I am sure the appointment of a new Governor General for Canada has not made much news in other parts of the world, so I thought I would tell you about it; and it impinges on things I care about deeply. Her name is Michaelle Jean, and she is a black lady who started life in Haite. Reports differ slightly on detail, but she came to Canada as a refugee from Haite's Poppa Doc Duvalier in the 1960's when she was 11 years old. She has had a brilliant career in broadcasting and speaks 5 languages fluently. She has a daughter of 8, and appeared with our Prime Minister on TV with some man or other; nobody mentioned who he was. I assume he is the father of her child, and the guy she is shacked up with. I must say he looked a mess on TV. Recently we had an appointment to our Supreme Court of a lady who started off life in a camp for displaced people in Europe after WWII. The message being sent loud and clear, is that it does not matter in this wonderful country of ours, if you were born here, or immigrated here; as long as you are first and foremost a Canadian, it does not matter what other heritage you have, you can aspire to the highest offices in the land. The other side of the coin is that, IMHO, if you dont look or act like you are a Canadian first, you are unlikely to make much progress in life here. An unofficial poll taken by one of our TV networks, with about 10,000 responses, gave Michaelle slightly more than a 50% approval rating; the proof of the puffing will be in the eating. Personally I am delighted with the appointment. When I compare her to what is left of the House of Windsor, who we are for the moment stuck with, she is a most delightful, intelligent, and capable breath of fresh air. I think she faces two major problems. One is to convince Canadians that monies given for the Governor General are being wisely spent; and what does one do for the considerable remaining parts of one's career, as an ex Governor General.
-- Jim Cripwell. From Canada. Land of the Key Bird. This creature of doom flies over the frozen tundra in winter, shrieking its dreaded call; "Key, Key, Key, Key rist but it's cold!!"