The land of milk and honey

The guilt I felt last week after hearing Premier Dwight Ball boasting of a “new frontier” for offshore development with the signing of the Bay du Nord oil agreement was almost unbearable.

In fact, the only time I felt anything close to this kind of guilt was during my puberty years when a scattered thought about heavy petting made me hang my head in shame, the brainwashing by the Catholic Church (the type of mind-altering even the North Koreans would have been proud to call their own) causing me no end of chagrin, with even the mere notion of sex guaranteeing a oneway trip to the fires of perdition.

Although I have to admit there was some temporary guilt of another sort the other day as I implored the environmental gods to deliver more climate change to these parts to order to make the rest of the summer as delightfully hot as it’s been the last couple of weeks, but as I say, that guilt was definitely brief, dissipating, as it did, as I lay next to our pool of decadence and soaked up more of the sun’s unhealthy but gorgeously seductive rays.

There was even a secondslong shot of guilt when I thought of all my one-time colleagues still slogging it out in newsrooms during these glorious days of summer, but, for some twisted reason, a section of some old song kept repeating itself in my over-heated skull: “the workin’ class can kiss my ass...”

Now, I did manage, as well, to overcome that before-mentioned puberty guilt, initially through “false” confessions (another indiscretion against the Higher Power’s laws, as it turned out), and then having enough years under my belt to recognize the ludicrous connection those above-reproach religious leaders had created between pleasure and sin.

But, by God, so to speak, there appears to be nothing I can do about the guilt-ridden enzymes floating through my supersensitive system ever since Dwight Ball and his always smiling accomplice, Siobhan Coady, told us all about still another lucrative feather in Newfoundland’s already affluent cap.

Because I kept thinking to myself as I wandered near the grotto in Flatrock seeking guidance and forgiveness: just how prosperous can one province possibly be?

Right from the get-go, Mother Nature has been good to Newfoundland and Labrador; and our various governors and premiers down through the decades have done a masterful job in ensuring their constituents — you, me, our forefathers (or is it forepersons, these days?) — would never have to worry about where the next paycheque was coming from, or concern themselves with the price of a loaf of bread, or a dozen beer.

Even John Cabot himself — whom, we were told recently by a St. John’s councillor, couldn’t possibly have “discovered” this rocky island since it was impossible to “discover” a place already inhabited by Indigenous people — a cause-in-the-making that appears reflective of a politician with way too much time on her hands — marvelled at the cod off our shores, so much fish, legend tells us, that he could have walked on their heads and tails to reach the Bonavista shoreline.

Just ponder what a magnificent job our elected politicians and their appointed hacks did in exploiting, for our benefit, what has been described as the richest fishing grounds in the world.

And if that didn’t make us well-off, well, there were our abundant forests. Our leaders, past and present, should hold their heads high when they look back at the fine way in which they capitalized, again, for our benefit, the woods industry.

Then there were the mines: Buchans, Bell Island, St. Lawrence, Baie Verte, Labrador City, and others, riches galore, their development handled with great insight and aplomb by our legislators.

And that nickel deposit in Voisey’s Bay? The biggest such deposit in the world, we’re told. More bills for our already stuffed wallets.

How about Churchill Falls power, and that agreement signed back in 1969. What brilliance on Joey Smallwood’s part to ensure it was developed “primarily” for the people of the province. We’re the beneficiaries to this very day. The cheapest power in the world.

Of course, how can we possibly forget the latest instalment in this hydro embarrassment of riches, Muskrat Falls? Just how well off can one province get? Electricity rates the rest of the world can only envy.

And then there’s offshore oil. Jed Clampett was in the poor house compared to Newfoundlanders.

Is there no end to our affluence?

Well, apparently not, because now we have Bay du Nord.

“The scale of opportunity offshore is immense,” Siobhan Coady promised the other day.

But, look, we should be sharing a lot of this wealth with countries around the world who have not had the type of enlightened governance we’ve had.

You know, places where unemployment is perpetually high, taxes are mind-blowing, the price of fuel is through the roof, the cost of living is atrocious, health care is in need of money, educational priorities are not being met. Those kinds of places.

If we were generous to those poor unfortunates, our guilt would certainly be reduced.

Our politicians have placed us in a grand, altruistic spot, have they not?

So let’s give thanks to Dwight Ball and Ms. Coady, and all who have gone before them.

How about Churchill Falls power, and that agreement signed back in 1969. What brilliance on Joey Smallwood’s part to ensure it was developed “primarily” for the people of the province.