letter to the editor364

His brilliant future The article on the construction of the athletes’ village — Contractors slag shoddy athletes’ village, The…

His brilliant future

The article on the construction of the athletes’ village — Contractors slag shoddy athletes’ village, The News, March 24 — sure hit a new low in journalism.

The reporter quotes “unnamed” crybaby contractors as if it were the gospel, while they damage the names of the other contractors.

It also looked more like The News is doing a negative number on Dennis Fentie, rather than anything really wrong with the construction project.

What else is new? The Yukon News always takes on the task of being the Official Opposition come election time.

I thought it was absolutely brutal the way the Yukon News brought down both the Ostashek government and Pat Duncan’s Liberals.

As a small-time Yukon contractor, I would like to say that times have never been better, and the future looks brighter for the average worker and the construction industry under this government.

David (Smiley) Ford

Whitehorse

No to protected sources

 

Re Contractors slag shoddy athletes’ village, The News, March 24:

It’s disheartening what’s passing as journalism these days.

An item composed of allegations made by individuals unwilling to go on record would not have been printed, had it been sent to the Yukon News as an opinion letter to the Editor. (Their policy, as editor Richard Mostyn assured me himself via telephone, is to “shy away from anonymous letters.”)

Yet the athletes’ village “story” as it were, has been given a very prominent place in the news section of your publication.

When did the criteria of a journalistic news piece take such a nosedive that it is now surpassed by that of letters to the editor?

A bit more digging and proper representation of facts, I strongly suggest, is necessary.

As it is right now, your piece is gossip, loose talk, word on the street … verbal flatus. Nothing more.

Don’t insult your readers. Ask probing questions.

Karen Pentland

Whitehorse

Remember who

killed the reindeer

 There he stands at my side. He is only four years old. His hand reaches out to me. He softly touches my hand, searching for one finger to wrap his tiny fingers around. Tugging at me, he says, “ Grandma, come, call the reindeer.”

My voice chokes up as the tears come and I say, “Yes, Honey, Grandma will come with you, and we will call the reindeer.”

He runs to the gate pulling me along. He cups his small hands around his mouth like Grandpa taught him to do and as he had done so many times before and hollers, “Come reindeer, come reindeer, come on, come for supper.”

He waits a few minutes. The reindeer do not come. He tries to whistle, like Grandpa does, but he can’t. He cups his little hands and calls again and again.

“Grandma please call the reindeer.”

He looks at me with questioning eyes, as if I can perform the miracle and make them come like I did before.

It tears me to pieces as I call to the reindeer for my grandson, knowing they can’t come to him and he will never see them or touch them again.

He crosses through the gate, starts running down the alley, “Grandma come,” he says. “Come with Brendan and find the reindeer.”

As we walk into the reindeer pasture he continues to call to the (non-existent reindeer), and I also call, with him.

I then say to my grandson, “They are not coming; they are too far away to hear us.”

 “Come on, my love,” I say to our grandson, let’s go to the horses, Grandpa is feeding them.”

He throws up his arms, looks one last time to see if he can see the reindeer coming and says, “OK.”

“Brendan do you want to go for a horse ride?” Grandpa asks. Yes, go for a forsey ride.” (You see he can’t pronounce horse yet) so forsey it is.

With the halter and lead rope on Zar, I lift our Grandson onto the horse’s back, with his hands entwined into the mane of the horse he is ready as Grandpa begins leading Zar across the pasture.

With a look of victory on his face, Brendan’s short legs lift and he brings them down onto the horses body repeatedly, saying, “Come on forsey, go find reindeer.”

Tim and I can only look at each-other knowing that we can not tell him, yet! 

There is just no way that we can dissuade our grandson from wanting to see or be with the reindeer.

This grandchild of ours grew up with the reindeer. When he was a baby and couldn’t walk, he sat in the feed troughs with reindeer all around him.

He would delight with laughter as they blew their sweet breath into his face. Brendan would crawl from one end of the feed trough to the other end and screech as the reindeer nudged him aside so that they could eat in that exact spot where he sat.

He would grab hold of the antlers of the big bulls or the cows and pull himself into a standing position and try to walk the length of the feed trough, just to fall and try again.

Brendan would pick up feed in his hand, most would fall through for he hadn’t learned to close his fingers, and shove his tiny hand into their mouths, and let the feed drop.

The reindeer never bit, they would use their tongue to push his hand from their mouths.

On the 30th of March 2006, as the spring sitting of the Yukon Legislative Assembly begins, we will remember that it was one year ago that the Yukon Party government, department of Yukon Energy and Mines, department of Environment and the department of Renewable Resources came to our farm and expropriated the reindeer from us.

On May 21st, 2005, the Yukon Party government, department of Yukon Energy and Mines, department of Environment and the department of Renewable Resources, all took part in a most horrific senseless act.

These men (they all know who they are) of these departments massacred 56 innocent reindeer, including four newly born baby calves.

The reindeer were always so patient with this little boy, and he loved them in return. 

How can we tell this little boy, that the reindeer that he loves and continually looks for, are gone, forever?

What can we say? How can we tell him?

If you can help, please write to: splendoreindeer@polarcom.com

Stella and Tim Gregory

Whitehorse