Dry bones rattle.
I was around when Pierre Elliott Trudeau was crowned Prime Minister. He rode a wave of youth hysteria into the halls of Parliament. As a youth myself, I saw him drive cars for the young and marry a young wife.
CBC Air Farce spoofed his name in a Sunday episode, using a loose translation of the French (trou – hole; d’eau – of water) to call PET – Pierre Water-hole. Using this analogy, I understood him to be either the water of life, or the water hole that grows stagnant and stinks.
Trudeau (Pierre) gained a majority in the House of Commons and later lived with a minority.
I hear those bones rattling again.
When bones rattle, we either close the coffin unceremoniously – and put a few more nails in the lid. OR, we examine the body – not to bring it back to life – but to “re-search” the triumphs and foibles as they mirror our current life.
I have served as a moderator for divided groups. The office of moderator requires impartiality. A moderator must help each side hear what the other side is saying. I’ve been listening and trying to give the benefit of a doubt to this replay of history.
Justin Trudeau can play out the scenario of his father – hardened to factions that do not agree with him. He can divide a country, like his father did with a middle finger.
On the other hand, Justin can have his fingers on the pulse of the country. His proclamations during governing can calm the rollicking speech of his campaign trail.
Now, let me leave aside my moderator’s hat! Pierre survived.
And we live with the consequences of his view of a progressive, liberal democracy. I did not agree with him then – on many issues. I do not agree with his son now.
Justin will survive.
But I’m not sure the bones of the dead, or the flesh of the living, reflect a country under God – for the good of all people – as much as inclusion, racial harmony and middle class prosperity are touted.
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