by David Suzuki
Toward the end of our meeting, which lengthened into an hour, he suddenly asked Tara and me what we thought about Muslims. The question came out of left field, and both of us sputtered that we hadn't really thought about them. “I think they are a very important group that we have to reach out to,” he answered, adding that immediately after we left, he was meeting some Muslim leaders. History has revealed how prescient he was.
Queen Elizabeth visiting the CBC in Toronto
I did meet him twice more. Once, when Bob Rae was the New Democrat premier of Ontario, I was invited to a noon luncheon with the prince and a group of leaders from the ethnic community. The prince was very informal and suggested we make it a working lunch and chat while we ate. He opened the discussion by asking what we each felt were priorities for Canada. A banker originally from the Caribbean got up and talked about racism; the first day he had gone to work at the bank, a guard had mistaken him for the janitor. A Chinese Canadian recounted her experiences of discrimination during her time in Canada, and a European Jew voiced her concerns about religious problems.
As the luncheon went on, I realized I must have been invited as representing another visible minority. I finally raised my hand and said that as a Japanese Canadian, I knew about the reality of discrimination, but I felt there were other priorities for all people that were worth mentioning. “I've been involved with environmental issues for a while, but today I feel as if we're all in a giant car,” I said, making up my metaphor on the spot, “heading at a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour, and everyone in the car is arguing about where they want to sit. But it doesn't matter who is sitting in the driver's seat, someone has to shout, ‘Turn the wheel and put on the brakes!' ”
It got a laugh from a few people, including the prince, as we realized that we had focused on our immediate and personal issues but that there are also matters that envelop all of us. I have since used the metaphor many times, elaborating on it by adding that “those of us who are calling out to turn the wheel and put on the brakes are locked in the trunk so no one can hear.”
I met Prince Charles once more in Ottawa when a lot of important Canadian people were called to have a buffet lunch with the Prince and Princess of Wales. I don't like these events, because I always feel awkward and find it difficult to engage in chitchat while gawking and being gawked at. I admire the way Prince Charles circulates apparently effortlessly, because I cannot imagine doing it day after day, year after year. When he was brought to my part of the room, he gave the impression in the way he greeted me that he recognized me. We had chatted for a minute or so when Diana sidled up (I was surprised at how tall she was) and said in a rather loud whisper, “How much longer?” She was clearly bored and couldn't wait to get out of there. I didn't hear his answer as I quickly ducked out of the way.
While I'm on the subject of royalty, I have to say that although I'm not a monarchist, I think it's great to have a governor general representing the Crown (and lieutenant-governors in the provinces) to kiss babies, give out awards, cut ribbons, and otherwise perform an important role with the public. It gives our prime minister and premiers a welcome reprieve from these activities so that they can concentrate on the business of governing. The United States suffers because presidents have to perform both functions.
When the former CBC journalist Adrienne Clarkson was considering accepting the position of governor general, I ran into her partner, the Canadian writer-philosopher John Ralston Saul, and told him I thought he would be prevented from taking part in the important discussions he writes about. He assured me he had no intention of being muzzled, but I was skeptical. But just as he had said, once Adrienne was installed, he continued to speak out and write as he always had. My admiration for both of them increased as they added glamor to their roles and brought together Canadians to think about key matters. I was disgusted by petty criticism over the tax money spent as they went about their job, which I think they did well.
More than twenty years ago, Tara attended a function in Ottawa that featured Prince Philip, father of Prince Charles. She was chatting in a big meeting hall with Noreen Rudd, an expert in human genetics, when Prince Philip hove into view and asked what they did. When Noreen answered that she was a human geneticist interested in the effects of environmental factors on fetal development, the prince riposted, “My mother bumped into a record player when she was pregnant with me but it didn't do any harm, do any harm, do any harm.”
THE DALAI LAMA IS another man who deserves his celebrity status. In 2002 I received a letter from a leading Tibetan Buddhist from Dharamsala in northern India, the Dalai Lama's home in exile, asking me to talk about the environment to a select group of Tibetan monks living in India, in a program organized annually by their leader. I was flattered to receive the invitation, but I turned it down because it was for January, when I knew air pollution would be at its worst; I didn't want to risk further harming my lungs, which had been seriously weakened when I was in India filming the story on dams.
However, when my daughters learned I had declined the invitation, they were incredulous. “How can you turn down an invitation from the Dalai Lama?” they demanded. “It wasn't the Dalai Lama. It was someone high up among his monks,” I protested. Nevertheless, they begged me to reconsider because they wanted to meet the Dalai Lama. I knew he had an enormous following, including high-profile celebrities like the actors Richard Gere and Goldie Hawn, but I did not consider the Hollywood glitz and faddishness reasons to want to meet him. However, I loved the idea that the family might travel together and share time in India, so I wrote back and asked whether I could be reconsidered.
Fortunately, I was reinstated in the program and, in fact, a half-hour private session was arranged with His Holiness in New Delhi, the Indian capital. The girls were thrilled. We flew to Delhi several days before we were scheduled to meet him. On the way to our hotel from the airport, the cab stopped at a traffic light and we were besieged by children begging. One small girl came up to my window pointing to her empty sleeve—she had only one arm and held her one palm up. I pulled out my wallet and gave her a few rupees as she scampered away and the car moved on. At the next light, more children surrounded us, and one came over to my window, pointing out his empty sleeve. That's when I realized these children could find easy targets like me by hiding one arm inside their shirts. I was tickled by their ingenuity.
A meeting with the Dalai Lama was arranged in a grand hotel at 9:30 in the morning. We knew what a privilege it was. People often tried for years to get up close to him, and here we were being granted a half hour with only us. We arrived early, in a state of excitement, and were ushered into an area where we were told to wait. People were everywhere—guards, confidants, supplicants—but they were kept away from our waiting area. Many minutes passed, and we realized our scheduled time had come and gone. I began to wonder whether we would be told, “Sorry, but he has run out of time for you.”
Finally, forty-five minutes late, we were told to go down the hall to meet him. As we walked along the dimly lit corridor, the Dalai Lama himself suddenly popped out of a doorway, looked down the hall, and giggled, “I know you! I watch you on the Discovery Channel!” His is a world-recognized face, and he was acting as if I were the famous one.
We sat with him, and he talked warmly with almost a childlike openness and innocence. I had read a book about his early life and knew the ordeal of exile from his people. Yet here he was, so full of humor and mischief. We told him about our environmental interests and concerns, and he agreed with the thrust of our comments. We talked about how it seemed that money had become more important to people than other things. He reached over, took Tara's hand, and said, “Dogs and cats can do this,” as he pretended to lick and nuzzle her hand. “But money can't do that.” He was such a playful man, and his words were so direct and moving that at one point Severn began to weep. His Holiness didn't bat an eye or turn away embarrassed. He took Sev's hands into his, looked her straight in the eye, and kept
on talking to her.
When he turned to environmental issues, we asked what he thought could be done. “Education,” he said, “has to be the answer.” I was a bit mischievous myself as I parried, “But we have an American president who graduated from Yale, one of the best universities in the U.S.” “That's not the kind of education I'm talking about,” he replied, and I felt silly for having been a smart-ass.
I knew he was getting all kinds of signals from his handlers that he was running late, but he never gave any indication he was under pressure or in a hurry, and he spent three-quarters of an hour with us. Finally, he stood to indicate our time was up. We had been instructed to give him white scarves, which we did, and he in turn placed them around each of our necks. He called over one of his people and urged him to take pictures with our cameras as he seized our arms and grinned away. “Take another one,” he kept saying so that we would be sure to get one good picture. He was incredibly generous with his time and left us with an indelible souvenir of our meeting.
The family meeting the Dalai Lama in New Delhi
The Dalai Lama apparently has long had an interest in science and believes his monks should not focus just on matters spiritual. For a number of years, he has invited scientists to speak to a group of monks selected from across India. Thus, in January 2003, I was one of four scientists volunteering our time to teach those monks. One lecturer was a nuclear physicist from Georgia Tech in Atlanta, another a chemist from Long Island, and a third an evolutionary biologist from Harvard, while I was there to speak about genetics as well as the environment.
In January in the foothills of the Himalayas, it is quite crisp at night. We were put up in a hotel with stone walls and tile floors, which were unbelievably cold. There was no hot water in our room. At best we might get enough lukewarm water to just cover the bottom of the tub, so bathing was a pretty quick activity. In the morning, we would walk for a mile or so across fields to a village for orphaned Tibetan children, where the monks were staying. Actually, many were not truly orphans but had been sent out of Tibet by parents who remained in the Chinese-held nation.
Each day I wore long johns, a thick sweater, a fleece jacket, and a down coat to teach in the unheated classroom. With all my layers of clothing, I looked like the Michelin Man, while the monks sat cross-legged with bare arms and shoulders. I gave two lectures a day, each lecture two hours long with a half-hour break between them. Any university professor in Canada would be delighted with students like those monks—they were attentive, asked insightful questions, and had a wonderful sense of humor. The translators were fabulous. We had two young men who took turns translating and would transform a simple statement into a drama, full of gestures, body movements, and exclamations. I might make a two-sentence statement, after which the translator would go on for what seemed minutes, amplifying the statement and perhaps even adding his own two cents' worth. If I made a joke, about half of the students would immediately laugh, as they clearly understood English; then there would be a delayed laugh from the ones who understood only the translation.
I began my part of the course with material from my book The Sacred Balance, showing that we are not separate from the air, water, soil, and sun. I talked about how air was once referred to as spirit, which is the basis for the words inspire and expire; how we are all embedded in this matrix of air that links all life together and throughout time. It was so clear this resonated powerfully with the monks' spiritual teachings.
Severn and Sarika were invited to give a talk to the children who lived in the village. Like the monks, the children were tremendously attentive and responsive to the discussion about the environment and what youngsters can do. So despite being a reluctant participant, I ended up feeling grateful for having met His Holiness and for the opportunity to teach those monks and the children.
I SUPPOSE IF PUBLIC attention is a criterion, I am a celebrity in Canada. I never sought or desired celebrity, but television provides a kind of intimacy that movies do not. Someone can watch a show while going to the bathroom, lounging in front of a fireplace, or stretching out in bed. So when people run into me, they often greet me as a familiar friend. I can't help being startled each time someone addresses me, though almost always it is to say something very kind. I must admit, I am not able to respond generously because greetings are still a surprise and intrusion, and my teenage reticence to engage in conversation returns.
Back in the '70s, there was a lot of resentment of my viewpoint, especially from businessmen, and they openly expressed their disagreement. Even today, there are those who dislike my stands. I opposed the current U.S. administration's invasion of Iraq and applauded Prime Minister Jean Chrétien's decision that Canada would await the un search for weapons of mass destruction. A few weeks after President Bush ordered troops into Iraq, I flew to Edmonton, Alberta. After we landed and I stood up to deplane, a man behind me recognized me, leaned over with a smile, and said, “I guess you are rooting for your friend Saddam” (Hussein, toppled president of Iraq and at the time being hunted by the Americans). I was speechless, but before I could even stutter a clever retort like “f--k you,” the woman standing next to him berated him loudly and he slunk away. Good to have friends nearby.
Another time, I was working out at the YMCA in Winnipeg. I was exercising on a cross-trainer, one of the few machines I can tolerate with my knees gimpy from years of jogging, when the young man next to me said, “You're Suzuki, aren't you?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “but here I'm just an old man trying to stay healthy.” I thought he might chuckle, but instead he retorted, “You know, you've got a lot of nerve spouting the crap you do. You should be pulled off the air. CBC is a waste of taxpayers' money.” Well, this time I didn't lose my wit and told him where he could shove his ideas, expecting him to lash out at me. Instead, he meekly dismounted his machine and left. It's funny, but even though 95 percent of all people who call out to me are friendly and generous, it's the ones who disagree so obnoxiously who stick in my memory.
With the Canadian singer Bruce Cockburn
When the CBC began to tout its search for “the greatest Canadian” for a television series of that name in 2004, I was interviewed on radio and asked what I thought about the idea. I scoffed at the notion that it meant anything. Greatest what? Greatest crook, moneymaker, athlete, looker, writer? Besides, how can we select one person out of millions who are Canadians and conclude that one individual is the greatest. My mother, for example, never made the newspapers or a television report, but she finished high school, worked hard all her life, brought forth four children, and raised them to be responsible, contributing citizens of the country, and to me, she was the greatest. I feel the same about my father.
One of the towering figures in the American environmental movement, David Brower
I now realize that the exercise of trying to define the greatest Canadian was not a wasted or even frivolous effort. I was astonished to watch and listen to conversations, often quite heated, about Canada and Canadians. It was great to hear the talk and feel the passion—it got us thinking about this country, its values, and what makes us special. I was surprised and CBC management was delighted when the project took off. According to Slawko Klimkiw, the man then in charge of television programming, 60 percent of the votes in the first round were submitted by women. I don't know how he got that statistic, because not one woman appeared among the top ten nominees. I felt there should have been four categories—men, living and dead, and women, living and dead. But as an exercise to get people involved and thinking, it worked.
As not only a scientist but also an environmental activist, I had no idea that I would be anywhere on the list, so when the names were first announced, I was surprised to be placed among the top ten. As I said later in an interview, I would have been honored to be in the top one thousand. What a remarkable list—not a single businessperson or, sadly, woman, but three scientists (Sir Frederick Banting, Alexander Graham Bell, and me).
The
United States dominates Canada in so many ways. I kept thinking about people on the Canadian list in comparison with any Americans might select. Ultimately Canadians chose as number 1 Tommy Douglas, a socialist preacher and politician who championed national medicare and many other social causes—would such a person have even appeared among the top one hundred Americans? I felt our list alone indicated how Canada is different from the U.S.
It is funny to look at the list of “greatest Americans” as voted by Britons in an Internet poll before a BBC program titled What the World Thinks of America. Of 37,102 votes cast, the top ten were: 1. Homer Simpson (47.2 percent), 2. Abraham Lincoln (9.7), 3. Martin Luther King (8.5), 4. Mr. T (7.8), 5. Thomas Jefferson (5.7), 6. George Washington (5.1), 7. Bob Dylan (4.7), 8. Benjamin Franklin (4.1), 9. Franklin D. Roosevelt (3.7), and 10. Bill Clinton (3.5).
Among 2.4 million votes cast by Americans for the “greatest American” poll, the results were: 1. Ronald Reagan, 2. Abraham Lincoln, 3. Martin Luther King, 4. George Washington, 5. Benjamin Franklin, 6. George W. Bush, 7. Bill Clinton, 8. Elvis Presley, 9. Oprah Winfrey, and 10. Franklin D. Roosevelt. Interesting. Six presidents, including two (Reagan and Bush) I am sure historians will judge harshly, two blacks (King, Winfrey), one scientist (Franklin), and one woman (Winfrey).
The original search for the “greatest” was launched by the BBC, and over a million votes were cast for the top ten Britons, who were: 1. Winston Churchill (28.1 percent), 2. Isambard Kingdom Brunel (24.6), 3. Diana, Princess of Wales (13.9), 4. Charles Darwin (6.9), 5. William Shakespeare (6.8), 6. Isaac Newton (5.2), 7. Queen Elizabeth I (4.4), 8. John Lennon (4.2), 9. Horatio Nelson (3), and 10. Oliver Cromwell (2.8). Two women, but really, is Diana one of the ten greatest Britons? And I had to look up engineer Brunel.
