Insipid Venture-A Tale of Soldiering in the Age of Culture Wars
Act I
The morning sun peered through clouds that had finally broken overnight. July 2nd, 2017 looked like any other day initially. The brave men and women manning the Canadian Racism Action Centre (CRAC) were finishing their overnight shifts after spending a particularly soggy Canada Day scanning social media and other open sources for evidence-any evidence-of racism, bigotry or unauthorized opinion among Canadian military members on the internet.
Private John Taylor was just 19 years old. A native of Thornhill Ontario, this was his first operational post. Working on the front line in the war against racism was a daunting task, but an important one-and he knew it. In basic recruit training, many of his infantry colleagues would scoff at his job description. Especially that asshole Ryan McTaggart. “What the fook”? the brash Newfoundlander would chortle in the mess hall, “You call sittin’ behind a computer all day surfing da net solderin’? Get fookin’ real booddy, the RCR is da real soldiers!” Taylor seethed as he recalled the indignities. “Someday, they’re gonna understand” he thought to himself…”someday.”
It was then that he came across it. It seemed like nothing at first. A Youtube video of a bunch of guys in black and gold golf shirts having a polite, if at times irreverent, discussion with some people in a park. The caption indicated the men were sailors from CFB Halifax. Watching the video, it was clear that the men were being quite reasonable and polite while members of a protest group hurled vitriolic abuse at them. “Nothing to see here” Taylor muttered to himself as he prepared to move onto the next video. Still, it warranted a mention to the boss….”Sir, got something here you might want to take a look at.”
Capt (N) Mark Griswold had been promoted to his current position after a decade spent with the fleet. He was a combat veteran, having commanded an anti-submarine frigate in Kandahar during the Afghan war. His new role, as the Canadian Racism Action Centre Commander (CRACC) was on the cutting edge. His highly trained team of internet commandos spent their days utilizing data mining programs to search every corner of the net for armed forces members who might utter a racist, bigoted or unauthorized opinion. “Griswold, this isn’t the sixties anymore” the Admiral told him on his appointment. “We’re not just recruiting out of the jails anymore. The modern military person has to be able to think. But it’s
our job to ensure they don’t think too much! The last thing this organization needs is people who think up things that we don’t want them too. It’s your job to catch them when they do so we can put a stop to it immediately.”
Griswold’s first impression of the video was similar to that of his young charge. The men were polite, and from their appearance and comments, it wasn’t even clear that they were associated with the military. “Why is this even an issue?” he thought to himself. But then something that had been eating at him since the beginning of his appointment occurred to him. “For six God-damned months I’ve been running this command centre, and we haven’t been able to find one skin-head, Nazi or Rush Limbaugh listener in the whole time. If we don’t find something soon, I’m going to have to go back on a ship. Months away from home, sea-sickness and five minute showers. Screw that!” He reviewed the video again. And it was clear, the sailors were very aggressive. In fact, one of them had a red flag. Griswold wasn’t sure, but it might even be a Confederate flag. Yes, that’s it. A Rebel flag! It was then that he knew it was time to hit the panic button. “We’ve got one!” he exclaimed. He reached for the Racism Alarm and slammed it with his palm. Claxons began sounding and the command centre lighting immediately switched to subdued red. “Petty Officer Morgan” shouted Griswold. “Sir” replied Morgan. “Notify the Admiral we have a Code 1-military personnel arguing with left wing extremists on Youtube.” “Yessir!” barked the petty officer. And the ball began to roll…..
Act II
Admiral Newman was cranky. He’d spent the previous day at a ceremony dedicated to recognizing Canada’s tolerant diversification of tolerant diversity, but it degenerated into a fiasco when a group of Antifa activists showed up to protest the Navy’s lack of LGBTQ bathrooms on submarines. His voice betrayed his irritability when he answered the phone call from Capt(N) Griswold. “Admiral Newman” he said gruffly. His stern manner melted when Capt(N) Griswold broke the news. Racist sailors had crashed a solemn First Nations religious ceremony in Halifax, and assaulted a woman while waving a Confederate flag. “Thank you Captain,” replied the Admiral. “I will address it.”
The Five lay in their bunks at CFB Halifax nursing headaches. It had been a fun night. They’d started off watching Gavin McInness videos on Rebel Media and drinking Jagermiester shots before heading to downtown Halifax for pints. For a laugh, one of them had brought a Red Ensign with him. While downtown, they saw a group of protestors at the Lord Cornwallis statue waving an upside down Canadian flag and defacing the statue with stickers and paint. They had walked over and argued briefly with the group before backing off when the conversation became too heated. After all, they weren’t there to start a brawl. They had a big laugh over it as the day wore on and didn’t give it much more thought until…..
BOOM! The door crashed in and the flash-bang grenade left each of them stunned. Before any of them could recover their senses a black clad entry team burst into the room dragging each of them out of their bunks in their underwear. “Don’t move! Don’t move!” the team leader screamed. The room filled with the smell of cordite and chemicals as each of The Five were pepper sprayed, hand cuffed and dragged to a waiting black van which peeled out of the parking lot and down the street to oblivion.
Act III
General Prance was elated when the phone rang. He’d been waiting for an update from Admiral Newman all afternoon. “Admiral Newman here sir, we got ‘em!” “Excellent” replied the Chief of Defence Staff who had been on tenterhooks, terrified that the miscreants would escape before Griswold’s Anti-Racism Commandos could bring them into custody. “Now that we’ve got them” instructed the General, “We have to ensure due process.” “I couldn’t agree more” replied Admiral Newman. “We’ll start by marching them before me and I’ll upbraid them all afternoon. Then we’ll have some underlings release their names publicly via social media so that they can be shamed online. Then we’ll suspend them before holding a show trial. At the end of it, after a fair hearing taking into account all available evidence, we’ll find them guilty and have them drawn and quartered. I believe you can still do that under the National Defence Act.” “Good plan” General Prance offered. “By the way, what is it they did exactly?” “Well” the Admiral sighed, “it seems these bastards attended a solemn native ceremony wearing red suspenders, combat boots and shaved heads with SS lightening bolts tattooed on their necks. They began shouting ‘White Power’, before kicking a pregnant First Nations woman in the stomach and stomp kicking an elderly Sikh. Oh yeah, they had a Nazi flag too. A God-damn Nazi flag. Can you believe it! It was absolutely appalling behaviour.” “They’re done” intoned the Chief of Defence Staff sharply. “They’re done...” his voice tailed off.
Act IV
The court room was tense and sweltering. The crowd had started lining up well before dawn and by the time the court martial opened its doors a throng of stakeholders pushed past the harried security staff to claim their seats. Idle No More was there. So was Black Lives Matter, although after being granted standing at the proceedings they refused to participate claiming it was all an exercise in white supremacy. Antifa activists showed up but refused to enter the room after they decided as a collective that it would be more productive to smash out the windows of a coffee shop located across the street from the court house.
The murmuring crowed hushed as
The Five were led in. Shorn heads bowed, their orange jumpsuits glowing with defeat, none of them dared look up toward the glaring throng. The prosecution called its first witness, Capt(N) Griswold. “Captain” the prosecutor asked, “Can you tell us how you came to be involved with the men now before the court today?” Captain Griswold described the video he’d seen and how horrified he was by it. Not since the Somalia Affair, when Canadian soldiers beat and tortured a bound Somali prisoner to death then joked about it on video had anyone seen anything like it!
Then it was the defence’s turn. The attorney, Atticus Pinch, rose to his feet. “Captain Griswold, can you tell us a little bit about….” his cross-examination immediately truncated by a vituperative protest from the witness box.
“YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!” Capt(N) Griswold bellowed. “I beg your pardon?” replied Pinch.
“YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!” retorted Griswold. It was going to be a long day.
The next witness was the Minister of Defence, Harjitt Sayagain. After a cursory examination-in-chief, Pinch began his cross-examination. “Minister, upon learning of the incident, you issued a media release condemning these men for their actions. Did you ever watch the video in question?” “Yes” replied Minister Sayagain. “And what did you see”? the defence continued. “…Well…I saw a group of soldiers…I mean…sailors.. acting inappropriately…waving a racist flag.” “A racist flag you say? Can you describe this flag minister?” replied Pinch. “Well”, stammered Minister Sayagain “it was red…with a bunch of crosses on it. Totally inappropriate…” “But minister” the defence pressed on, “I’m going to suggest to you that this ‘racist’ flag you decry was actually the same flag that an entire generation of Canadian soldiers, sailors and air force personnel fought and died under during the Second World War, in the great struggle against fascism. Wouldn’t you agree?” “Of…of course I would…maybe not…” sputtered Sayagain. “For God’s sake, I was the architect of the Juno Beach landings and I led the Third Canadian Division into the Falaise Gap. Of course I know that.” With that, a loud harrumph was heard from the spectator’s gallery and Christie Blatchford rolled her eyes in disgust. “This’ll be in the Post tomorrow” she huffed, before storming out in utter disgust.
The verdict was handed down the next day. To no one’s surprise, The Five were sentenced to 51 weeks of First Nations Anti-Islamophobic Pro-Trans Gender Anti-Black Racism Sensitivity Training at the Ministry of Diversity in Ottawa. A dog barked as the prisoner van rolled through the night towards Room 101.
Post-Script-July 2018
The Five sat at the café table, reading the Huffington Post on their computers and sipping Victory Gin. The Telescreen blared with news of an impending announcement. A great victory had been achieved by the Canadian Forces in their eternal struggle against the forces of intolerance. It came in the form of a new quota to ensure proper representation of transgender studies graduates among the ranks of the special operations command.
The Five cheered the news, along with the rest of the patrons of the café. As they sat enjoying their Victory Gin, they were sure of only one thing. They loved Justin Trudeau.