Whack-a-mole with CHRC not enough

[ ED NOTE: Don Sharpe from the Sharpe Stick blog was kind enough to allow me to cross-post this article from his blog. I ran across it a bit late, so it’s a little dated, but I thought it was well worth the read. You can check out the original version here. ]

I first learned to love the game on the midway at the Calgary Stampede. As each mole pokes his (her? it’s tough to tell with moles) head up, a mightly whack with a furry mallet drives the little bugger back down into it’s hole. Very satisfying, the game goes faster until too many moles are missed or time runs out.

Seems that’s where we’re at currently with the CHRC. Gun-shy after a year of bombardment by both the left and the right blogosphere, ‘Supreme Leader Jenny Lynch’ appeared briefly last week to defend her commissions report to Parliment. It certainly didn’t go as well as she probably could have hoped.

Whack! Ezra Levant to appear on CTV and debate the report. Whack! Down she goes. Whack! Mark Steyn offers in Macleans magazine to debate her ‘anytime, anyplace’. Whack! Back in her hole. Whack! 1200 files are being collected and examined. Whack! Kathy Shaidle alerts the world to ‘The Lynch files’, a new website dedicated solely to whacking the CHRC. Whack! Blazing Cat Fur hosts a ‘Be mean to Jenny’ t-shirt slogan contest. Whacka, Whacka, Whacka!

Now picture how things are going down in the mole lair of the CHRC these days. The ‘whack report’ of blog traffic must be a pretty disturbing way to start the morning. I’m assuming, of course, that they do start before noon. Bunkered like Hitler was in the last days, visitors are no doubt searched more carefully than Tom Cruise was in ‘Valkyrie’. The security to even enter the building has become fierce. Is someone tasting Jenny’s coffee? Does Richard Warman have bodyguards? At the very least, I’m sure they’re checking their mail and the rear view mirror more carefully these days.

Which is no way to live. Reaching a point where they’ve become exposed and identified as censorious ruffians is the end of the line, and they know it. Any attempt to hang on to power at this point is foolish, unless you’re a government employee whose firm belief that the end is never nigh is hopelessly entrenched.

Which is why it’s not enough for us to sit back and just whack away. It’s shovel time. Time to dig in and root the bastards out. Left alone, they’ll lick their wounds, regroup, and be back in droves before you know it. My shovel says ‘Write your MP’ and ‘tell everyone you know.’


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