wonder to behold. These are people with character and skills, distinct from the puffy conformists who oppose them.

What clear-thinking person would not rather be governed by 300 truckers than the members of Canada’s parliament?

There was not a stitch of destruction or violence – indeed, Ottawa’s streets were safer than ever – until Justin moved in. Here were people protesting in peace, bravely calling upon the best within them to shoulder their portion of the world as they saw fit. Lest we forget, their principal request was to be left alone to do just that.

Here, the Left hastens to screech, “You can’t be left alone to harm others!” Once again, this is their tic to collectivize all things, to steer us onto the One True Path while abjuring those who stray. In this case, their professed, universal remedy is that all must receive injections and carry digital proof of compliance. But as always, that is only their excuse. Not even those who listen to CBC unironically can believe this is about health any longer.

We who saw our countrymen trampled in the snow must also see those responsible brought to justice. Formerly free people made to fear that their fortunes may be seized and their livelihoods destroyed must have those fears assuaged, and receive the true promise that they will be free again. Consequently, Justin and those who have enabled him must be held accountable, through a process more rigourous and thoroughgoing than any that has been brought to bear on any leader in our nation’s history.

People often shrug that the Left is never punished for their excesses. Case in point, consider the kindly treatment – kneeling included – of any number of leftist agitators; and these generally DO engage in the violence and destruction of which the Freedom Convoy was absurdly accused.

But not this time. No, this time it must be different. Because if we allow this to stand – besides that Justin has revealed himself to be a maple syrup Idi Amin without the cannibalism (watch this space) – we will be unworthy to look our children in the eyes again.

Theo Caldwell just wanted to be left alone. Contact him at theo@theocaldwell.com