A Christmas Message from our Canadian Editor, Jonathan Kay
When I work in public spaces, I sometimes am approached by fans (and critics) of
Quillette
, who are drawn to the
Quillette
decal that decorates the back of my computer screen. “I’ll let you get back to your editing,” one friendly neighbour said to me after a recent, somewhat typical encounter. “You’re probably working on something very
serious
.”
If you are a
Quillette
fan who spends time on social media, you will be familiar with the overheated criticisms launched at us by those who are convinced (despite all evidence) that our publication caters to this or that fringe ideology. But the people I meet socially (normal folk who don’t count their daily Twitter mentions before bedtime) embrace another, unrelated stereotype in regard to
Quillette
editors: that we are bookish eggheads without any taste for life’s social pleasures.
That said, working at
Quillette
often can feel like an anti-social experience, because we operate as five semi-autonomous editors dispersed over four time zones, typically collaborating asynchronously by file transfer. But once in a blue moon, we find ourselves in the same city, at the same events, and we always find a way to share a meal, have a drink, and remind one another that we are actual human beings, and not just disembodied email addresses.
I always enjoy these meetings, especially as they provide me with an opportunity to learn about the peculiar cultural quirks of Australia (Claire Lehmann), Sweden (Paulina Neuding) and Britain (Jamie Palmer and Toby Young).
And so, in the holiday spirit, I thought I would share a story from the time last winter when we all gathered in Toronto for a
Quillette
party
.
As this was the first time my colleagues had been to Toronto, I was determined to use the occasion to teach them about Canadians manners and customs, including our love of ice hockey. On the day they arrived, in fact, I arranged for us all to see a popular junior-pro hockey team play at a large Toronto arena.
I had expected that my colleagues would know little about hockey. After all, how much do I know about, say, Australian rules football? But I confess that their low level of knowledge did surprise me. And so during the game, I dutifully stepped them through the rules and even a basic primer on strategy. I thought I was making progress, until one of them—I shall not say which—asked me a question when the game was one third complete.
“Hey—how come there are suddenly so many players on the ice?” my colleague asked. “And where’s the puck?”
I surveyed the scene on the ice and immediately understood the nature of his confusion.
“Well,” I said. “Do you see that many of the people on the ice are, in fact, small children?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And did you notice how they don’t have sticks, and that they are skating around the ice carrying a banner promoting a local hospital charity?” I asked.
“Now that you mention it, that does seem unusual,” he said.
“Quite so,” I said. “Also, did you notice the mascot dressed as a large bear who is kicking a beach ball around the ice? And that this same mascot is operating a T-shirt cannon, which he is firing at audience members who have most enthusiastically heeded the announcer’s request to ‘Make Some Noise’?”
My colleague’s mask of incomprehension suddenly blossomed into a smile of realization. And he seemed to understand that what we were watching was actually, in fact, the first-period intermission.
I smiled, too, for my work here was done. I don’t think I produced any new hockey fans that day, but at least now they were one step closer to understanding this strange thing we call Canadian culture.
This is my third Christmas as a
Quillette
editor. It is a job I love, and it ranks high on the list of reasons I count to be thankful this holiday season. To all our readers, Canadian and otherwise, I wish you a safe and happy Christmas. I look forward to reconnecting with all of you in the new year.
--Jonathan Kay