Too Clever By Half: The Dread Condition

Not many people know this, but I have been in remission for the better part of a decade now.

Since the time I overcame ‘60s Progressive Syndrome— or, as we sufferers know it, The Clevers— it’s been a daily struggle, frankly. Just one precious Obama bumper sticker, one incendiary Robert DeNiro rant and I could be back in full-blown cleverness. 

The Clevers is characterized by a need for things that sound right instead of things that work right. That’s why we survivors recite the Charlie the Tuna creed: We want tunas that taste good, Charlie, not tunas with good taste. (Don’t tell that to a ‘60s Flu sufferer. They won’t get the humour.)

It’s a powerful addiction for its sufferers who can be found these day on Facebook extolling Amy Klobuchar’s bob haircut or demanding Bill Barr’s impeachment. Having contracted their condition through the eras of Nixon and Reagan and Stephen Harper, Clever carriers remain steadfast that the Western world is one big circle of oppressed victimhood.

I can hear you asking, How will I know if I, too, suffer from the Clevers? Here are a few telltale signals that maybe you have not politically advanced in the past 50 years.

With protesters shutting down the national railways and blocking the B.C. Legislature, you think it’s an appropriate use of the prime minister’s time to be in Senegal lobbying for a short-term seat on the United Nations Security Council. 

You think Jane Fonda announcing that she wore ethical jewelry to the Oscars is a humanist statement.

You believe that if we just left Iran alone it would pursue a peaceful path to normalcy in the college of nations.

You think Bernie Sanders, whose executive experience is running Burlington, Vermont, is just the guy to completely re-organize the American healthcare system.

Most of all, you don’t get that Trump is punking you.

If you ticked off all five of these boxes then it’s time to seek help. Actually, help is the worst thing you can seek. The Help Industry is one of the bulwarks of ‘60s Flu. It’s populated by clever people who have John Lennon’s  Imagine as their ring tone and think the new version of Will & Grace is even better than the first. 

The Help Industry will have you get in touch with your Clever feelings. Which turn out to be their feelings that they want you to adopt. The Help Industry also insists that all people are entitled to their opinion, so long as it’s the same opinion. But sure, it’s clever to have 32 different gender identifications. 

That’s another clever symptom of the ‘60s Flu: The irresistible need to create word salads to liberate people from the prisons of binary thinking. They don't care what any of it means so long as you’re baffled by their dazzling diction. If you don’t want to be tagged as micro-aggressing get with the cisgendered, whitesplaining, cissexual, latinx, woke vocabulary. It will come in handy at the re-education camp later.

One of the ‘60s Flu deadly hallmarks is how damn easy it is to surrender to the CBC panels, to go along with the flow of Bette Midler tweets, to surrender to the music of Don Henley. The alternative is a miserable existence, being ostracized by the body politic as it tells you that Canada is a consultative process and anyone who denies that doesn’t get invited to the meeting in the treehouse. 

It’s lonely here in remission. None of the Clevers is comfortable with you questioning assumptions you’ve had since Pierre Trudeau dated Barbra Streisand. It makes them strangely uncomfortable when you observe that a group of regular folks in Edmonton can end the railway blockade faster than the RCMP and Parliament combined. (“This will lead to BLOODSHED!”) Then, like Peter McKay, they deny they ever said such a thing.

So you spend a lot of time outside the Clever culture. Which is probably the best way to observe how our current PM has made his father, Papa Pierre, so much greater in perspective.  If it were Skippy on the reviewing stand at St. Jean Baptiste parade back in 1968 do you think he hangs in there to catch a brick like Papa did? Man, his ass would be in the Laurentians before you could say, “Just watch me”.

So take heart if you want to break away from the Clevers. There are support groups that can help you through those 3 A.M. moments when you’ve read a Washington Post article that Trump is a Russian mole. Just remember the fist step is the hardest step. You’ll know you’re cured if you discover can’t spell Pete Buttigieg— and don’t give a rat’s ass that you don’t.

Bruce Dowbiggin @dowbboy is the publisher of  Not The Public Broadcaster. He’s also a regular contributor to Sirius XM Canada Talks Ch. 167. A two-time winner of the Gemini Award as Canada's top television sports broadcaster, he is also a best-selling author whose new book Cap In Hand: How Salary Caps Are Killing Pro Sports And Why The Free Market Could Save Them is now available on brucedowbigginbooks.ca.