Imagine

Imagine if your friend and neighbour suggested they take over your house. And vegetable garden. And utilities. Maybe even your SUV. For free, and because they assume you won’t mind. But you’ll still mow the grass and take out the garbage. And pay the municipal taxes.

Imagine that your neighbour thinks of you as a poor cousin. No, strike that. They don’t think of you at all because their feelings and needs are greater than yours.

Imagine if your home had been in your family for 158 years, and that you had made it one of the nicer homes on the block. It had a great view, with multiple vistas—the mountains, the oceans, the Prairies, and ice floes.

Imagine that your neighbour wanted to replace the red and white flag you loved as much as they did their red, white and blue one, that had stood on your property for sixty years. The same flag that made you tear up a little in times of joy and sorrow, that made you proud and thoughtful on November 11^th when you remembered those who fought for us and the democratic values they thought were worth dying for, the one that made you feel giddy at athletic events and that you stood by even in times of difficulty.

Imagine that you had always trusted that neighbour. Perhaps yes, you had depended on them too much, but still you’d always been there when they needed a cup of sugar, a hand in putting out a fire, a safe haven when their lives had been upended by crisis, and a reliable ally when they were in a tight spot.

Imagine that your families had even been united by marriage, shared grandchildren, similar values regarding a free world, and a common desire for peace and security—that the differences between “eh” and “huh” were cause for amusement, and not derision.

Imagine that suddenly your neighbour decided you were no longer good enough to be part of their social circle, and that they were going to mock you at their parties, call you a loser and try to take what you had created, what you in fact owned.

Imagine the anger, hurt, and astonishment when you realized the other neighbours weren't comfortable standing up against this injustice. They averted their eyes—a response reminiscent not only of high school cliques, but of history's darkest moments when bystanders remained silent as atrocities unfolded.

Was it fear that kept them quiet? Despair? Or perhaps that dangerous form of anticipatory obedience that allows injustice to flourish unchallenged?

Imagine a world in which your neighbour’s aspirations meant they began to cast covetous eyes not only upon your home, but on all the other ones near you—when suddenly things you cherished were also at risk, especially since yours is a neighbourhood where guns are not tolerated.

Imagine a world in which a bigger and stronger neighbour felt they had the right to take what was yours. Just because.

Imagine that.

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When I imagined this first piece for POSTCARDS, it came out fast and furious, so great is my hurt and angst vis-a vis the out-of-control need for economic domination of Mr. Trump in relation to my home Canada, and quite frankly the homes of many others, including those of his compatriots.

POSTCARDS was conceived for two reasons. Americans need to get to know us better. Yes, we’re nice. But we’re nobody’s door mat. Just as they would not want to be ours. Second reason—we need to know ourselves better too, and that involves communicating with each other. Send us your thoughts. Let’s share who we are, what makes Canada unique, and why we are standing up defiantly at this moment in time.