Always bet on Black

by RAF KATIGBAK

“The destructive fixation of the envious English-Canadian mind requires that the highest, happiest, most agile flyers be laid low... a sadistic desire corroded by soul-destroying envy, to intimidate all those who might aspire to anything the slightest exceptional.”

—Anonymous

...And so began a friend’s recent e-mail thread whose various fiery replies I had recently been invited to observe. Some first reactions decried what one reader pegged “self-delusional, self-important French-Canadian crap,” while others felt that such foul words could only have been uttered by small-minded Yanks south of the border. In the end, the original author was neither Québécois nor American, but rather the one-time Montrealer and ex-Canadian Lord Conrad Black.

Now I could get into the argument of how many people I know in various Quebec anglo cultural industries constantly complain of getting shot down by “the old guard” for trying to achieve any advancement in their profession. Or I could also talk about the question of whether we should even consider taking the advice of someone so morally questionable and downright dastardly as Mr. Black. But instead of debating the relative verity of Black’s statement (which I think is sort of true), can I just get one thing off my chest? I love Conrad Black. There I said it. Whew, now I feel better.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t LOVE love him, the way I love my mom, or chicken burritos or my old guinea pig Iago. And I certainly wouldn’t marry him like I would Beyoncé Knowles or Ally Sheedy’s character in The Breakfast Club. But Lord Black—whose Chicago court case was slated to start in the last couple of days—is one of those figures journalist types like myself get giant-sized media boners over.

Why? Well, he’s a rich, sharp-dressing aristocrat who got kicked out of UCC for selling stolen exams, built a huge media empire worth gagillions only to see it crumble in a wake of controversial lawsuits and financial scandal, he likes to trash-talk his mother country, and then tries to turn around and regain citizenship, leaving the nation awash in WTFs and no-you-di’ins. In short, he’s the ultimate bad boy and, as Cosmo and Hollywood have proven, bad boys are always cooler than good boys. In nerd speak, Black is the cold and calculating Vader to Canada’s wimpy broken-voiced Luke. And sure, Luke might take the moral high ground and triumph in the end, but fuck was he ever annoying.

Even Black’s British-given title, “Lord Black of Crossharbour”—awarded after renouncing his Canadian citizenship—makes you almost expect him to enter the court room shooting steely glances from one unpatched-eye, swooshing a cape of deepest midnight as he levitates into the courtroom on a black cloud full of the dark side of the Force. He’s like the ultimate classic Bond villain (without the three nipples or the cockamamie plan to corner the microchip market by blowing up Silicon Valley). He’s like the missing character from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs. Heck, he’s already got the suit AND the name.

All this to say we need bad guys like Black like we need our Freddy Kruegers, Jasons and Terminators. Perhaps we like it when the lines between good and evil are clearly drawn. It helps us feel better about ourselves in comparison. Or is it that as peace-loving, quiet Canadians, we secretly like to watch it when big, brash, rich assholes get their comeuppance? Could this be what Black is alluding to in his statement, when he talks about “envious English Canadians?”

Love him or hate him (or love hating him), ultimately Conrad Black brings something sorely lacking in the Canadian news-scape: personality. With so many political leaders who sometimes can seem to just mush into the same monotonous talking head, Conrad Black may be Canada’s most necessary evil. Well, that and E-Talk Daily.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca