King Billy
What better way to kick off Caribana than to watch the Orange Day parade in Toronto?
Once upon a time, Toronto was run by the moral system of the Orange lodge. That was back in the fifties, before Global Warming, racism, and inadequate social spending. As a kid, I used to hear about it at the dinner table. You could not buy beer on a Saturday, except in the Legion. I did not know what a door lock was ... I never used them until I met university professors. You could leave your keys in your car, and neighbours would roll up your windows in the rain.
As the influence of the Orange lodge faded, so did the ills of modern society grow. The tipping point was in 1967, when Pierre Elliot Trudeau began an aggressive series of spending initiatives to discover and fight social ills. But the fading power of the Orangemen was not enough to help Trudeau complete his utopian Just Society. Money spent each year was always a few millions short of what was needed to end famine, plague, and racism. There were then, as there is now, just not enough activists, programs, and office space to end evil. Things are so much worse now, even though taxpayers spend so much more.
The parade was lead by a crisp contingent of Toronto Police. The traffic control was impressive, the motorcycles and bicycles moved from intersection to crosswalk, keeping cars back, and the march steady. Orange contingents from all over Ontario were present. The music was upbeat four-four time, marching tunes from times of battle against the tyrants. My father used to hum these tunes when he worked down in his shop. This brought a tear to my eye, as I miss my dad.
I looked for King Billy. Instead of riding a white horse, King Billy came as a little boy, leading a large contingent of youth. The other officers of the lodge followed after, bearing their halberds, chains of office, and the volume of the sacred law. The weather was clear, even though the Global Warming weatherpersons had predicted rain. A Supreme Being must smile upon these Orangemen, to put aside the works of man and clear the sky of rain so that they could march.
As the Orangemen appeared, the beggars grew silent, and retreated to alleys. Before the parade I was approached three times by starving homeless people, looking for money, coffee, and/or tobacco. During the parade, they were gone. Such is the residual power of the Orange Lodge. We can only hope that the happy times of Old Ontario return to us. We should all work to ending white privilege, and replace it with Orange. Toronto should be a city where children do not know what door locks are, where criminals are few and live in fear, and beer is for enjoyment and not escape.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.
Once upon a time, Toronto was run by the moral system of the Orange lodge. That was back in the fifties, before Global Warming, racism, and inadequate social spending. As a kid, I used to hear about it at the dinner table. You could not buy beer on a Saturday, except in the Legion. I did not know what a door lock was ... I never used them until I met university professors. You could leave your keys in your car, and neighbours would roll up your windows in the rain.
As the influence of the Orange lodge faded, so did the ills of modern society grow. The tipping point was in 1967, when Pierre Elliot Trudeau began an aggressive series of spending initiatives to discover and fight social ills. But the fading power of the Orangemen was not enough to help Trudeau complete his utopian Just Society. Money spent each year was always a few millions short of what was needed to end famine, plague, and racism. There were then, as there is now, just not enough activists, programs, and office space to end evil. Things are so much worse now, even though taxpayers spend so much more.
The parade was lead by a crisp contingent of Toronto Police. The traffic control was impressive, the motorcycles and bicycles moved from intersection to crosswalk, keeping cars back, and the march steady. Orange contingents from all over Ontario were present. The music was upbeat four-four time, marching tunes from times of battle against the tyrants. My father used to hum these tunes when he worked down in his shop. This brought a tear to my eye, as I miss my dad.
I looked for King Billy. Instead of riding a white horse, King Billy came as a little boy, leading a large contingent of youth. The other officers of the lodge followed after, bearing their halberds, chains of office, and the volume of the sacred law. The weather was clear, even though the Global Warming weatherpersons had predicted rain. A Supreme Being must smile upon these Orangemen, to put aside the works of man and clear the sky of rain so that they could march.
As the Orangemen appeared, the beggars grew silent, and retreated to alleys. Before the parade I was approached three times by starving homeless people, looking for money, coffee, and/or tobacco. During the parade, they were gone. Such is the residual power of the Orange Lodge. We can only hope that the happy times of Old Ontario return to us. We should all work to ending white privilege, and replace it with Orange. Toronto should be a city where children do not know what door locks are, where criminals are few and live in fear, and beer is for enjoyment and not escape.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.
Labels: Fenris
posted by Fenris Badwulf at 5:11 PM
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