The Sport and Prey of Capitalists

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The front cover of the 2019 book by the brilliant journalist, Linda McQuaig, captures in six words and one picture the theme of her latest work, an exposé of the blatant betrayals the Canadian people have endured at the hands of their own governments.  The words SPORT and PREY above the dying Canada goose plummeting to earth, its feathers trailing behind it, encapsulate a century of greed, arrogance, and robbery of our nation’s public institutions.

The phrase “the sport and prey of Capitalists” was coined by James P. Whitney, Premier of Ontario in 1905. He was expressing his wish that the Hydro system in Ontario forever remain in the hands of the citizens and not fall victim to privatization.

McQuaig introduces her examination of 20th-century institutions transferred from public to private hands with this story of the scandalous current case of the Canadian Infrastructure Bank promised by Justin Trudeau following his election in 2015.

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The Prime Minister’s team to head up the creation of the bank was led by Bill Morneau, former Canadian finance minister, who chose for his advisors several Wall Street profiteers anxious to lend their millions to a project that would bring them ample returns. Consequently, the plan presented to Parliament for approval was molded to fit the dream of the private investors for significant returns.  The original plan to borrow from “the people’s bank” the Bank of Canada, at a modest rate was replaced by one that suited the greed of a small team of avaricious millionaires from the United States. Thus, Canadian citizens will be required to pay unnecessary millions for their own roads and bridges while a few investors proceed to, as Kevin Page, the first parliamentary budget officer, declared, “rob us blind”. (p.30)

Following this example from our own time and place, McQuaig plunges into the scandalous historical details of some of the worst deals done by prime ministers and premiers against the best interests of the citizenry. The sale of the Connaught Laboratories,  and the privatization of Hwy. 407 are two examples.  

The give-away of Alberta’s oil for the most meager of royalties, combined with the Alberta government’s deference to Big Oil, resulted in massive losses for Alberta’s citizens who owned the resource but were denied the profits.

McQuaig compares successive Alberta governments to the national government of Norway that insisted that the oil in Norway’s territories belonged to the Norwegian people, not the big oil companies. “…Norwegians have managed to save up about one trillion dollars more in their rainy-day fund than Alberta.” (pg. 198)

Thankfully, when the reader has turned the last page of chapter seven, now scandalized and outraged, she or he will find that Linda McQuaig sings the praises of “the common”, which Canadians know, have experienced, and are good at. In most of her examples of Canadians being sold out, the institutions in question were being well run, were self-sustaining, and sometimes made a profit for the people. Once in private hands, it was the share-holders that mattered. The workers and the general public mattered not a whit, as we all witnessed at the closing of Sears Canada on December 18, 2017.

The author's last words are to urge us who care to practice the courage of the Norwegians who realized early on that even if a corporation left because it didn’t like how the government defended its citizens, it couldn’t take the oil with it.

Reviewed by Joan Tinkess

Our guest blogger, Joan Tinkess, is an avid book club participant of nonfiction. Her years of empowering women’s groups in the Dominican Republic broadened her local and worldview.

For a deeper dive, and some interviews with the author

Praying during the Pandemic

I knew, eventually, I could no longer ignore that persistent little voice within urging me to write a blog about praying. I do not mean writing about praying per se, but about praying during this pandemic. Don’t worry, I am not about to write a dissertation or manual about prayer. People much better equipped than I am have literally written millions of books about prayer.  In my small eclectic collection of prayer books and books about prayer, you can find the writings of Joyce Rupp, Thomas Merton, Margaret Silf, Anne Lamott, Anthony Bloom, Nan Merrill, and others.  I also have a copy of the impressive anthology, Prayers for a Thousand Years.

During my forty-plus years as a Missionary Sister, I have done a fair amount of praying.  Yes, there is a time for everything. There is a time for “doing praying” as we do in formal communal prayer.  People gather and pray in groups in a vast array of different ways. Think of the Sufi Whirling Dervishes who whirl in communal prayer, on the one hand, and the sedate prayer form practiced by those who prefer the Taizé form of prayer or the contemplative prayer of women and men in religious communities, in small groups, and by individuals around the world.

prayer is not a contest but, “a doorway … into thanks and a silence in which another voice may speak.”

Mostly, we tend to use words when we pray, and therein lies the rub.  I should think all of us have experienced how easily words can be misunderstood.  However, I would think we have also experienced how loudly and clearly silence can speak.  In her poem Praying, the wonderful poet Mary Oliver concludes that when we pray there is no need for elaborate words.  For her, prayer is simply patching a few words together since prayer is not a contest but, “a doorway … into thanks and a silence in which another voice may speak.”

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Some might say this is an oversimplification of prayer.  I, however, have come to view her description of prayer as a wonderful invitation to pause and pray as we are, where we are.  It confirms what I discovered long ago; prayer is more listening than speaking with God. While musing and praying during these pandemic times of quarantines and lockdown, I have often thought how apt these words by C. S. Lewis are, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”  I would say during this pandemic God is doing a great deal of shouting, a shouting which seems to fall on deaf ears, unless we spend time in “a silence in which another voice may speak.”  God shouting during these days of the pandemic may not only threaten to burst our eardrums; for many this pandemic is more a space to doubt God or prayer.  When we do listen, underneath the “shouts in our pains”, and easily missed, we will hear that small, still voice reaching into our hearts. It is only when we pause in silence and listen attentively, and not turn a deaf ear, that we may hear what God is really saying to us during this graced time of enormous global and personal upheaval.

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” - C. S. Lewis

None of us is immune to the impact of this dreadful pandemic nor remains untouched by it in every aspect of our lives.  It most certainly has touched and transformed the way I have communed with God during these past six months. Yes, at times these weeks and months have been incredibly challenging, however they have also been surprisingly graced.  In her book on prayer, “Help, Thanks,Wow” Anne Lamott offers us her insight into grace, “I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” Indeed, so true.  Whether I sit silently on my balcony bathed in the early morning light or in the glow of a candle at the end of the day, these intimate moments of mostly silent communing with God, these times of prayer are a great source of comfort and strength.  Here, grace has met me and has not left me where I was.

- Sr. Magdalena Vogt, CPS

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Mary Oliver, Thirst, Beacon Press 2006

With Gratitude in Our Hearts

I am delighted that Canadian Thanksgiving occurs amidst the glories of autumn.   Fall has a beauty all its own.  During my morning walks, I’m in awe of the amazing changes occurring all around me.  The sun is still warm on my skin but there is a pungent smell in the air as trees begin to change their leaves from green to yellow, orange, and red. The sumac wears her crimson gown. Roses fade while asters, zinnias, and fall flowers show their purples, rusts, and golden hues. It reminds me of the school fair displays of flowers long ago. Grass grows longer and dew covers the lawn.  Overhead, I imagine the chirping birds are telling each other it’s time to fly south to the warmer climes.  Even the resident turkeys are keeping their distance from us these days.

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Often, the autumn scene causes me to break into a quiet song as I wander throughout the neighbourhood.  Thanksgiving hymns from my childhood that are still sung today rise spontaneously from deep within my being.  I find the famous, “Now Thank We All Our God” surfacing and “For the Beauty of the Earth” giving voice to my elation.  Sometimes, it’s “God Created Earth and Heaven”; other times it’s “How Great Thou Art.”  No, I don’t forget The Old 100th tune, “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.”

“With gratitude in your hearts, sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs to God” (Colossians 3:16).

I think I’m in good company with autumn praise. St. Paul himself encourages us by exhorting, “With gratitude in your hearts, sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs to God” (Colossians 3:16).  Probably, you too, often respond to thanksgiving with song. Whether alone or in smaller groups to celebrate Thanksgiving this year, let us remember that God’s blessings are abundant and renewed each day and in every season of our life.

- Sister Jean Moylan, csj

In the Spirit of Gratitude and Hope

As the celebration of Thanksgiving approaches, I write to you in a spirit of gratitude and hope. At this time of year, it can sometimes seem like a time of loss, as we see trees and gardens completing their summer cycle. In the midst of COVID, this sense might be heightened.

In the past two weeks, I have harvested my vegetables and flower seeds. I have been filled with gratitude for the food I have been able to share. As I have picked cranberries, both high bush, and low bush, I have been grateful for the quiet, reflective time in the silence of the trees. Thanksgiving filled my heart as I remembered the beauty of each flower that graced my yard this summer.

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In collecting seeds from some of the flowers, I experienced a sense of hope as I looked at the tiny seeds, and knew the potential each seed held in bringing new life and beauty next summer. I smiled the other day as I sat reflecting from my recliner. Looking out the front window, I was surprised to see a small sunflower blooming on the edge of the riverbank. With a closer look, there were two more sunflower plants growing. No doubt, a bird or squirrel had dropped the seeds. Such potential of new life!

Walking through the backyard a few weeks ago, I noticed a delicate, soft, cream coloured pansy in full bloom, growing away from all the other flower beds. It caused me to ponder, what an unlikely place to grow; how did it land here; how did it survive my footsteps?

We have each been blessed with the fruits of the Spirit; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.These are our seeds to sow; our gifts to share. Which particular gift is yours to share? During these days of COVID our works and presence in our communities may be altered, and yet we are still called individually and as a group of dedicated women, to be witnesses to our values or pillars of faith, service and justice. Where might our seeds fall? How might my gift give life to another? I may never know.

Blessings, Sister Margaret Ann Beaudette, csj

In the gift of this new day,


In the gift of the present moment,


In the gift of time and eternity entwined


Let me be thankful


Let me be attentive


Let me be open to what has never happened before…

Taken from Sounds of the Eternal: A Celtic Psalter, Morning and Night Prayer, J.Philip Newell