bout de papier, Vol. 18, No. 2 (2001) — Summer 2001 // Été 2001, p. 13
A lament for a stunned world, occasioned by the death of John F. Kennedy some 38 years ago and uttered by one of his grieving friends. Words spoken in a moment — keenly familiar to us once again — when it seemed that innocence itself had been torn asunder, and when all struggled to comprehend why the moon had suddenly turned to blood.
The trauma of those dark days abated, of course, and the world did laugh again, as all mourners must eventually. So will it be for us, as we begin to regain our equilibrium following the shocking violence of September 11, 2001. Laughter in the face of tragedy is like the healthy cry of newborn life: it is the proclamation of one’s survival. Our ability to continue drawing amusement from the foibles of the human condition, even in our pain, constitutes a personal insurrection against terror. We should not be ashamed of our fortitude. We should laugh as loudly as we ever have.
It is with all due reverence that bout de papier submits to you this chronicle of the lighter side of the Canadian foreign service. We are mindful that this issue was conceived in happier times, but believe that healing will come, among other things, from the nourishment of simple pleasures. A profound thank-you to the contributors, who have made us laugh.
A final word, to finish the anecdote: One of Kennedy’s friends, overhearing the comment, responded with the following prescient words: “Heavens… of course we’ll laugh again. It’s just that we’ll never be young again.”
This feeling, too, shall pass. But we will leave that one for another issue.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 18, No. 2 (2001) — Summer 2001 // Été 2001, p. 13. Read the rest of this issue →
