Regular readers of this bee blog know that I avoid politics with as much self-discipline as most people avoid lounging on sunny days on a south-facing deck. This is a bee blog, not a political blog. If I ever mention liberty, secularism, or social justice, you know it’s just common sense, not politics – right?
But with the viral eruption of the Canadian prime minister’s quantum physics lecture (now shared by a million Facebook users), I thought I’d be safe saying a few words about Justin Trudeau’s politics of personality. If you missed it, here’s the former science teacher’s explanation of quantum computing, delivered on Friday at Canada’s theoretical physics lab:
Canada’s prime minister was likely briefed, but he skillfully carried the day. At his press conference, the question that prompted Trudeau’s science lesson actually was about Canada’s role in fighting ISIL terrorists. At first, Trudeau side-stepped the question and responded to the reporter’s joke, which was about quantum computing. The prime minister proceeded to describe the difference between binary and non-binary systems. It was a cute and charming retort, drew laughs, and astonished non-scientists. But the shared videos (including the one above) sell the prime minister short because at the press conference, his jest was just a prelude to his explanation that fighting terrorism is not an on/off or yes/no binary challenge, but is more nuanced – sort of like quantum physics. The attention he got for his prelude, which received far more attention than his more serious second point, tells us much about politics, successful politicians, and the susceptive public.
It takes work to be a successful politician. A few years ago, a friend of ours met Justin Trudeau in southern Alberta. Trudeau was not the prime minister of Canada at the time. Our friend – Jacques – presented a comb of honey from our honey farm to the young politician. Jacques loved bees, had helped with our honey farm regularly, and was a part of our circle of friends. He once told me that bees (along with his wife and six kids) were one of the few pleasures he had as his days were becoming more and more difficult. Here you can see Jacques in a picture I took of him a year before he died of a long-term illness. As you can see, Jacques was something of a bee-charmer.
Jacques, at one of our apiaries, in 2011
When Jacques met Justin Trudeau, the future prime minister spoke a few words in French, thanking Jacques for the honey and telling him that his father (Pierre) regularly bought comb honey for the family when Justin was a child. A week after they met, we received a hand-written letter which arrived in the mail at our honey farm. It was from Justin Trudeau, addressed to our farm, and directed to “Jacques”. I think that Trudeau’s staff used the label on our honey comb to look up the mailing address on our website and then Trudeau wrote his thanks, commenting about how long it had been since he had eaten such good comb honey. To a beekeeper, a honey compliment ranks with a strong handshake. (In turn, Jacques gave me the letter – I treasure it.)
I’ve met other politicians but few make such efforts to be gracious. Some will forget you as soon as they turn away. You can be sure that my accolade is not intended as validation of everything Justin Trudeau’s government is doing. But the man’s wit, charm, and grace are a genuine reflection of his effort to do his job as a politician and are probably an accurate depiction of his personality.
Justin Trudeau’s gracious note of thanks for the honeycomb.
We started the program inside a classroom. I made a 30-slide Powerpoint which featured bees, flowers, and children working with bees. (For a kids’ Powerpoint, use just one picture per slide and just two or three large, simple words. Don’t clutter the slide with wordy details and excess photos. This advice goes double on presentations for adults – they have even shorter attention spans.)
Benny is a big, stuffed, adorable bee. He’s a boy, just like the bees causing concern in the picture on the white-board behind me. “Boy bees, like Benny and the drones on the screen, don’t have stingers.” I used this as a starting point for bee safety. (“Girl bees can sting if they feel threatened.”) I began a quick overview of bee anatomy. Even the smallest of the kids knew that bees have three main body parts. I described the head as the brain, eyes, and mouth of the bee while the thorax is like a huge muscle that powers the wings and six legs. The abdomen (for the kids’ presentation) is mostly a stomach and a stinger. The kids were fascinated that bees have three sets of eyes. I didn’t go into the way polarized light can be sensed by a bee’s third eye, but I did touch on ultraviolet, comparing the bee’s extra colour vision with the high-pitch sound perception of their pets – something these kids understood.
The presentation continued like this. After a few more slides, the teacher dressed a child in the little bee suit which I’d brought. Meanwhile I passed around a new Pierco frame and a new small copper smoker. We talked about these, but mostly I wanted the kids to physically connect with what we were doing.
Back inside the classroom (where the children were counted), I distributed handouts with bee cartoons to be coloured and trivia questions to be answered. The kids liked these but were even more interested in the small rectangular strips of new wireless foundation I gave them. This is always a big hit because they notice the waxy odour and hexagonal pattern right away. I caution them not to eat it, but I know that some will and I know that wax is harmlessly ingested. Giving wax is better than giving honey (which beekeepers sometimes distribute) because it’s not sticky and parents are not going to call with complaints about their youngster’s blood sugar and dietary restrictions.
Brag time. We just got home from the big Calgary science fair competition. My 13-year-old won three awards. Here’s the kicker: his project was called Saving Honey with Sound. His experiment was based on sending ultrasonic energy waves into combs of granulated honey, attempting to liquefy the honey without using heat and without melting the wax comb.
Here is what I learned from him. The idea of using ultrasound to reverse granulation works, at least as part of a small-scale experiment. It may even have commercial application, but my son is not totally convinced. He used speakers which emitted 18,000 hertz sound waves at just over 100 decibels. (By the way, at such a high frequency, the sound is inaudible to humans. There is no risk of hearing damage – we asked an auditory physician before we allowed the boy to start.) After seven days, there was some liquefying. He told me that if he had bigger speakers and if he had an amplifier that could generate a higher frequency, the results would have been more spectacular. That’s what he thinks would be required in a honey operation if a beekeeper wants to extract any combs which are crystallized.
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