"Nobody loves me," the Canadian Military sighed.
I guess my heart was supposed to melt, but, to tell you the truth, I hate it when a grown Armed Forces pouts. "Well..." I hesitantly suggested, "There was that video of the hazing rituals released to the public a couple of years ago that a lot of Canadians found really disgusting..."
"What, that?" the Military shifted nervously in its seat. "That was just a matter of...youthful high spirits. I mean, look at the kind of hazings American soldiers get put through, and everybody there realizes that there's no harm in it."
"Oh? If the American military jumped off the Empire State Building, would you want to jump off as well?"
"Depends on what my orders were," the Canadian Military sniffed. I thought of the Gulf War, and decided the point wasn't worth pursuing. The Military gulped its cup of instant decaf for a few seconds, then renewed its defense. "What are we talking about, here? A little feces smeared all over the bodies of a handful of new recruits? Kid's stuff. In the American Armed Forces, they took the pins of buttons and they...they ground them into the chests of the recruits. Now, that's disgusting!"
"So, how come you're grinning?"
"Professional jealousy."
I must admit, I wasn't really keen on meeting the Canadian Military when it phoned and asked if it could meet me for a coffee; I've never had all that much sympathy for the institution. But over the phone the Military sounded so...not sad, exactly -- melancholy might be a better way to describe it. How could I refuse?
That wasn't the whole story, though. When I got to the cafe, the Military's cap was askew and its bars were crooked. Add to that a goofy grin, and one couldn't help but feel that the image the Military wanted to project was positively rakish.
"Nobody loves me," the Canadian Military repeated, self-satisfied.
"Jack Granatstein seems to," I churlishly responded.
"One academic," the Military said with a wave of its hand. "What is the love of one academic when I'm talking about a whole country?"
"Look," I gritted my teeth and tried again, "Forty-seven Canadian peacekeepers in Bosnia abused patients in a mental hospital. That's not the kind of behaviour which endears you to a country."
The Military stared gloomily into its coffee cup. "Well, you know how it is...a bunch of young men alone in a foreign country. Given the tremendous pressure they were under, it's only human nature that they would need to...to let off a little steam..."
"Drunkenly pointing loaded guns at hospital patients and shaving the armpits, legs and pubic region of a handicapped 17 year-old girl go beyond what mots people would consider youthful pranks!" I protested.
"We're holding an investigation," the Military lamely responded.
"Too little, too late," I mercilessly continued. "The three year limit on court-martials has expired. The worst that can happen to the soldiers involved is dismissal from the forces. But that's not the worst of it. You knew the allegations had been made, but you misled the Canadian public into thinking our peacekeepers were doing a wonderfully humanitarian thing at the hospital. Love, even the kind you want, is built on trust -- when that trust us abused, you can't expect the love to last."
I caught myself sounding like a guest on Jerry Springer, but I didn't care. "It's exactly the same thing with the Somalia Affair --"
The Military groaned. "I knew you were going to bring that up."
"Two dead, probably physically abused prisoners of war," I said, "and a cover-up that went -- well, we may never know how high up in the Armed Forces it went. Don't you see how hard it is for people to love when you keep doing such despicable things?"
A light came into the Military's eye. "I get it!"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "You do?"
"Somebody's out to get me," the Military stated.
"What?"
"Think about it -- the timing of the revelations created the most embarrassment for me. There's a conspiracy at work here to undermine my authority. Now, who would want to do such a thing to me?"
How can you reason with a lover so deep in denial?
