November 10, 2014: A day that strengthened our understanding of what it means to be Canadian

By Michael Regenstreif

It was a sad, scary and strange day here in Ottawa.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014 was so very sad, of course, because Cpl. Nathan Cirillo, a Canadian Forces reservist standing ceremonial guard at our National War Memorial, was murdered, shot cowardly in the back by a terrorist, leaving behind a five-year-old son he was, by all accounts, devoted to.

It was a scary day. As quickly as the news broke of the attack at the War Memorial, we heard that Parliament itself – the very seat of our Canadian democracy – was under attack. The Hill and much of downtown Ottawa was locked down as reports of gunfire in Centre Block quickly spread through the city.

It was, we learned, the same gunman who shot Cirillo at the War Memorial that launched the attack on Parliament. And it all happened so fast, apparently less than two minutes from the time of the Cirillo murder until he entered Centre Block. Samearn Son, a brave security guard on duty at the door, saw the gun and tried to wrestle it away. Son was shot in the foot (he was treated at the Ottawa Hospital and released), but his actions alerted security staff to the danger.

House of Commons Sergeant-at-Arms Kevin Vickers, a veteran former RCMP officer, quickly went to his office, retrieved his firearm and, with other security officers and RCMP officers, engaged the attacker in a gunfight killing him.

All this took place while the parties were holding their weekly Wednesday morning caucus meetings. The Conservative Party – including the prime minister and cabinet ministers – and New Democratic Party meetings, in fact, were taking place behind closed doors in the very corridor, the Hall of Honour, where the shoot-out took place.

Although the terrorist was killed just moments after his spree began at the War Memorial before 10 am, Ottawa remained a scary place for many more hours through the rest of the morning, the afternoon and well into the evening.

Although it turned out he was a lone wolf, there were initial reports of two, possibly three terrorists on the loose in downtown Ottawa or in the wooded areas behind the Parliament buildings.

There was an early report of shots fired near the Château Laurier Hotel, literally just steps from both the National War Memorial and Parliament Hill, which turned out not to be true. Then there were reports of shots fired in the nearby Rideau Centre shopping mall. Later, those reports changed to shots fired somewhere outside the Rideau Centre. These reports also turned out to be false.

Meanwhile, cell phone networks all over Ottawa were overloaded and jammed for hours. MPs, Hill staffers and people working in offices blocks away remained under lockdown as rumours swirled through the city. And, when the Ottawa Police and RCMP held a news conference at 2:15 pm, they did not seem to yet know how many suspects were involved. The situation, they said, was “ongoing.”

Not just sad and scary, it was an altogether strange day in Ottawa. The normal rhythms of our city were thrown off as we tried to understand and cope with the brutal murder of the soldier at the War Memorial, the attack on Parliament, and of just not knowing what was going on.

The prime minister, we were told, had been taken to an undisclosed safe location. It would be 10 hours before we heard from him.

And it was on Twitter at 12:40 pm from Employment and Multiculturalism Minister Jason Kenney that we learned the soldier shot at the War Memorial had died. Why were we hearing this in a tweet from the employment minister and not from an announcement by the defence minister or the minister of public safety?

It was also a day that brought us together. We came together in grief over the heartbreaking loss of Nathan Cirillo, in admiration for the valiant efforts of those on the scene who tried to save him, and in awe of the bravery of Kevin Vickers and the police and security officials who protected Parliament and the city.

It was a sad, scary and strange day. A day we will not soon forget. But it was a day that strengthened our understanding of what it means to be Canadian.

October 11, 2010: Controversy over cartoon is a tempest in a teapot

By Michael Regenstreif

I’ve always found Parliament Hill and its buildings to be an inspiring place. Not because of the politics that play out there, but because of the democratic ideals Parliament represents.

One of the most inspiring sights on Parliament Hill is the Peace Tower. Built in the 1920s as a memorial to Canada’s fallen soldiers in the First World War, the Peace Tower looms high over Parliament Hill and, until the 1970s, was the tallest structure in Ottawa.

When I see the Peace Tower, whether up close on a visit to Parliament Hill or just catching a fleeting, distant glimpse from the 417, I am reminded of how privileged we are, as Canadians, to be living in a free and democratic country. Canada – however flawed our democracy may be – is one of the world’s most democratic countries.

Aside from its great height, one of the most instantly recognizable features of the Peace Tower is the clock with its four faces looking to the north, south, east and west.

The clock was a gift from the government of the United Kingdom in honour of the 60th anniversary of Confederation in 1927.

In the centre of the Peace Tower clock’s face is a geometric figure consisting of a series of triangles made of molded glass that make up a 12-pointed starlike design. And within that 12-pointed star-like figure, the dominant six points look like the six-pointed Star of David, a symbol of the Jewish people for the past 2,000 years.

Although the Star of David does appear to be within the clock face design, I doubt the designer had any kind of a Jewish message in mind more than 80 years ago.

I also don’t think Le Droit editorial cartoonist Guy Badeaux – who draws under the name ‘Bado’ – had any kind of a Jewish message in mind when he drew his September 20 cartoon marking the opening of the fall Parliamentary session. The cartoon is dominated by a traffic sign in front of Parliament Hill indicating a slippery road ahead.

As you can read in a news report on page 2, a controversy has erupted over whether the cartoon, which we show in the report, is antisemitic.

Officials of B’nai Brith Canada say that it is, that it represents the idea that Jews control the Canadian government, and that the cartoon will be used by anti-Jewish and Islamist websites to spread antisemitism.

According to Badeaux, the cartoon had nothing to do with Jews; that’s just how he draws a simplified version of the clock face design.

The Canadian Jewish Congress and the Quebec Jewish Congress are standing behind Badeaux, who, they say, has been a good friend to the Jewish community over the years. Badeaux recently participated in a panel discussion of cartoonists organized by the Quebec Jewish Congress in Montreal.

It’s all quite the tempest in a teapot. There are battles to be fought against antisemitism, but the Le Droit cartoon does not seem to be one of them. Without any evidence to suggest any antisemitic intent on Badeaux’s part, I would agree with the Canadian Jewish Congress position that we should accept his explanation and put this issue in the forget-about-it file.

B’nai Brith Canada, though, wouldn’t let go of the issue.

“The cartoon’s message is clear to those who understand the history of antisemitic imagery,” said B’nai Brith Canada CEO Frank Dimant in the September 30 issue of B’nai Brith’s Jewish Tribune newspaper.

Ironically, the page in the Tribune with Dimant’s comments was dominated by a large advertisement for a film called Jews and Baseball: An American Love Story. The graphic in the ad is a baseball whose seam stitching pattern is of Stars of David. Every stitch is another Star of David.

So, just who is it that controls baseball?