One day soon 2016 will be a blur to me. I will be able to answer the inevitable, “Where were you when Trump was elected?,” or reminisce about “that damn Kathleen Wynne,” but beyond this, I will not remember the details of what made this such a generally terrible year. For now though, I can wallow. And in a few days, as I slip on the cliched New Year’s Eve party glasses that haven’t looked right since 2009, I will be swallowing a burning anxiety over what 2017 will bring.
In a word, I will recall 2016 as “unbelievable,” as best summarized in the following (true) statements:
The current President-elect constantly cyberbullies people on Twitter.
This year will perhaps be remembered best for the rise of Trump, and what may become known as the most infamous political upset in U.S. history (sorry Al Gore, I never stopped believing in you). With a Republican majority in the House-Senate, some of Trump’s more ruthless promises have become a daunting reality.
There is some semblance of hope. Since his win, Trump has flip-flopped on his promises to order an investigation into Hillary Clinton and to repeal Obamacare. He has also softened his attack plans on policies surrounding global warming, deportation and torture.
But 2017 still carries a heavy stress for the world, and for Canada. Trump has not yet addressed one of the staples of his campaign – to renegotiate NAFTA. Mexico has already expressed firm opposition to an overhaul, and for Canada, which was the second largest supplier of goods in America and America’s largest export market in 2015, turbulence in trade could be extremely influential.
A Liberal premier privatized a fundamental human necessity, and now Ontario is screwed.
The Liberal Party’s platform is essentially a long list of ways government intervention can be injected into every facet of our lives – healthcare, employment, education, insurance, business, finances, communities, housing, etc. This is not necessarily a bad thing, however Premier Kathleen Wynne’s decision to sell control of the province’s hydro to Hydro One, a private company, baffles me outright from a socioeconomic lens, and which then entirely exceeds my comprehension as the initiative of a so-called Liberal leader.
Ontario’s plummeting economy has just been icing on the horrifying cloud of impending financial vulnerability.
In continuing with unbelievable Canadian political moves, 2016 also proved that Justin Trudeau – whose only experience was acting as a Member of Canadian Parliament for five years before becoming leader of the Liberal Party, then prime minister two years later – was only an omen.
Supplement the same hatred for career politicians that many saw appealing in Trudeau with a dose of fervent desire to kick Wynne out of office, and you get a majority of Niagara thinking that electing Sam Oosterhoff was a legitimately good idea. This is a 19-year-old, home-schooled, pro-life, fundamentalist Christian who, in his first news scrum, avoided more questions about his stances and future decisions than I did at Christmas dinner. Perhaps most frustrating are the lack of memes.
Everyone died.
Perhaps 2016 will go down in history not only as the year Trump won but also as for the year it was never more dangerous to be a celebrity.
Ten days into 2016, David Bowie died, Alan Rickman followed four days later. February took Harper Lee, March took Nancy Reagan, then Rob Ford. In April, Prince died, and with June came the deaths of Muhammad Ali and Gordie Howe, the tragic murder of Christina Grimmie and the horrifying accident that took Anton Yelchin. In July went Garry Marshall, in August, Gene Wilder, and in September, Jose Fernandez. After Leonard Cohen died in November, 2016 began its leave with a resounding kick – with Alan Thicke, Zsa Zsa Gabor, George Michael and most recently, Carrie Fisher, all dying within two weeks of one another in the final days of the year.
It felt like every few days someone else that had meant something to people they had never met was gone. And with them we lost the ability to reminisce upon memories, chunks of our childhood, and enjoyment of art pieces without the sour tinge of loss.
So when the countdown hits, I will be waiting with bated breath to see what fresh hell this year can cram into its final moments. I only beg that Steve Martin makes it.
By Alexa Battler
Please note that opinions expressed are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views and values of The Blank Page.
