I worked in the House of Commons for 27 years, about ten for a political party and the final 17 as an editor in Committee Reporting Services (CRS). I found the House to be an increasingly bizarre place.
One meets people who seem comfortable with it. It is only natural that, after a certain period of exposure to an environment, the mind becomes persuaded that it comprehends the fundamentals of a system and can function therein. As I never cared about adapting to the prevailing mores or getting ahead, I was not at all interested in acquiring “ins” with “useful” people or figuring out how I could get others to work for me, as extensions of my will.
My purpose in leaving my home province of Alberta, newly graduated from university, to go to work in the House was to promote institutional change in society, mainly in the money-distribution system, that would enable people to be free of the “get inside, get ahead” mentality that permits the few to control the many.
I was a Christian, and this freeing of the individual I thought to be a fundamental purpose of Christ’s having lived among men. I was ambivalent about many things taught by men about Jesus, but to my mind one would not go wrong by promoting policies expanding the scope of personal choice and personal responsibility….
Occultism, defined merely as “secrecy, disclosure or communication only to the initiated”, is endemic in the House of Commons. If its denizens want people outside to feel as if they are participants in the action, this is only because it delivers a political advantage.
However, I witnessed, as a target, another form of occultism in the institution. This came about apparently as a result of my pushing back against what could only be interpreted as corrupt practices in the House.
Administrative practices there often seemed laughable–though not necessary in a funny sense. It is impossible for me to believe the amateurishness and abusiveness … was not surveyed by some more expert, but occult, management, for otherwise the institution surely would simply have come apart.
Early in the 1980s, a French-Canadian medical doctor was brought in to respond to staff concerns that working long days on cathode ray computer terminals might be exposing them to dangerous levels of radiation. At a staff meeting, he said he couldn’t comprehend how it was that an institution whose function was the creation of law, [ignored the welfare of] its own personnel. This was the view arrived at by a professional from the outside. Where I and my editor colleagues were concerned, his pronouncement proved to be prescient.
Incidents of threatening or intimidating words and actions [by] managers occurred intermittently in our area. They seemed out of place when applied to the CRS editors, who generally had a strong professional ethic.
One remarkable fact was that managers apparently had a policy of avoiding putting communications in written form…
Because relations with management in our office had gravely deteriorated, … I had applied for a position as a manager of CRS editors. As it was obvious to everybody that management in the House was controlled by an essentially closed clique, I never seriously expected to get the job, but what actually transpired I could never have anticipated.
Near the end of the interview stage of the competition process, the Director of Human Resources told me to my face that she was not accepting my academic credentials, consisting of a B.A., an M.A and one year toward an LL.B. Bear in mind that I was already a long-term employee and my academic qualifications had not been challenged (at least not openly) previously.
It was quite a revelation to discover that this is what goes on behind closed doors—that is, occultly—in the House of Commons in order to ensure that the “right” person gets the position and the “wrong” person does not.
Thereafter I did what I could to redress this effective cancellation of my six years of university education by what was supposed to be my government. Previous experience made it clear that appeal to the Speaker would go nowhere, because the shameless gobbledegook-writing Clerk controlled access to him.
My efforts were all futile. None of the recourse that staff were supposed to have actually worked. They were, in effect, institutional gobbledegook.
As you can imagine, my frustration did not abate. Every night when I retired my plight was on my mind: if the House of Commons could arbitrarily deny the existence of my degrees, then where could I make effective my claim to possess them? I was in a Kafkaesque trap, unable to sleep for more than a few hours at night, lying awake with the incredibility of the words of the Director of Human Resources revolving in my mind. The total non-responsiveness of the institution to arguments involving rationality and fairness was grinding, grinding me down. Over two decades later, the sick, sadistic process continues.
Then the occultism of the House assumed a new and more ominous form. My closest colleague in the office, a good friend with whom I often socialized, began to press me to read certain articles and books. One was Voltaire’s demoralizing Candide, which I had read in my youth.
A former high official of the House, purportedly commiserating with me, informed me, with incongruous levity, that the administration had “ridden” two other House employees so mercilessly that they had committed suicide. (I have no information to confirm the truthfulness of this allegation.)
Another person in the office spontaneously passed me The Satanic Dictionary by Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey. Then my close colleague loaned me another book, stating that its content reminded him of my family and that I should be sure to read the first chapter, a short story by J.D Salinger entitled “A Perfect Day for Bananafish”. The last line described the protagonist suddenly, with no foreshadowing of the event, blowing his brains out with a pistol.
I felt myself to be enmeshed in a world of supernatural evil. Black waves swept over me, impelling me to self-destruction. As a Christian I could not reconcile these never-before-experienced impulses with the faith that defined the purpose of my existence.
Human faces on different occasions transformed before me into reptilian and diabolical forms, reminiscent of the painting of Hieronymous Bosch. By then, I had been defending myself against the occultism in the House of Commons for nearly a decade. It seemed as if the prolonged, unrelenting stress had finally broken my mind.
However, I am still not certain that stress alone precipitated my breakdown. For what cannot be done with drugs nowadays? The woman who pressed The Satanic Dictionary on me, who once went quite berserk with hostility toward me, had also offered me chocolates that I had eaten. For an idea of what can be done with drugs and sleep-deprivation, etc., research the mind-wiping and -manipulation tortures conducted by Dr. Ewan Cameron at McGill University for the CIA.
I also wonder what deception or threat was used against my friend to enlist his cooperation in this campaign against me. Knowing him to be a robust and principled personality, it must have been either very clever or very fearsome. I recall that he once volunteered that he had learned that the income tax department can force you to produce proof of your declarations going back some ridiculous time, something like fifteen years.
Whatever it was, I can only sympathize with him, for we are all now susceptible to persecution by powers that can with impunity disregard all decencies, customs and laws. (For example, think “Somalia Inquiry” and “Richard Colvin”.)
The arbitrary denial of my academic credentials was a loathsome attack that no fair-minded person could find acceptable. As I was a husband and father, it was also (and remains) an attack on my family–my wife and children.
I was ultimately forced to “escape” my job—only because of my reasonable attempts to defend myself against gross incompetence, then a vicious, stupid lie, and finally, apparently, an occult attack on my very life. The strain such an experience places on a marriage is deadly, and mine did not survive.
Destruction of their family is a common price that many men, and undoubtedly too some women, have paid for electing to oppose institutional corruption and tyranny. The House of Commons operates in such a way that an employee with a sense of responsibility to his society cannot just perform a job and care for his family…
What kind of minds enjoy winning a contest starting from a position of overwhelming advantage? Apparently, the minds of the occultists controlling Parliament, who don’t give a chance to anyone who resists their arbitrary actions—ones as abusive as denying the existence of university degrees.
To this day, the House of Commons still refuses to withdraw its official’s denial of the existence of my degrees and thereby perpetuates the pitiless grinding of my life. Thus robbed of much of my significant past, I face a future of unending preoccupation with efforts to resist the demands of a government that hypocritically insists that I must deal openly and honestly with it, while it refuses to retract the blatant, damaging lie it interposed in my life over twenty years ago.
When I left the House, the administrators’ final gesture was an attempt to rob me of ten years of pensionable service, undoubtedly as a reminder of WHO THEY ARE. Grind, grind, grind–without check or hindrance, no matter how scandalous or inane the abuse is.
Anybody who thinks the devil does not exist has not had to contend with the unfathomable administration of the House of Commons.