In the dead of winter, false hope is better than no hope.

On last night’s walk, the wind was frigid and bit into the exposed skin on my face. Its gusts scooped up snow, newly fallen on the ground, and scattered it into the air as if it were brittle confetti thrown for the wedding of the ice goddess, Khione.

I didn't have far to go, so I wasn't overly concerned by the cold. I was out to buy a lottery ticket. and pay my share into the nation's tax on desperation.

For most of us, the odd flutter on a game of chance is our only hope to escape the rising tides of this cost of living crisis. Thinking you might have a chance of winning is a mirage created by a brutally unfair economic system. But, in the dead of winter, false hope is better than no hope. So many others have even abandoned that hope because their lottery win is finding a warm place to bed down, for the night.

Outside the store, with my lottery ticket packed in my wallet, I walked in front of an undermedicated, homeless woman with her life slung in an Ikea carrier bag. She impotently barked profanities and threats to me and anyone near her.

Further off, a collection of homeless men were on their way to a nearby warming centre. They had shaggy beards, worn-out boots, long coats, and hoodies. If they were in sepia-tone, it could have been images of German soldiers surrendering at Stalingrad from the documentary series The War Years.

When I got home, I thawed myself in the heat of my apartment and thought things must change soon or it would get beyond grim for me.

Considering I am subject to a rent increase in February, preparing for more personal austerity will be in order. I've put my name down for a garden plot the billion-dollar corporation that owns my apartment provides to tenants behind our parking lot.

There are only around 20 for 300 tenants, making it doubtful I will get one. It's also the designated smoking area for apartment residents. Being forced to breathe in their polluted air would not be half as bad as having to listen while gardening to their foul right-wing politics that they exhale in between puffs. The plots aren't big- about the size of a wooden casket. But it assures me some fresh produce through the summer should the economy worsen and food inflation skyrockets owing to Donald Trump's scorched earth trade war against Canada.

Even if Donald Trump finds another country to bully and forgets about Canada- things will get worse for Canadians. Neoliberalism in Canada will calibrate itself to Trump's dog-eat-dog economic world. Everything will get more expensive because governments won't alleviate the financial suffering of the ordinary.

Canadians will make do or do without.

Trump wants to return globalisation to an empire-colony relationship in its most extreme 18th-century variant. And he is going to do it because America's oligarchs are 100% behind him.

I've observed up close countries being economically destroyed by the USA.

Thirty years ago, I worked in Cuba for a Western company that did business with the Castro government. It was the early 1990s, and Cuba's economy was in free fall because the Soviet Union had collapsed, leaving the country without foreign financing to alleviate the US embargo. Cuba was living under an American economic siege, and famine was around the corner for many Cubans. The population were angry, scared, defiant and stoical. Often, I was at private gatherings with ordinary Cubans and they spoke openly to me. I remember, one afternoon drinking rum, the only product in abundance, with a Cuban.

I asked him how he and his family would survive their hunger winter. He said.

"I am lucky I have a pig up in the country. Soon, I will butcher him, and my family will eat for the next few months."

Trump won't be able to turn Canada into Cuba with his tariffs the way 60 years of sanctions destroyed that island nation's prosperity.

As I have seen first-hand how bad things can become for ordinary people, when the American Empire wants to destroy them, I don't feel a hopeful outcome is possible for the average Canadian. During moments of anguish, I wish I was like that Cuban man and had found a metaphorical pig to keep me nurished during the hungry times to come.

Thanks for reading my Substack. You have been great to me.

If you are able because it is an SOS,. I am rent short by 210 Canadian. I want to remain housed and continue to sustain and grow the legacy of my dad and his Last Stand Project. I think it is worthwhile and necessary. I am looking for 7 new, yearly subscribers to keep the lights on.

It’s 30 quid a year or $50 and I think it has value. Substack and the payment platform take around 20% of that because capitalism is the gift that keeps giving to the wealthy. If you can thanks. If you can’t, it’s all good because we share the same boat.

Take care, John

Photo by Jasmina Ajkic on Unsplash