Safety

Neither here nor there - The inner door stands open. Through the nine pane window of the outer door, I can see the yellow triangle the morning sun drapes over the corner of the front bridge, and further out, beyond the rocks and the beach, the bright blue of the harbour. Tight to the lee shore the surface is glassy, a mirror of the red stages and white houses above them. Further out, and blowing toward where I sit, the first zephyrs of a light but steady southwest wind begin to ripple the water.

Still further out, the main part of the breeze itself, descending Big Chute makes contact, and plowing shallow furrows, transforms the perfect reflection into abstract pools of red and white. From that point, the corrugated surface becomes a series of horizontal coloured lines, the bright blue of the sky alternating with a richer deeper blue where the curling lip at the peak of each wave shades the hollow below. Interspersed randomly where the waves crest, tiny electric jolts of sun's energy propel silver sparks, the purest of light flying instantaneously to the retina of my eye. The migration of the wavelets proceeds, setting out from the top of the harbour, crossing four hundred metres to end in a murmur of gravel at the beach's edge below our bridge.

My world is peace itself.

But wait, something is wrong.

The steady cheep, cheep that has been entering my ears, but until this moment not my consciousness, is becoming more insistent. The cheep cheep is becoming cheep,cheep,cheep then CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP! Louder and more rapid.

It is the call of danger from the spotted sandpiper to his chicks, who emerged only yesterday from the egg and are already scurrying about the beach, foraging for food. I fling open the door and step out onto the bridge. I spot the trouble immediately. A big, black crow is walking up the shore. I clap my hands, the crow jumps into the air and flaps away over the grassy bank and skims over the surface out to sea.

The cheeping immediately returns to its normal volume and tempo. For the moment, safety returns to the tiny birds and their vigilant father. Their mother has moved on, looking for love elsewhere, leaving single dad to raise the tiny flock. The cheeping father continues to send out his homing beacon to the youngsters, but now it is calm and steady like a metronome keeping time and defining place.

I turn and walk back into the house closing the outer door behind me. I wonder why I am so anxious to help these little birds remain safe. Of course, at the ripe old age of one day they are utterly helpless to defend themselves from predators. That's a big part of it. They won't be able to fly for weeks and in the meantime their baby steps are inexpert. They stagger in a way that suggests they'd never pass the bird breathalyzer. They could never outrun anything.

But there are lots of helpless creatures out there and I am not trying to save them all. In fact, a friend who, on another occasion, witnessed me running to the door at the sound of the cheep alarm, made the point that I was interfering with nature. Laughing, she pointed out that the International Fund for Animal Welfare might soon be all over me, complaining that I was causing starvation of helpless crows and foxes. If I didn't cut it out, I'd be hearing from Brigitte Bardot before long.

The truth is the whole question of safety, of who we choose to protect, is riddled with inconsistency. IFAW wants to save the seals, ignoring the fact that they are not threatened, and that banning the hunt will pull one of the last props out from under our rural economy. The European parliament will likely start boycotting Canadian products shortly to make us see reason, conveniently turning a blind eye to the horror of French farmers force-feeding geese until their livers burst in showers of foie gras, a costly delicacy.

We choose to protect certain things or groups based on a particular view of the importance of their safety.

An example before us today is search and rescue. Since the tragic loss of offshore oil workers in the Cougar Helicopter crash, the call has been renewed for the Government of Canada to establish a search and rescue base in St. John's nearer the site of the rigs than the existing base in Gander.

To me it is unclear whether what is being discussed would be a new, additional base or if the Gander rescue centre would be closed and moved to St. John's. Before closing Gander we need to remember why the base was established there in the first place. From Gander, rescue aircraft can reach almost equally quickly most parts of the coastline of the island and southern Labrador. If Gander were to close in order for St. John's to open, a far larger number of people, thousands, of fishers in large boats and small, would be disadvantaged compared to the hundreds of oil workers who would be a shorter flight away by helicopter.

Also, the weather is much better in Gander than Torbay, as hundreds of airline passengers bound for St. John's and finishing their journey on a bus from Gander learn to their sorrow each year.

If, on the other hand what is being proposed is an additional base in St. John's, with Gander continuing to operate as usual, what reasonable person could be against a net gain in safety for everyone?

I can think of one person. Want a hint? His first name is Steve. In the current atmosphere of hostility between the Harper and Williams governments, I can't imagine Ottawa writing a cheque for a new base in St. John's.

But are the Feds the only possible funders for a new base to make oil workers safer?

What about the oil industry? The location of a new base at the farthest corner of the province to ensure the safety of their workers seems tailor made for the private sector.

In addition, these are not poor people, the oil companies.

It's a choice.

If I choose to save the baby sandpipers, I run out on the front bridge and scare away the crows. All by myself. I don't ask Ottawa to send over a troop of Mounties on horses to taser the predators for me.

Mr. Exxon, Mr. Husky, Mr. Oil Man, if you want improved safety for your workers, skim a little off the top of your enormous reservoir of income and make it happen.