Generally I avoid characterizing people by their appearance, but sometimes I make an exception. The Orange Oaf in the Oval Office is one. I shall refer to them heretofore as the OOOO.
I had no plans to write about the OOOO or really anything else in the political realm, because it’s not my thing. I can’t educate anyone. I tried, in November, phone-banking during the campaign, but a fat lot of good that did. Most of the people I spoke to in swing states already agreed with me, because my list targeted registered Democrats. My job was primarily to get out the vote. Those who did not agree, but stayed on the line long enough to speak, were not swayed by my arguments. They swore at me and then hung up, or (a very few) thoughtfully explained why they would not cast a vote for Kamala. I might have infused those individuals with enough doubt that they simply didn’t vote at all. Is that what’s called a Pyrrhic victory? (I’ve always wanted to use the phrase, so I hope it’s correct.)
However, the second-wave feminists tell us that the personal is political and here I am again writing about politics because it does indeed feel very personal. The OOOO seems to be doubling down on their mission to divide the two countries of my citizenship. I feel like one of those hapless cartoon characters, Wile E. Coyote perhaps, with a foot on either side of a cracking iceberg. (I am not sure who plays The Roadrunner in this scenario.)
Canadians are preparing to stand up for themselves in particularly Canadian style: not on fractured icebergs, but modelled on ice hockey. Or rather ‘hockey’ as it is called in Canada— the ‘ice’ is assumed. Elbows Up has become the rallying cry.
Long ago, in Indonesia, I occasionally played field hockey with a group of expatriate women, and I learned some of the moves, but not this one. Since moving to Toronto I have avoided ice hockey as much as possible, and I heaved a sigh of relief when my children also eschewed the game. So much gear! So cold! So early in the morning! The boys stuck mostly with soccer. My daughter tried out almost every sport—baseball, basketball, track, football, soccer—eventually settling on swimming and circus as her favourite athletic activities.
So I had no understanding of ‘elbows up’. It originates, according to the CBC, with “Mr. Hockey,” Gordie Howe, who hailed from Saskatchewan. I’ve heard of him, but could not have said who he played for. (I’ve just looked it up and still can’t tell exactly; lots of teams, including Detroit.) Mr. Hockey eventually became “Mr. Elbows” for his strategy of using his elbows to fend off opponents. ‘Elbows up’ means not taking any shit on the ice, where shit is famously doled out during play. It is a harsh maneuver, and can result in blood and tooth loss, but as a weapon, raised elbows are not raised fists. They are not sticks. They are not knives, and not guns. Canadians are not waving firearms or swords, but nor are we rolling over and begging. Our elbows are up.
The political is personal. I write less from yet more outrage at the OOOO and more from—to my own surprise—a sneaking Canadian pride. Go, Maple Leafs.
I didn't know what "elbows up" meant...So happy to learn.
As usual I'll ask when the book is coming cause this is fab. On the political, I'll say I love the name - OOOO is more polite than what I usually call him but it has a certain ring to it. :)