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THE DIARY
BIOGRAPHY
I'm a 26 year old graduate of the University College of Cape Breton. I'm employed as a youth worker in Glace Bay and in my time away from work I direct plays within the U.C.C.B theatre program. I intend to live in Cape Breton for as long as I can.
January 03, 2000
Well over a hundred years ago the town of New Waterford celebrated its first Christmas under the shadow of King Coal. The citizens of Cape Breton lived and died under the industry since then. That is, until this Christmas.
For the first time in over a century, there are no men underground this December. Phalen mine is shut down. A day before schedule, the mine's doors were locked forever and hundreds of men faced the inevitable twenty-four hours too early.
The day of the announcement I was walking past the building that was under an occupation of protest a week or two earlier. No take-over today. Instead there was a small group of people carrying signs and in their midst stood a costumed protester in a Grim Reaper suit. Certainly not the Christmas icon I'm accustomed to.
Later that day I stopped at a friend's house for a moment. Jimmie is a miner I've spoken to several times before about the mining problems in our community. He's also a Phalen employee. It was mid-afternoon and he was salting his driveway. It should have been mid shift but there he was. I asked him how he felt. "I'd rather be working. What can I do? It's over." But it's not over for his family and the several hundred other families now officially out of work. Their Devco employment may be over, but the turmoil is only begun. What for the past year was hypothetical planning has become an immediate reality. He agreed when I shared these thoughts with him, but he was clearly not ready to talk about it. "Come back over Christmas," he said, "and we'll talk."
Christmas Eve brought with it the usual routine with my family. Supper and church. We entered the doors to the small church and heard the sounds of carols coming from inside. The parish we attend is in a neighbourhood especially populated by miners and their families. Grandparents sat with their grown-up children who sat with their own children. In many cases it was two generations of miners singing and praying their own quiet hopes for the Holidays.
As the service progressed the priest made a special prayer for the miners and their families. He prayed that our community survives and those most directly affected do not suffer from stress and depression as a result of Phalen's closure. In parting, he also hoped that the men in the federal government stop playing the Grinch and start playing Santa.
Later that night I stopped at Jimmie's house. His wife was cooking a turkey big enough to feed half the block. Two little girls played in the living room with their grandmother. Jimmie was in his basement having a beer and looking at a map of Canada spread out over an old ping pong table. "Mike, where should we go, huh?" I hated what I was hearing. Christmas isn't supposed to be about uncertainty. It isn't supposed to be about having got a pink slip the week before. I guess I'm too sentimental. This is the real world after all, not a Jimmy Stewart Christmas movie. This man just seemed so sad. Jimmie walked to his old work clothes hanging on a line and tossed them in the garbage. "What bothers me the most...is that the government always blames us. It's always our fault. And when it's not us, it's geology. Who was it that promised me twelve years ago that this mine would last fifty years? It wasn't Mother Nature in that suit."
I wished them Merry Christmas and walked home. A week later the turn of the century came upon our town. I spent the evening with a few friends and we each shared our hopes for the new year. I only hoped that Jimmie's family stays healthy and happy for many New Years to come...wherever their new home may be.
December 13, 1999
What people can do when they work together is amazing. They can lift the heaviest weight. But when division occurs, that weight can fall just as fast. Cape Bretoners are no different -- especially the coal miners whose unity has helped them survive the hungriest of winters. If there was ever a time to remember that history, it's now.
But unfortunately, the miners may now be sharply divided. It started when a rumoured initiative became public. A group of miners known as the Cape Breton Miners' Development Co-operative Ltd. proposed that the miners themselves purchase the assets of the Crown Corporation. They claimed to have the support of several hundred miners and community members. In particular, their proposal would involve almost 700 miners who won't receive a pension when the mines close. Instead, these men will receive varied settlements in the neighbourhood of $30,000. The Co-op suggested that an investment from these miners of that money would purchase the assets and create jobs for a potential workforce of almost 1,200.
The union head spoke out quickly against the proposal. He said co-operative ownership would create more problems than it would solve, and that the obstacles would be insurmountable. His remarks generated confusion among many community members.
A public forum was held to discuss this situation and other concerns. A small group gathered at a local union hall -- joined, of course, by politicians from every party and every level of government. The community activists running the meeting spoke out about the importance of sticking together. The miners sat quietly in their seats, listening with clenched fists. You could see the years underground etched on their faces. These are some of the strongest men you could imagine, and they came looking for answers.
One grey-haired miner wanted to know why his union would oppose an initiative that would keep him working and keep food on his table. Immediately afterward, another man wanted to know why anyone would support the co-operative idea, when it would only lose what little money he'll receive. Such division was the hallmark of the evening. I talked to the man who had spoken in favour of the co-operative, and he asked: "Well, what is the union coming up with? Huh? What are they suggesting to do?"
His question was answered a week later. After an unproductive information session with management, the union and about 200 miners broke into a Devco office, smashing the glass in the front door and occupying the second floor. I went down to the site that evening. Police circled the parking lot. The building was black, apart from shadows on the second floor. The men walked around in the half-light playing a magician's game -- now you see them, now you don't. All was quiet, except for the rain.
I spoke to a man standing beside me who said the miners were angry and felt left out. "They want answers and only get smoke screens," he said. Then he pointed to the shattered door. "They can't agree with each other, and they don't know what is going to happen any more than they did a year ago. That's the first glass busted. There's a few more gonna fall."
November 28, 1999
The Cape Breton Regional Municipality is in the throes of a massive strike involving most of its several hundred employees. With the Devco death knell tolling in the background, the workers fear for their security, and management is attempting to save costs in anticipation of the inevitable decline in tax dollars. Since buses are affected by the strike, I've been hitching a ride with anyone who'll put up with me. Last week my friend Fred took his turn.
Fred works in Sydney and offered to drive me in, but first we had to drop off his uncle Pat at Phalen mine outside the town of New Waterford. Pat is a Devco veteran who works the surface -- mining terminology for those who do anything above ground. He's a veteran of Devco and qualifies for a pension as of Jan. 3. I asked Pat what he thought about the closure of our mines, and he replied with a suggestion unprintable here -- something about the abandoned mine shaft in the distance and the politicians involved. He blames the owners and policy makers, the mismanagement. I told him he wasn't alone.
Blaming the politicians is a constant theme around town, especially with the discussion focused around a fellow in Ottawa named Bill C-11.His proper name is the Devco Divestiture Authorization and Privatization Act. C-11 has become the mantra of our local member of Parliament. In a strong condemnation, Michelle Dockrill called this the final insult to Cape Bretoners. This is Ottawa casting away any responsibility to the people of the island.
In light of what many around here feel is an insulting $68-million economic development fund to heal the pain, the MP's comments have found some resonance. The federal government responded with a statement from Natural Resources Minister Ralph Goodale, who disagreed with Ms. Dockrill's charges. He said this bill is about Cape Breton's future, a new beginning that will attempt to maximize the positive, commercially viable economy that awaits our post-industrial community.
On the provincial front, Premier John Hamm says he will not hold the provincially owned coal leases in his hands to ensure the best deal. The recently ousted Liberal premier had threatened to do just that. The miners I've spoken to were confident that holding those leases would have given them leverage in any private deal, but now the Tory premier says "No way."
We discussed all this as Fred's car hugged the rugged coastline that brought us to the gates of the Phalen mine. We drove past abandoned Second World War lookouts covered in graffiti and falling apart at the turrets. And the great mineshaft stood ahead of us. I hadn't been this close to the structure in a few years. It was as big as I remembered, but frighteningly silent. Years before, the place had been a huge anthill of activity, with men coming out dirty and tired from one shift, and men entering clean and smiling for the next one. Now there was nothing - maybe seven cars in the parking lot. I waited for the tumbleweeds to roll by. Pat told me there might be 20 people working there now, and the number to be cut in half after Christmas. This left me speechless.
Fred and I pulled out of the lot and onto the road. I couldn't help but wonder what the politicians involved would think and do if they could see this situation through my eyes. Could they feel the chill I feel as I see firsthand the disappearance of thousands of jobs, as the economic lifeblood of this island seeps away? We passed through New Waterford. The first few homes had garbage piled high because of the municipal strike, and a young boy sat on his front steps without a winter coat. Could this be the new beginning the federal government is promising us?
November 14, 1999
The beginning of the Christmas season is always a busy time in Cape Breton. One event taking place is the bureaucratic caravan travelling the Island under the banner of a joint federal and provincial government consultation panel. They're traversing Cape Breton asking communities from Cheticamp to Glace Bay what should be done with the $80-million economic development fund.
This is the money set aside for our entire region to compensate for a $300-million absence per year in our economy. Sort of like applying a Band-Aid to stop the bleeding from decapitation. The panel came to my town last Monday.
Well over a hundred people from the area came to hear proposals from groups representing government, labour, business, and independent citizens, as well. It's a public forum asking for ideas on how to spend the "windfall". As people milled around afterwards I started up a conversation with a man who was smoking a cigarette outside the arena where the forum was being held. He looked to be about forty or so and was wearing a union hat. His name was Patrick and he told me he was a miner.
We chatted about the proposals and he told me what he thought of the whole affair. "It's a joke", he said simply. Pat, as was written on his Senior League hockey jacket sleeve, said that no matter how good their intentions are, it's not going to make a difference. "The guys on that panel are no different than the government idiots who killed Devco in the first place. It's a horse and pony show." He believes that no sincerity can come from a group of bureaucrats making decisions for the average guy. He reiterated his fundamental problem with the panel: distrust of politics and anyone involved with it.
Afterward, I spoke with several women who were on their way out the door. They too echoed Patrick's belief. Everyone responds in a similar fashion: if politicians are in charge of the far-too-little money given to us, it will disappear in front of our eyes. People want labour involved. They want community groups involved on the ground level to have a real say in the economic fund that's going to have its most profound effect in their kitchens and in their account books. It's hard for people to trust these personal places to a man in an $800 suit who makes more in five months than a miner's family does in a year and a half.
I met up with Patrick at a Remembrance Day ceremony later that week. I told him that in my discussions with people since our chat outside the arena, I've found out that many in our soon-to-be-former mining town agreed with his political cynicism. "You know it's not Karl Marx we're talking about here", he said. "It's about having things go on that make sense." I agree with you Patrick. I think for most people it's about trust. We want to put our tiny eggs in a firm basket. Not in the hands of a government that most people believe has stabbed us in the back.
November 01, 1999
Halloween is certainly a time of customs and every community has its variances on the common themes. There's bobbing for apples, trick-or-treating, masks, and spooky television on every channel.
In Glace Bay there's a unique tradition that I doubt is found in any other region of the province. After the little lion kings and princesses get home to their candy apples under the watchful eyes of mom and dad, the teenagers, dressed head to toe in brightly-coloured orange coveralls, pour into the streets with eggs in hand. They roam around looking to thoroughly coat unsuspecting peers in this and other gross concoctions. The canvas coveralls are Devco work suits owned by the fathers, uncles and brothers of these young people and every Halloween the custom is to throw them on en masse. The evening progresses until they're all covered in whatever gunk they can put together from the kitchen sink. For one night it's chaos in orange canvas.
This Halloween was no different. I gave out the tiny chocolate bars and mini potato chips and it wasn't long before the orange suits started walking around. My last trick-or-treater was a Star Wars villain I couldn't recognize, who appeared to be about five years old. His mom accompanied little Darth Vader. I didn't recognize her at first but as we exchanged hello's I realized that it was a girl I had gone to school with. She stayed a few minutes to chat, though I couldn't remember her name for the life of me. I asked her if she remembered putting on those crazy Devco overalls when we were younger. She laughed out loud and we began to talk about them. Of course the conversation naturally turned to the Devco crisis.
We talked about the recent opening of the House of Commons. This, of course, means that the official legislation to close Devco forever and for sure is essentially moments away. Furthermore, the federal powers in charge have circled the men and women together to decide how to spend the $ 68 million in economic development funds promised to help transfer the community into the post-coal economy. I reminded her that the provincial government is putting in an additional $12 million on top of that. She smirked and said, "Eighty million spread out over the next few years to make up for Devco's $300 million generated each and every year?who's in charge of that math?" She went on tell me that her uncle was involved in the union and was very upset with the selection of men and woman appointed to dish out the funds. It seems that there's no union presence whatsoever.
She said he'd told her more than once that what killed Devco was distant strangers making ignorant decisions. It's no surprise that he and the others suspect the worst if the miners aren't in on the economic clean-up. As she left, we watched a ghost and a skeleton walk up the road followed by two lanky young people, dressed head to toe in the orange blaze of their dads' work suits. Some images do speak a thousand words.
September 15, 1999
It is no exaggeration to say that the men who mine the ground beneath the coast of Cape Breton make a brave decision each and every day of their lives. It is heroic; whether to risk your life underground or to stay home and starve. Every morning before the day shift and each sunset before the back shift the heroes make the choice. Yesterday that choice was made for them.
Due to another rock fall at 4:00 p.m., the Phalen mine (one of two set for closure in December 2000) was officially closed forever. What was to happen a year and a half from now has come early, and that year and a half of planning for the four hundred Phalen employees and their families has disappeared in a heartbeat. As quick as the speed of sound, maybe as quick as the sound of the ceiling crashing into the pit floor last week. Afterwards the Chairman of Devco's board of directors announced that the coal legacy of a generation would cease due to that geological shift.
Like anything in Cape Breton, this situation is very complicated for all those involved. The management has said that due to the rock fall the mine is no longer safe to work in. They stated that every time there's a rock fall the risk increases and therefore the men are no longer permitted to work the seam.
On the union side the reaction was different. They were adamant in their desire for worker safety but insisted that the Crown Corporation find another way to keep the men working. It was the usual union/management tango you expect. The truly interesting aspect was the reaction of the individual men who are there every day mining the earth. This is where the decision I mentioned earlier comes into play with a cruel and tormenting twist.
The complexity of this conundrum is written all over their faces. First in the list of problems: they want to earn a living. This dangerous job is their livelihood. But the conditions they describe to me are hair-raising. Men have told me that they prayed every morning before they left home that they would return. Somehow they have to reconcile this sense of relief that the danger is over with the desire to work.
Secondly, the three ring circus of a formula the government designed to decide who gets a pension and who leaves with severance has become even more complicated. Many workers would have qualified for a pension in a year and a half from now. Will the federal government alter their formula to complement the recent development? This will lead to an entirely new set of complications within the ranks of the workers.
And finally, what about the four hundred men who are let go? Imagine you are 49 years old and you have worked for Devco the past 25 years. The man next to you is 50 and has worked in the pit for only 10. In this situation he gets a pension for life and you get a severance that after taxes wouldn't buy a pick-up truck. Compound the frustration with the fact that one day you thought you had a year and a half to plan for it, the next day it's over.
In all the talk of media, union, management and so forth, this man is often left out on the perimeter. I hope his family can make sense of a story none of us in the community can deal with. He's the reality behind every syllable we speak.
August 29, 1999
The other day I ventured out to a local flea market in search of some hidden bargains and found smiling faces offering the usual assortment of crafts and baked goods set out on small tables. As I debated over buying an ancient 8-track tape player for $5 (the woman behind the table was asking 10 and I was trying to argue her down!), a young girl about seven or eight years old was standing in front of me, change purse in hand.
It turned out the girl was the daughter of the seller, a woman in her early 40s. They both laughed at my attempts to save a few cents and the woman and I struck up a conversation. Her name was Margaret. Her husband was an employee of Devco, the soon-to-be-departed Crown corporation. Times were tough for her. Her husband had spent the last few years between layoffs and they needed to clean out their nick-nacks every so often to help out.
We talked a little bit about the upcoming closure, and I asked her if she believed the mines had any hope of survival. "Well, barring a miracle, I think it's over. Time to start saving up for our tickets to Toronto."
After the news of the past week, Margaret should perhaps keep her eye out for seat sales. Devco officials came out with the announcement that the deconstruction of Devco is on its way. They announced that there was a list made up of 40 potential buyers for all assets of the former Coal King. At a news conference last week the board of directors started the first concrete bloodletting. Devco is officially being torn apart.
The reaction from the parties most directly involved was varied, to say the least. The union was adamant in their frustration. They feel left out of the process. The perception of some union men I spoke to was that they're always the last to know about these big decisions. On the management side, the man in charge of Devco came out strong against the miners' defiance. He said in very clear terms that if the union refused to sit down and discuss the reality of the imminent closure and hopeful sale, that he would immediately begin to search for miners outside the island to fill the required workforce.
Margaret and I chatted about these events and she told me her perspective. She said that the men do feel left out of the process. "I know my husband. He may not think that I do, but I do. He feels cut off from such an important thing."
And their frustration will mount with those words from management. All too often in our labour history, real trouble has come about when the story goes: Men refuse to lay down, management talks tough, neither side gives way, and they both wait for the other to blink. After I told Margaret how I felt she said, "you better worry."
I finally cave in to $8 for the decrepit old relic and she hands over the stereo. As I leave I shake hands with her tiny daughter and a thought comes to mind. Will she ever get a chance to know the community she came from? Will she wonder why she left?
Will Devco be a word she'll understand?
August 20, 1999
Some Island traditions are as old as time, others newer. One new tradition is saying goodbye to friends and family as they depart to the mainland in search of work.
One of my old friends has had enough of being broke. He's been working at a gas station part-time ever since he graduated from college a few years back. So he's off to Calgary in hope of a better future. And for what seems like the 100th time in the past three years, a handful of friends gathered at a local pub to have a few laughs before he takes off. It's not like he's banished for life, but he may not be home again for years.
We ordered a round and one of my friends turned to the "Soon to be Albertan" and asked him a question: "Tell me something; last year you said things were going to turn around here. Now you're leaving. What the hell happened?" He replied, "Devco happened. There's no future here." Then there was an uncomfortable silence before the Blue Jays highlights monopolized the dead air.
I couldn't stand it anymore. This Devco closure seems to affect everyone I meet. What's worse is that there is a perception that the government is doing nothing to help. As a result pessimism pervades. The rest of the gang agreed when I blurted this out.
We had another drink and said our goodbyes. I stuck around, a little angry and looking for someone to discuss the Devco story with. As I stepped up to the bar, I passed a bulletin board covered in all the newspaper clippings that mentioned Devco since February. Surely this would be a good source of debate, but my hopes were dashed by a small sign on the wall that read, No Union Talk at the Bar.
The debate between miners split along pension and severance lines has begun to boil over. Some men get a pension, some don't. No Devco talk is allowed. Divide and Conquer, they say. I must have said this out loud because a man at the corner of the bar tipped his glass my way. We started talking and when the bartender turned his back the Devco talk began.
I told him that a man from Halifax told me recently that mainlanders hate this Devco "whining" and they find the story amusing. He didn't smile. He just nodded and took a drink from what appeared to be ice water and looked at me.
"I worked in the pit as a federal employee since I was 18. I took the wage freeze of a public employee but after my years of service I get a cheque and a pink slip? That's whining? In another year I'm out of work with three kids and no job to pay my bills. I'm going to lose my home and end up on welfare ... that's amusing?"
No sir, I thought to myself, that is not amusing. I walked home along the quiet streets and thought of that man in Halifax. I wish he had the connection I have to my community, a connection shared by many. And I suppose one thing is amusing. That's the idea that we'll let this place die without a fight.
August 4, 1999
The 1999 summer election has come and gone. In my corner of Cape Breton Island the debate was galvanized around one issue: Devco. The fighting was fierce. The NDP held our votes strongly since the last election. What previously was a Liberal stronghold came crashing down around them. Many people lumped the federal Liberals and the provincial Liberals together and the electorate made them pay.
In true political style the Liberals tried to use this association to their advantage, as the prime minister wrote a letter that hinted of a better deal. After this broke, many people I spoke to on the street believed that this possibility would disappear should the Liberals lose.
To further complicate matters, the provincial NDP leader spoke harshly of the letter giving it no credence. Instead of furthering the debate on the issue that angered many. The perception was that he was dashing the small hope we had for political purposes. The woman who received the letter came out publicly on the matter. She felt hurt by the NDP's cynicism and implication that they knew what was best.
My best friend and I were having coffee when she read the article and was also outraged by the NDP's comments. Her whole family is firm in their support of the NDP. Now she didn't know what to do. "Well, as long as the Tories don't win, we're okay." That wasn't the first time I heard that. The entire area was frightened by the possibility of the Progressive Conservatives winning a majority. Their Cape Breton platform was short and sweet: Close the coal mines, close the Steel Plant and clean them up. I didn't really understand why this was. It didn't make sense politically or morally.
We're broke. Dead broke. It's really bad on this island financially. The truth is the old industries may not be pretty but the only other option is mass social assistance and mass social ruin. The common opinion in my community was that if the Tories bashed Cape Breton they would sweep the mainland with an anti-Cape Breton broom. I couldn't believe that either. It all seemed so ugly, but their clear lack of vision for what will certainly be a crisis was incomprehensible. We were so caught up with the NDP vs. Liberal squawkings we didn't see what was happening. And it happened. On election night the Tories won a clear majority with 29 of the 52 seats. We went NDP.
That night I went for a stroll down what my friend Mike calls "Headquarters Avenue", the small stretch of the downtown area that contained the headquarters for the respective candidates. I peeked my head into the NDP camp. I figured in all the victory celebrations I could sneak in for a free sandwich. I saw my best friend there with her husband, but there were no victorious smiles. " We're done," she said. "The Tories are never going to help Cape Breton. We are in serious trouble."
I just grabbed a snack and walked home. The premier-elect was on TV when I got home promising to unite the province. What do promises mean in the modern political discourse of spin doctors and polls? I'm not sure. I suppose only time will tell, but that night I dreamt of the mines open once again and my children being brought up in the same town I have come to know and love. I had a vision of a better future. But I also woke up with a the nagging instinct that a real crisis may only be months away.
July 19, 1999
Next week we go to the polls in another provincial election. As expected, the mines have dominated the debate throughout the ridings that are home to thousands of miners and their families.
There are no clear choices this time around. Archie, a retired miner I've known since my childhood said it was like being the prettiest girl at the dance, watching three idiots fight over the next song.
The Liberals have been laying out hints to us since day one. As the campaign began the Liberal premier mentioned that through his years of friendship with the prime minister in Ottawa he could have some possible leverage if given a mandate.
Immediately this was fuel for the local Liberal candidates. It was echoed in every one of their statements. The NDP and Progressive Conservatives denied the substance of this suggestion and charged the Liberals with preying on desperation for votes.
The men and women of the community were confused. A family in my neighbourhood had a party one night last week and there was a split on the subject. It wasn't along traditional party lines, however. It looks like the importance of this situation is transcending any political practices of time gone by.
On the back porch there were two men arguing about the premier's comments. The older of the two believed the premier to be a man of his word and was impressed with the way he faced the miners the day after the closure was announced. The younger man said the premier was attempting to buy our votes and then leave us high and dry.
I said that it isn't over yet. If there was any truth to the premier's words, we'll hear something before election day. They agreed and changed the subject to the Blue Jays' winning streak and the Expos' losing skid.
Turns out none of us had to wait too long. A few days later the prime minister dropped us a line himself. A letter was sent to a local Devco Activist Group called United Families. The prime minister suggested that the situation be investigated.
He mentioned possibilities in the area of severance and retirement packages. Not much on keeping the mines open, but addressing the sub-plot regarding how we'll survive the aftermath. Not surprisingly, the other two parties were suspicious of the timing and substance of this line from Ottawa.
It's hard to know what to believe anymore. I called the same two men I met on the porch that night. The older man was angry with the opposition's cynicism. He voted NDP last time but wouldn't next week. He told me that we need hope more than anything.
The younger man said he felt like a puppet, with the prime minister pulling the strings all the way to the ballot box. He voted Liberal last time but said he would never again.
Archie dropped by today. I asked him how the current events affected his little metaphor from last week. He laughed at me until I reminded him, and then thought for a split second before saying, "Michael, I hope that whoever wins our hand in the dance will get us home safe and sound. How's that, son?"
Sounds just about right, Archie. I couldn't have put it any better.
July 6, 1999
I sat down a few weeks ago with some friends over tea. There were some rumours that an election might be called and we talked about any impact that it could have on the Devco situation. An older friend of mine whose parents work for Devco said it doesn't affect the coal crisis one bit. The politicians are powerless anyway. Another friend of mine who's unemployed laughed and said that of course it matters. They're trying to buy our votes. They'll sweeten up some kind of package during the election. I said they'd just have to wait and see.
Well, an election was called few weeks ago. I asked the same friends to come over this weekend and give me their impressions so far. What did the leaders say? Who made us an offer we couldn't refuse?
We seemed in agreement on one issue. The Progressive Conservatives have essentially given up on the island. They're in last place provincially and in Cape Breton they have no hope. Their platform for the island is brief: Close up the Coal and Steel industries and clean them up. I suppose Cape Breton's 11 seats in the House of Legislature aren't attractive enough for them to offer any more.
My unemployed teacher friend talked about the Liberals. They seemed a better bet for some deal making. The Liberal premier lived most of his life here. In fact, his seat is the home of many miners and their families. The election is going to be a close battle. And surely they'd do what they had to do in order to get our votes. The premier showed up to face the heat the day after the feds shut us down. He promised that day to pursue any avenues and lobby hard in Ottawa to right this wrong. Months later, and with a tremendously tough election on the horizon, Premier MacLellan said that he would pursue any avenues and lobby hard in Ottawa to right this wrong. Sound familiar? My uncle laughed so hard when he read the paper I thought his guts would fall out.
"Not much changed with that fella," he said.
My younger friend spoke of the NDP. He said for the first time in his life he may not vote for them. I asked why. He said, "They spearheaded the campaign to bring the government down. They own both of our federal seats and some of our provincial seats as well. Surely they'd announce some new plan to win us over. As far as I know they've said nothing new. I feel abandoned. They talk of their support, but no one told me anything new."
Silence on all sides. Very puzzling. The word on the street is much the same. I talk to people and they don't seem to know what's going to happen on election day. To be honest, I'm not sure how this will play out either. But there is one thing I am sure of. These politicians seem to blame each other for what's happening so much that they've lost sight of any possible solution. I don't care any more about how we got here. I only wish these people in Halifax cared about where we're headed.
June 13, 1999
This week marked one of the most important days for the mining communities that scatter the map of industrial Cape Breton. In places like Glace Bay, New Waterford, Sydney Mines and Reserve Mines, schools are out and businesses are quiet. It is June 11th, "Davis Day."
In the early and tumultuous history of Cape Breton coal mining, Bill Davis worked for the coal company. In the 20s, strikes and labor disputes were violent and dangerous. In one horrific altercation, Davis was shot dead by security. Ever since that day, Cape Breton sets aside the 11th day in June for remembrance.
As a child, Davis Day was a time for our people to come together as a community. There were picnics, sunshine and parties. There were many speeches and tears as the public came together to remember Bill Davis. He was remembered not only as a man, but as an example of every miner that gave his life. He was every miner that died young because of coal mining.
This was a time for everyone to be reminded of how important coal mining is to our lives. This year, hundreds gathered at the Miner's Memorial Monument in front of our old Town Hall. This monument is a slab of stone about 10 feet high and engraved upon it is a poetic testimonial to our mining history. At the base of the monument people placed many wreaths.
The big difference this year was obviously the impending closure of our mines. The union boss gave a passionate speech of defiance.
"Never would this be accepted. Never would we lie down to the federal government's abandonment."
He told the crowd about the community's contempt for the bosses of the past and the present. He articulated very clearly that we will prevail. In Bill Davis' memory, and in the memory or our grandfathers and uncles who worked so hard for us, we will prevail.
Afterwards, we hung around and everyone talked. I asked my cousin about the fight ahead, yet he didn't echo the union leader's speech. He talked about the way he would invest his severance pay. His co-worker standing next to him talked about the trade school he's going to attend. This was strange indeed, so I asked around some more.
Other men talked with optimism about a prospective deal from an outside source to buy the mines and operate them with the same salaries at a substantially reduced workforce. Something didn't seem quite right.
I said my goodbyes and headed down to the corner to my friend's coffee shop. I knew that the retired miners, who often gather there, would shed some light on this contradiction: the union refuses to accept the government's disappearance in the coal business; meanwhile, many of the miners are working in preparation for a future after Devco.
Perhaps the miners are leaving any hope that exists for Devco up to the union, while they themselves prepare for the worst. Or maybe there is a serious split between what the union knows and what the miners actually believe. I hope that this does not divide our community or compromise it's future.
I also hope that as we write the next chapter of our rich history, we can at least be on the same page.
June 7, 1999
My small town of 18,000 or so was built from the blood, sweat and tears of mining men. At one time Glace Bay was one of the largest towns in the country . Coal collieries belched smoke over several neighbourhoods and families flourished. Although their numbers are much smaller now, the miners are still significant.
In some form or another, we all know each other. One evening recently, I went to visit a man who I'm told is a friend of a friend of my father's father. The tea was already boiling on the stove and, as is the tradition, we sat at the kitchen table to chat. Malcolm is 45, and although he has worked in the pit since he was 19, he will receive no pension.
After a few jokes and an exchange of pleasantries with his wife, we start talking about the layoffs. I ask him what will eventually happen to each man financially. He says that some will receive pensions, others severance packages. He then tells me in detail of the formula that will decide the fate of the miners.
The formula involves a point system that is a combination of years of service and age. And although Malcolm has worked there for 24 years, he won't be receiving a pension because he is too young. No one under 50 can qualify.
He says that this formula has driven a wedge between the workers who will get the pension and those who won't. Those who will not get a pension will get a severance package worth an amount that is still unclear, but somewhere in the vicinity of $60,000. And that's it. It's confusing to say the least, and this is just one example of why these men are so angry.
We take a walk around his yard, and Malcolm points to a neighbour who also works in the pit. The neighbour has just turned 50, but has several years less service than Malcolm. In this bizarre equation, the neighbour will be receiving a pension, but Malcolm will not. He says there are no hard feelings, but something in his voice tells me bitterness isn't far away. I ask him about this, and he tells me that governments conquer by division. That's just how it's done.
We sit for an hour or so in the warmer than normal spring night and talk. We laugh and realize that we may be related on my mother's side. Yet, beneath everything, is fear. He doesn't know what to do.
There seem to be so many questions. How long can he feed his family on the severance money? At 45, where will he get a job? And he talks about the recent work done to his old home. He has just put on a new patio deck and has replaced all the bedroom windows. He then wonders if he'll lose his home altogether. What will happen to his community if everyone working for Devco has to move away?
Questions, questions. I am just about to thank him for his time when his 12-year-old son comes around the corner with another question: "Dad, can I have some money for the movies?" He replies: "I just don't have any, son." And he turns to me half-smiling: "And I don't know where any is going to come from, either."
Tuesday May 25, 1999
Throughout the days, weeks and months that have followed the Devco announcements, much has been reported about the impact the situation will have on the lives of the miners and their families. They are of course the main players in this tragedy and they serve as the images that galvanize our emotions. The tragedy however, has many players and the script is playing out on a large scale. It reaches deep into the men and women of our community, as deep as the pit the government no longer wants. The crisis highlights our past, it startles our present and questions our future. The future that is questioned here lies in the hearts of our young people. This non-mining element of our community struggles everyday with the unpredictability of our economy. But these young people are very different from the youth in most places. This is because most of them are somewhere else. As the generation that worked beneath the earth now clings to dreams of a meager retirement, the generation in the wings yearns for home. Of the Cape Bretoners aged 18 to 30, over half have moved elsewhere to work. The mistakes that killed our economy didn't just begin that angry day in February when the crown made its decision. No, mismanagement caused lay-off after lay-off, promise after promise. The future leaders of our community started leaving in droves. Because the government put all our collective eggs in the baskets of steel and coal, young people could not get what they wanted at home, little things like a career and a maybe a family. So they left. You can see them in any of your cities. Look who's pumping gas on Yonge Street. It's probably a Cape Bretoner. Next time your waitress gives you the bill at some fast food joint in the Eaton Centre listen closely to the charming lilt in her voice...there's a good chance her dad's a Glace Bay miner.
I didn't believe this story until I myself went to the mainland. After searching for work after graduation and coming up with nothing, I moved to Alberta. The big city was full of several things: money, cowboys, work and Cape Bretoners everywhere I turned.
The restaurant I worked in was managed by a girl from up the road. Two waiters were from my cousin's neighborhood. Upon some reflection, I was disheartened. Cape Breton has only a few hundred thousand people, all tucked away near a distant ocean. How could there be so many of them in this city, thousands of miles away? It was alarming. But the next question I asked myself was even more alarming...with all of these motivated young workers here, how many are left home? This question never left my mind and eventually sent me home. Since then I have been very lucky, but also sacrificial. I've given up any vocational leverage I'd have elsewhere to make a living home. In the past few months I've re-evaluated this in my mind and the truth is that there are many young people living here that are ready to assume leadership when the time comes. Some have moved home from away. Many never left. But I always ask them what the closing will mean to them. And they usually respond in the same way. This closing will kill thousands of jobs. Thousands more will leave as a result and so will millions of dollars from the economy. And they say this in the same breath as the name of the city that they're moving to.
Thursday April 15, 1999
After the barrage of media that circulated around and about the Devco closures the past few months, we became accustomed to daily front page updates of the situation. Every day the local paper had reports of a new union protest, a governmental explanation or a mainland outrage. That's why the recent quiet on the subject seemed to be so odd. I couldn't figure out why all of a sudden this story was shrinking back to page two comments and the infrequent political cartoon.
At first I thought perhaps it was another case of the media storming in for a juicy human interest story and taking off with the body still warm. Then I thought that it was some sort of calm before the storm, a chance for reflection to contemplate the trials ahead. But I believe now that neither of these is entirely true. All I had to do was take a good look at the stories that have taken the Devco spotlight away.
Some of the local news? A possible walkout is threatening to shut down the municipal work force. A strike has shut down a nursing home as the caretakers of our elders ask for decent wages. Even our local Canadian Tire is on the picket line. Yes, in Sydney, Cape Breton, the Canadian Tire outlet is unionized. The management is dying from decreased revenue and the workers fear for their way of life. Some people off the island snicker at Sydney having unionized Canadian Tires. But when you consider that our unemployment rate hovers at 20 per cent officially and 40 per cent in actuality it's not that odd. If you lose your job, regardless of what it is, you're likely to find your next position somewhat different. It'll be in line to collect your welfare cheque.
Now, with this in mind, I no longer see the Devco story as replaced. It's all connected...a thread that is a testament to the social climate here on the island. Regardless of how poor we felt as a community, no one in the community really believed that the economic muscle that Devco flexed would disappear. The fisheries all but vanished and with migration of our young people, so did many jobs such as teaching, nursing and such. But no matter how dismal it all seemed, we had the Devco money to pay the bills. The Federal Government promised us over thirty years ago that, if you'll excuse the paraphrasing, "We got you into this mess, now we'll get you out!" We believed that. Now we are told that Devco is gone.
It is not just the individual miner's plight, which in itself is a heartbreaking story. At first this concern was first and foremost. But now it appears that a chain reaction is occurring in the greater community. People are now risking their present in an attempt to salvage a future. This is now a story unfolding within the practical realm of fiscal reality. The stories may be of personal care workers or town plumbers on the surface, but it could be that the true source of their conflict is concern over Devco and the impact it will have.
It may not be an excerpt from The Wealth of Nations, but you don't have to be Adam Smith to figure this one out. Devco is the engine that fuels our economy. With this gone people are frightened. They look at their own jobs and wonder, "Am I safe?", "Can I afford this unfair contract any longer?" The cashier at Canadian Tire knows what the Devco disappearance will do to her community. Now, she must fight tooth and nail to make sure she can bear the burden. The headlines might not include the word Devco...but they don't have to. It's everywhere between the lines.
Since we heard the company would be closing, the remaining one of the two mines is essentially closed due to a rock fall. Originally the plan was to close it in two years. With the passing hours it looks more and more like any day. I wonder what headlines await us then.
Sunday March 21, 1999
In the weeks that have come and gone since the Devco announcement, Cape Breton Island has gone through a number of emotions. We were stunned in disbelief, charged with anger, disabled by fear and unsure who could be trusted or where to turn. I suppose in most cases a self-help guru would now explain to us that the next destination on Crisis Avenue would be acceptance. This probably explains why there are very few successful self-help gurus in Cape Breton. The climate here is anything but accepting. You see, it's not in our blood.
In the early part of the century the government turned a blind eye to the corruption of its corporate comrades in steel and coal. In an effort to increase profits the wages were slashed. Working conditions were dismal. When the people discussed or simply suggested a strike the company threatened blacklisting and firings. The men and their families were told that if they didn't like it they could starve. It was that simple. It wasn't long before the people stood up and fought. The army was brought in to intimidate and control us. The people fought so hard and valiantly that troops had to walk the streets of Glace Bay and Sydney to keep peace.
I share this snapshot of history with you because it is an important element in trying to understand the way we are as a people. We have all seen the pictures of armed men at the pithead. This history lesson is engrained into the minds and hearts of every Cape Bretoner at a young age. It is an integral part of our cultural symbolism. Courage in times of strife... unity in the face of adversity.
These qualities dictate the social climate of our island today. In many places the people would accept the federal government abandonment and move on. But not here. We are a living tribute to our history. The people are screaming out loud until those in the positions of power start listening.
In the past month there have been two major rallies. One drew over 3,000 people together in an afternoon of speeches, songs, prayers and testimonials. It was a manifestation of a will that grows stronger every day. The participants were miners' families, steel workers, teachers, nurses, doctors, ministers and gas attendants. The speakers and presenters were young and old, men and women. And perhaps it was the all-inclusive nature of the gathering that struck me the most. The bond that has seen us through the greatest trials in our history has been the strength of our community.
One fine example is in the small mining town of New Waterford, where a group of miners' wives is speaking out. Only a month ago they were a handful of women sitting around a kitchen table. Today this group called United Families is receiving letters from senators and demanding a meeting with the prime minister of Canada.
These women would not sit back and allow the decisions of the government to go on without a fight. They are a perfect example of the defiance that flows through the veins of this town. Generations ago their grandfathers shed blood to preserve a life they worked too hard to give up. This modern struggle has replaced physical confrontation with E-mails. Instead of using muscle they use the media. The community is united. Many may just cast these working class women aside as powerless and unimportant. After all, what can they really do?
My only response is a more contemporary memory. I once saw a news broadcast that told of a mother who lifted the front end of a truck single-handedly when her son was caught underneath the wheels. The human soul possesses a mysterious resource of power when the lives of our loved ones are at risk.
There is an old man in town who I often chat with over coffee before I go to work. I buy him a coffee and he shares stories and memories with me that you can't appreciate unless you hear them first-hand. When I asked him what he thought of the local movements, he had an interesting response. Old Ed told me that there is a feeling in the air that he only remembers feeling once before, a long time ago.
He told me that it's a sensation in the pit of his stomach that he remembers vividly. It was on the streets in his childhood, the day the army rolled into town.
Thurs March 4, 1999
Pressure. According to the dictionary laying on my bedside it is defined as a force that bears upon...that which weighs heavily. I look it up tonight because that is the word that is playing on my mind recently. It seems to be the theme of my community. Pressure.
I live in Glace Bay, Cape Breton. A town that for generations has lived and died on the fortunes of our coal industry. Thousands of workers and their thousands of dollars greased the wheels of our economy. After generations of sacrifice deep under the earth and fathoms beneath the ocean, the government tells our community that coal is dead.
In January, the death notice was ordered. Our two surviving coal mines were to be kept alive no longer. Prince mine would be privatized in 24 months. The other, Phalen mine, would be shut down outright. Thousands out of work. An economy that seemed perpetually on it's knees would be given a knock-out punch. And besides the obvious pain, there seems to me to be a crueller punishment in store for the men, women and children of our community. There is a more subtle yet deeper pain in store. It is the wait. The two years of questioning, of worrying and of fear. The psychological pressure.
The pressure is everywhere. I hear it in the voice of my friend who runs a little coffee shop on Main Street. Two years for him to figure out the easiest way to declare bankruptcy. I see it in the college student's face when she realizes that her generation will be the first generation that will leave Cape Breton and never come back. And I can taste it when I enter my neighbour's home in the weeks since the announcement. It's palpable. He's 45-years-old and has worked in the pit for 27 years. He is married with two children, one about to enter university. He doesn't qualify for any package. No pension for him. What his family has to look forward to is two years of wondering what they'll do with their home. He and his wife have the next two years to figure out how they will feed and educate their children. This man has two long years to think about how a 45-year-old man will compete in the modern workplace with the sons and daughters of his former co-workers. Two years of pressure. Remember Willy Loman in the Death of a Salesman? Imagine a community with a few hundred Loman families trying to deal with such worries and then maybe you can get the picture. You could then feel the pressure that weighs on our community.
Yesterday there came a new pressure: a roof fall occurred in one of these mines. In the last twenty-four hours the pressure of the Atlantic ocean is bursting the seams of the Phalen Mine. If it ruptures... then two years down the road becomes TODAY. Welcome to the last act in our version of Arthur Miller's modern classic. Maybe that play is more modern than anyone ever thought.
Letters in response:
I wish to thank Michael MacPhee for his ingenious effort to create awareness about Cape Breton. The present battle between coalminers and the federal government is but another chapter in the Island's ongoing economic and social struggles that have spanned the course of a century- a glance at David Frank's award-winning biography of J.B. McLauchlin will tell you that.
With one of the highest unemployment rates in Canada and more lays-off pending, it is clear that Cape Breton's future will rely heavily on the collective efforts of people, like Michael, who are willing put aside their own individual needs for the good of others. Before I moved last August to further my education Cape Breton was my only home and I fully intend to return. I hold no romantic images of Cape Breton Island despite my desire to go back. I do not long for its mythical landscape nor do I miss the ravaging of Cape Breton's Gaelic community while other cultures are ignored. During my university years I moved countless times in a futile attempt to escape the alcoholism and drug addiction, the suicides, and in my own rural community of French Road- the shootings. Poverty and depression has extracted a heavy price from those of us who were and still are caught in its grip. These problems are not peculiar to Cape Breton but they do stand as a testament to the people whose lives it has scarred.
Long-term change requires that we must first make common cause with our neighbours- it has worked in the past and it can work again. Despite hurtful criticisms and the condemnation of the Canadian and Cape Breton middle-classes we must have the confidence in ourselves to know that Cape Breton's coalmining families deserve to be treated fairly and with dignity. Now is the time to reach out to other social groups across the country for the struggle for social justice affects us all. And it has become painfully clear that we should be more critically aware of our choice of political representatives. Instead of electing individual candidates with promises of political favours we need to seek a political party that thinks globally but acts locally- one that is committed to social needs of the people it represents rather than the almighty dollar.
Donelda Mac Donald
St. John's, NF
I just wanted to say thanks for the snapshots on life at home. I know Michael, my brother and his brother went to school, and he was a year ahead of myself in school.
I have to say I get more of a feel from Mike's diary entries than from any news broadcast. I am an ex-patriate Cape Bretoner, from Glace Bay, lived home as long as I could til university took me away to Ontario, now I'm back in the Maritimes (New Brunswick) and after seeing the Island from the outside, it's very refreshing to hear from someone actually living there.
When CBC and other newscasters go to the Island, they don't present the feel of the island, of Glace Bay/Sydney area particularly. Anytime I saw newscasts from outsiders, it'd be like mainlanders or Upper Canadians (as I call Ontarians) looking down at us, tsk tsking. We deserve dignity, that's all Capers want.
Michael's entries bring that out to life.
I hope the diary continues for a long time to come. Thanks Michael.
Derek Lawrence
formerly of Grove Street, Glace Bay
currently Woodstock, NB
It has been known for many years that coal mining, and for that matter steelmaking, based on massive public subsidies, could not last forever. Let's face it, Cape Breton coal is deep underground, plagued with bad geology, and therefore very expensive to get out of the ground. The handwriting has been on the wall for a long time; it's going to close.
There seems to be something missing from the picture in all of the coverage of this story. Has anyone thought to ask these miners; why haven't you upgraded your education to get some kind of a job with a future?
I know what I'm talking about; I've done it. I was in a dead end job making considerably less than a miner's wage, raising a family of four; my wife never could work due to environmental illness. We saved, paid off the house, and invested. A year and a half ago I quit my job and paid $15,000 to go back to school full-time, living off our house equity. I am now a network support analyst with a large corporation, and my job has a future. The good jobs are out there, you just have to get yourself qualified to land them.
So, please don't feed me this line about preserving a way of life, or ask who would hire someone in their forties just out of school? I did it at the age of forty-nine. No one helped me. I got no public money or handouts to get us through the lean times. Sure, I could complain, but I would rather look to the future than to the past.
Charles Carey, Halifax
"They can't stand the gaff" was the sneering dismissal of striking Cape Bretoners by Boss McClurg in the 20s. Personally, I can't stand the sincere guff offered by Michael McPhee in the 90s: And I fault CBC for mindlessly and uncritically giving such prominent distribution to what amounts to the "helpless downtrodden victim" philosophy, which makes a virtue out of panhandling dependence on the genosity of the Canadian taxpayer.
Devco was created as a "cooperative" in response to the 1967 announcement by the English owners that they were abandoning the coal industry as a hopeless loser. Its mandate was to manage a "humane" shutdown to soften the blow to individuals and communities. Thanks mainly to then-Deputy Prime Minister Allan MacEachen (and OPEC for a huge increase in the price of oil), Devco survived and opened new coal mines and attempted also to attract new enterprises.
However, Cape Bretoners in general, and coal miners in particular, wouldn't or couldn't shake the we-they adverserial attitude which was a holdover from the days of the absentee English owners of the coal mines and steel plant. Devco became the hateful, exploitive "they." In the case of the miners and their communities, they were encouraged in that `victim' mindset by a venal and corrupt District 26, UMW leadership and its vassals, which was a self-serving tool of the corrupt and murderous United Mine Workers of America under President Tony Boyle, who ended his days in prison. The general community was misled and kept ignorant by the media in Sydney and Halifax, in league with those political and business `leader' who profited from the historical status quo.
We are now hearing revionist "cooperative" and "community control" nonsense from those who demonized Devco, a cooperatice which had a financial pipeline into the federal coffers.
Will Cape Bretoners ever understand that it is "we" who blundered so badly after "they" were long gone? In my opinion, not so long as the CBC and others encourage the "victims" to perpetuate the myth of the slaughter of innocents.
Sandy Campbell
Ottawa
I have been reading Michael McPhee's Cape Breton Diary and it sounds so hauntingly familiar. I grew up in southern West Virginia on the Kentucky border and the situation there is and has been the same as in Cape Breton. This is an area that owes its livelihood to "King Coal."
For generations, miners in that area have toiled under hardship and great danger--- much like in Cape Breton--- to fuel the industries that have made our countries what they are today. Their lives and those of their families have been controlled for generations on the whim of the coal companies in their communities. Many of the mines have been owned by out-of-state interests.
As the mines have closed, it has had a detrimental effect on the community and the surrounding area. Many people have left to find work in other cities and towns. My high school now only has as many total students as used to be in the school band. Other once-thriving communities are virtual ghost towns. I can only hope the same does not happen to Glace Bay.
Diana L. Epling
Lexington, Kentucky
I am writing this letter after having read the diaries of Michael McPhee from Glace Bay. I too was born and raised in Glace Bay, but now I, as do many other Cape Bretoner's, live in Ontario. I moved to Ontario when I was about 15 years old, for the reason that most people my age do, my Dad needed to find work. He had spent 15-20 years at Sydney Steel.
I have to tell you that after reading the Diary my mind went back to the days of when I was about, oh 13, and I spent my days hanging around after school with my friends at Mckay's Corner. I believe it was there that I met Michael.
I have nothing but fond memories of my childhood in Glace Bay and continue to miss my "home" everyday. I have been home to visit every year to see friends and family. However, over the years there have been fewer and fewer friends to visit, most having left either to find work or go to University. So on my last visit I spent more time visiting family, which I guess once your a little older you appreciate more.
It was this visit that my husband and I spent some time talking with my uncle from Dominion who is a miner. My aunt tells me that she can't listen to his work experiences because they make her worry. I have to admit that it only took one story for me to understand why she felt that way. I think they work harder than we realize and risk their lives more than we might like to know. Needless to say my heart goes out to miners and their families.
My husband and I love to hear the stories my grandparents have to tell and I guess that is one of the reasons I enjoyed reading the diary. Its also nice to know that one of my peers has taken such an interest in such a wonderful subject, MY HOME! Thank you Michael for the trip down memory lane.
Thank you to the CBC as well for the wonderful work you do in providing such articles as these. I remember the days at my grandparents summer cottage in Englishtown, listening to the different programs. Listening to them brings back good memories.
- Lee-Anne B. (was MacAulay)
Kitchener, Ontario
Hello. I am writing in regards to Mike McPhee's The Devco Diaries, which is an article written by a Glace Bay, NS resident for your web page. I read the article and was extremely impressed with Mr. McPhee's views and his writing style. I can also relate to everything which was mentioned in his diary as I am also a native of Glace Bay who has had to move away in order to move on in life. I hope you continue to run this article and I commend Mike McPhee on his first edition.
Sincerely
Wayne McKay
St. John's, NF
I am one of the many miners affected by the downsizing and closure of Devco. I'm 45 and 20 years service. I have also noticed that the headlines of Devco have been pushed to page 20 of the local newspaper. There is a reason for that , the newspaper is solely behind the government and doesn't want to step on any toes. I sent a letter to the editor and it hasn't been published, but that's O.K. I will find other ways to get my point across.
What I would like to state here and now to the government that if they expect the island of Cape Breton to be an old age island they better think again. The government is in for a summer of discontent! With the strikes, tensions, and feeling of abandonment is only adding fuel to the fire . The people of Cape Breton have been always known for their friendliness, but now we are being pushed to the limit. People here want to work and feel needed, not just thrown some crumbs while others get rich off of our resourses... coal, gas, oil, etc. I for one have not stop fighting for my right to work and make a living for me and my family. My family deserves the best I can offer them and that is the feeling of the people of Cape Breton.
So I suggest that the government of Canada better sit down with the people who matter, the working people and work out a solution for all the people of Cape Breton and not just a few of their "political friends" before the tide turns against them, the people are on the edge of the sword and it won't take much to turn the sword into an instrument of discontent!
Jim Noble
Sydney Mines, NSSomething to add? E-mail us with your perspective.
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