In N.L., the myth-busting work is never done

“General perceptions of the province and its people suggest a continuing familiarity with outdated stereotypes and past realities.”

Newfoundland and Labrador’s Place in Canada report, 2003

Reputation can be a hard thing to shake, particularly when that reputation is shored up by the very people who should be trying to shed themselves of it.

Remember then-premier Roger Grimes’ infamous quip to a gathering of New York bankers in 2002, when he cited an old adage about the people of this province, that we either “fish or f--k”?

Now, I always found Grimes to be an affable, accessible politician, with a quick and saucy sense of humour.

But surely in hindsight even he would acknowledge his comment was a gaffe that exacerbated one of the more mindless stereotypes to have dogged us for decades.

We’ve all heard them — some positive, some negative, and usually all gross generalizations that do nothing to capture the sophistication and growing diversity of this place.

So when we do hear those myths being trotted out, I think we should set the record straight if we can, and to demonstrate by our own comportment that there are more shades and nuances to this province and its people than you see in the candy-coated Day-glo tourism ads.

So it was with some chagrin that I read a column by David Woods on Networks.org on July 1. (The website has news and views from the Philadelphia, South Jersey and Delaware regions of the United States.)

Woods’ essay is headlined “In cod they trust,” and, as an author and former editor-inchief of the Canadian Medical Association Journal, he’s no slouch.

His column seems written through a rose-tinged haze of fondness and memory, and he pays us several compliments.

“I’ve always had a great affection for Newfoundlanders, a hearty party-going group of jaunty storytellers,” he writes.

And in so doing, he manages to hit almost all of the clichés many of us grow tired of hearing.

“The Newfies, as they’re called, sustain themselves on cod and tourism or, as my father, who hailed from the next-door province of Nova Scotia, used to say: ‘Fishing and fornicating in summer; no fishing in winter.’”

Woods would probably be surprised that many of us don’t like to be called Newfies, though some embrace the term.

He might also be surprised to learn that cod has not sustained us for 25 years, though there are signs of positivity on that front.

He writes: “The Irish influence on the province is strong, not only in the ever present Irish brogue, but also in the propensity of the natives to be great partygoers and storytellers, something known locally and in Ireland as craic.”

Apart from a three-piece folk/traditional band from this province called Craic, I have not heard that term used often in common parlance. Then again, maybe I don’t have an ear fine-tuned for “brogue,” given that my ancestors were English.

Of course, there are many cultural influences in this province, including that of the true natives — indigenous peoples who were here long before many of our ancestors found their away ashore.

And then there’s Woods’ strange take on the “ancient” Screech-in ceremony (developed in the 1960s, as far I can figure), which he calls the best thing about Gander’s response to its surprise influx of stranded American passengers during 9-11:

“(It) requires participants to stand in a bucket of water, kiss a cod on the lips, and vow to tell no Newfie jokes — the equivalent of jokes about ‘Polacks,’ or other groups singled out for jocular opprobrium — and consume a tumbler of the rough rum known as Screech.”

That’s a new version on me — never having seen anyone be made to stand in a bucket or water or promise not to tell Newfie jokes, though I’d host such a ceremony myself if I thought that last part would stick.

I’m glad Woods took home warm memories of this place.

And perhaps he’ll come back for another look and lend his voice to ours as we try to make ourselves heard above the din of old, outdated notions.