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When It's All Too Much

The Walrus

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September/October 2025

What photography teaches me about surviving the news cycle

- WORDS AND PICTURES BY PAT KANE

When It's All Too Much

I GREW UP FIGHTING BULLIES in the shadow of a steel plant in a Northern Ontario border town. That sounds dramatic. What I'm saying is that I grew up in a rough neighbourhood, where there was a lot of prepubescent schoolyard bullying. Nobody came out of it unscathed, physically or emotionally. We learned hard lessons but acquired some intangible skills from those strange formative years: how to trash-talk, when to fight back and when not to, how to make allies and lasting friendships, and how to win the respect of someone who promises to “pull your arms through your butthole at recess.”

One of those golden schoolyard rules: if a bully ever threatens you, never show up at his house uninvited while he's playing Nintendo with his friends and ask, “Can we be besties?”

Instant laughter. Automatic mockery. Cue the atomic wedgie.

You can imagine my horror (and waves of repressed memories) when, last November, I saw a photo of then prime minister Justin Trudeau sitting around a table with then US president-elect Donald Trump at Mara-Lago.

“He’s done for,” I thought. “It’s wedgie time.”

imageSince then, the American president’s barrage of disrespect has famously escalated to real threats to our sovereignty. He's also threatened to take Greenland by force, if necessary, and he is no doubt interested in Canada's minerals, many of which are in the North, where I live. I don't blame Trudeau for any of that, but using my keen bully radar, I can say that he didn't exactly help. His fatal error in dealing with Trump was hitting the panic button.

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Even Pigeons Are Beautiful

I CAN TRACE MY personal descent into what science journalist Ed Yong calls “birder derangement syndrome” back to when I started referring to myself as a “sewage lagoon aficionado.

time to read

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MY GUILTY PLEASURE

BLAME IT ON my love of language, and blame that on my dad—the “it” being my unhealthy need for the stories of P. G. Wodehouse. The witty, wonderful, meandering, wisecracking tales of Jeeves and Bertie; Empress of Blandings (a prize pig) and her superbly oblivious champion, the ninth Earl; Mr. Mulliner; and the rest. Jeeves, the erudite, infallible, not to mention outrageously loyal valet to Bertram Wooster, the quite undeserving but curiously endearing man about town, is likely the most famous of these characters. But they’re all terrific, I assure you.

time to read

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When It's All Too Much

What photography teaches me about surviving the news cycle

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Annexation, Eh

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My GUILTY PLEASURE

THERE IS NO PLEASURE quite like a piece of gossip blowing in on the wind.

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