I promised to provide Canadian Pretty today...
...and that's exactly what I'm going to do. The only problem, on a very base level, is that this particular instance of The Pretty is attached to a sad moment in our history. But it's one worth revisiting, so I get to be shallow and introspective all at the same time.
Love him or hate him, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, our 15th Prime Minister, had a vision for this country. He was instrumental in the search for a truly Canadian identity, and he had a big hand in liberalizing laws around abortion and homosexuality. He took "the state has no business in the nation's bedrooms" to heart and above all else, he believed in attacking people's arguments, not the people themselves. He gave the West the finger (something that many people in this province still grumble about) and told the U.S. in no uncertain terms that we are a sovereign nation. He was flamboyant, independent, and frustrating as all hell. ...And if we're lucky, maybe one day we'll have another Prime Minister like him. If we're even luckier, it'll be his son.
On September 28, 2000, however, Pierre Trudeau passed away after a long illness. In the days that followed, there was a huge outpouring of grief, cumulating in his funeral on October 3rd. At that funeral, his son Justin Trudeau gave an eulogy that shocked the nation with its eloquence, and to this day, it still makes me cry. It is very Canadian.
Justin Trudeau gives his father's eulogy:
(This version is entirely in English. For the bilingual version, try here.)
"Friends, Romans, countrymen...
I was about six years old when I went on my first official trip. I was going with my father and my grandpa Sinclair up to the North Pole.
It was a very glamorous destination. But the best thing about it is that I was going to be spending lots of time with my dad because in Ottawa he just worked so hard.
One day, we were in Alert, Canada's northernmost point, a scientific military installation that seemed to consist entirely of low shed-like buildings and warehouses.
Let's be honest. I was six. There were no brothers around to play with and I was getting a little bored because dad still somehow had a lot of work to do.
I remember a frozen, windswept Arctic afternoon when I was bundled up into a Jeep and hustled out on a special top-secret mission. I figured I was finally going to be let in on the reason of this high-security Arctic base.
I was exactly right.
We drove slowly through and past the buildings, all of them very grey and windy. We rounded a corner and came upon a red one. We stopped. I got out of the Jeep and started to crunch across towards the front door. I was told, no, to the window.
So I clamboured over the snowbank, was boosted up to the window, rubbed my sleeve against the frosty glass to see inside and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a figure, hunched over one of many worktables that seemed very cluttered. He was wearing a red suit with that furry white trim.
And that's when I understood just how powerful and wonderful my father was.
Pierre Elliott Trudeau. The very words convey so many things to so many people. Statesman, intellectual, professor, adversary, outdoorsman, lawyer, journalist, author, prime minister.
But more than anything, to me, he was Dad.
And what a dad. He loved us with the passion and the devotion that encompassed his life. He taught us to believe in ourselves, to stand up for ourselves, to know ourselves and to accept responsibility for ourselves.
We knew we were the luckiest kids in the world. And we had done nothing to actually deserve it.
It was instead something that we would have to spend the rest of our lives to work very hard to live up to.
He gave us a lot of tools. We were taught to take nothing for granted. He doted on us but didn't indulge.
Many people say he didn't suffer fools gladly, but I'll have you know he had infinite patience with us.
He encouraged us to push ourselves, to test limits, to challenge anyone and anything.
There were certain basic principles that could never be compromised.
As I guess it is for most kids, in Grade 3, it was always a real treat to visit my dad at work.
As on previous visits this particular occasion included a lunch at the parliamentary restaurant which always seemed to be terribly important and full of serious people that I didn't recognize.
But at eight, I was becoming politically aware. And I recognized one whom I knew to be one of my father's chief rivals.
Thinking of pleasing my father, I told a joke about him -- a generic, silly little grade school thing.
My father looked at me sternly with that look I would learn to know so well, and said: 'Justin, never attack the individual. We can be in total disagreement with someone without denigrating them as a consequence.'
Saying that, he stood up and took me by the hand and brought me over to introduce me to this man. He was a nice man who was eating there with his daughter, a nice-looking blond girl a little younger than I was.
He spoke to me in a friendly manner for a bit and it was at that point that I understood that having opinions that are different from those of another does not preclude one being deserving of respect as an individual.
This simple tolerance and (recognition of) the real and profound dimensions of each human being, regardless of beliefs, origins, or values -- that's what he expected of his children and that's what he expected of our country.
He demanded this with love, love of his sons, love of his country, and it's for this that we so love the letters, the flowers, the dignity of the crowds, and we say to him, farewell.
All that to thank him for having loved us so much.
My father's fundamental belief never came from a textbook. It stemmed from his deep love for and faith in all Canadians and over the past few days, with every card, every rose, every tear, every wave and every pirouette, you returned his love.
It means the world to Sacha and me.
Thank you.
We have gathered from coast to coast to coast, from one ocean to another, united in our grief, to say goodbye.
But this is not the end. He left politics in '84. But he came back for Meech. He came back for Charlottetown. He came back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.
But he won't be coming back anymore. It's all up to us, all of us, now.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. He has kept his promises and earned his sleep.
Je t'aime Papa."
Sacha Trudeau:
Sacha and Justin:
And my favourite picture of Justin:
Before anyone gets up in arms over the pictures, let me just say that they were televised, public pictures of a public event, and there have been rumblings that Justin may someday step fully into the ring and take up politics, so I'm not actually posting anything that isn't already public domain.
Love him or hate him, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, our 15th Prime Minister, had a vision for this country. He was instrumental in the search for a truly Canadian identity, and he had a big hand in liberalizing laws around abortion and homosexuality. He took "the state has no business in the nation's bedrooms" to heart and above all else, he believed in attacking people's arguments, not the people themselves. He gave the West the finger (something that many people in this province still grumble about) and told the U.S. in no uncertain terms that we are a sovereign nation. He was flamboyant, independent, and frustrating as all hell. ...And if we're lucky, maybe one day we'll have another Prime Minister like him. If we're even luckier, it'll be his son.
On September 28, 2000, however, Pierre Trudeau passed away after a long illness. In the days that followed, there was a huge outpouring of grief, cumulating in his funeral on October 3rd. At that funeral, his son Justin Trudeau gave an eulogy that shocked the nation with its eloquence, and to this day, it still makes me cry. It is very Canadian.
Justin Trudeau gives his father's eulogy:
(This version is entirely in English. For the bilingual version, try here.)
"Friends, Romans, countrymen...
I was about six years old when I went on my first official trip. I was going with my father and my grandpa Sinclair up to the North Pole.
It was a very glamorous destination. But the best thing about it is that I was going to be spending lots of time with my dad because in Ottawa he just worked so hard.
One day, we were in Alert, Canada's northernmost point, a scientific military installation that seemed to consist entirely of low shed-like buildings and warehouses.
Let's be honest. I was six. There were no brothers around to play with and I was getting a little bored because dad still somehow had a lot of work to do.
I remember a frozen, windswept Arctic afternoon when I was bundled up into a Jeep and hustled out on a special top-secret mission. I figured I was finally going to be let in on the reason of this high-security Arctic base.
I was exactly right.
We drove slowly through and past the buildings, all of them very grey and windy. We rounded a corner and came upon a red one. We stopped. I got out of the Jeep and started to crunch across towards the front door. I was told, no, to the window.
So I clamboured over the snowbank, was boosted up to the window, rubbed my sleeve against the frosty glass to see inside and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a figure, hunched over one of many worktables that seemed very cluttered. He was wearing a red suit with that furry white trim.
And that's when I understood just how powerful and wonderful my father was.
Pierre Elliott Trudeau. The very words convey so many things to so many people. Statesman, intellectual, professor, adversary, outdoorsman, lawyer, journalist, author, prime minister.
But more than anything, to me, he was Dad.
And what a dad. He loved us with the passion and the devotion that encompassed his life. He taught us to believe in ourselves, to stand up for ourselves, to know ourselves and to accept responsibility for ourselves.
We knew we were the luckiest kids in the world. And we had done nothing to actually deserve it.
It was instead something that we would have to spend the rest of our lives to work very hard to live up to.
He gave us a lot of tools. We were taught to take nothing for granted. He doted on us but didn't indulge.
Many people say he didn't suffer fools gladly, but I'll have you know he had infinite patience with us.
He encouraged us to push ourselves, to test limits, to challenge anyone and anything.
There were certain basic principles that could never be compromised.
As I guess it is for most kids, in Grade 3, it was always a real treat to visit my dad at work.
As on previous visits this particular occasion included a lunch at the parliamentary restaurant which always seemed to be terribly important and full of serious people that I didn't recognize.
But at eight, I was becoming politically aware. And I recognized one whom I knew to be one of my father's chief rivals.
Thinking of pleasing my father, I told a joke about him -- a generic, silly little grade school thing.
My father looked at me sternly with that look I would learn to know so well, and said: 'Justin, never attack the individual. We can be in total disagreement with someone without denigrating them as a consequence.'
Saying that, he stood up and took me by the hand and brought me over to introduce me to this man. He was a nice man who was eating there with his daughter, a nice-looking blond girl a little younger than I was.
He spoke to me in a friendly manner for a bit and it was at that point that I understood that having opinions that are different from those of another does not preclude one being deserving of respect as an individual.
This simple tolerance and (recognition of) the real and profound dimensions of each human being, regardless of beliefs, origins, or values -- that's what he expected of his children and that's what he expected of our country.
He demanded this with love, love of his sons, love of his country, and it's for this that we so love the letters, the flowers, the dignity of the crowds, and we say to him, farewell.
All that to thank him for having loved us so much.
My father's fundamental belief never came from a textbook. It stemmed from his deep love for and faith in all Canadians and over the past few days, with every card, every rose, every tear, every wave and every pirouette, you returned his love.
It means the world to Sacha and me.
Thank you.
We have gathered from coast to coast to coast, from one ocean to another, united in our grief, to say goodbye.
But this is not the end. He left politics in '84. But he came back for Meech. He came back for Charlottetown. He came back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.
But he won't be coming back anymore. It's all up to us, all of us, now.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. He has kept his promises and earned his sleep.
Je t'aime Papa."
Sacha Trudeau:
Sacha and Justin:
And my favourite picture of Justin:
Before anyone gets up in arms over the pictures, let me just say that they were televised, public pictures of a public event, and there have been rumblings that Justin may someday step fully into the ring and take up politics, so I'm not actually posting anything that isn't already public domain.