Tolerating Intolerance

After a splendid morning watching "Flags of our Fathers" instead of going to church, a light salad for lunch and a brisk walk down Marine Drive, Ashley and I hopped on a bus to complete our journey to Park Royal. As with most buses, ours was moderately full, and filled with all peoples of all ages. We settled on two free seats at the back of the bus near a younger Asian gentleman and across from a young white man who seemed to have forgotten to leave his angst in his teenage years. Ashley and I started to engage in discussion of some sort, most likely about Obama, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye an elderly woman a few rows behind me turning around in her seat to address the people sitting behind her.

"Excuse me, do you know what country you are in?" She asked this to the obviously foreign seat dwellers behind her. Their reply was too quiet to be heard. She continued to ask, "do you know what the official language of Canada is?" At this point I was quite stunned. First of all, most people on buses do not address one another, unless it is an almost inaudible "excuse me" as one attempts to get past another. Secondly, this type of interrogation seemed more fit for the dark corner of an American intelligence office rather than the brightly lit fairly crowded public transit system. It was especially shocking coming from a gray haired woman who seemed to have to raise herself to be seen behind the seat backing.

"That's right, it's English, and I'd appreciate it if you would speak in English".

At first I was able to keep myself from laughing out loud, but my looks of incredulous shock were matched by Ashley's reaction to the rather vocal conversation. I soon noticed that our almost emo brother was intrigued by this as well. The fact is, this lady was insulted that people would come to her country and speak in a foreign language, as opposed to the official language of English "Oh, and French" she added, twisting in her seat to throw that quick quip back over her shoulder before returning to face forwards. At this point, I was actually laughing, in short shocked bursts, as the complete insensitivity, and the utter intolerance displayed by this woman. Now, I too have been bothered by numerous people coming on buses and loudly discussing whatever it is in a dozen different languages. But I have never thought to myself that this "did not belong in Canada". In fact, that is the beauty of Canada. Sure, we have two official languages, but one is only used as the predominant language in Quebec. We also have six or seven unofficial languages that make their rounds in China Town, or Little India, or hell, even Newfoundland.

You know, I was so proud of America for finally getting past their racial roots because I felt as though they had raised themselves up to our standards. I had forgotten that in a democratic society, as our Asian bus friend reminded us, every person has a right to their own opinion, no matter how much I may disagree with it. So even Canada has their fair share of bigots, racists, and intolerant old women. I suppose that I'm okay with every person having their own opinion, but the one thing that I struggle to tolerate is intolerance.