"Is it safe?... Is it safe?"
"You're talking to me?"
"Is it safe?"
"Is what safe?"
"Is it safe?"
"I don't know what you mean. I can't tell you something's safe or not, unless I know specifically what you're talking about."
"Is it safe?"
"Tell me what the "it" refers to."
"Is it safe?"
"Yes, it's safe, it's very safe, it's so safe you wouldn't believe it."
"Is it safe?"
"No. It's not safe, it's... very dangerous, be careful."
Cue the sound of a dentist's drill.
That bit of dialogue from Marathon Man (1976) probably isn't exactly how things went between Cheryl Caldwell, deputy general manager of licensing and local government liaison for B.C.'s Liquor Control and Licensing Branch and the promoter of Whistler's first - hopefully not last - Jazz on the Mountain festival, but it certainly captures the bizarre, surreal essence of her ruling denying JOM a festival-style liquor permit. Apparently the public wouldn't be safe if we allow liquor to be consumed in Whistler outside a fenced off beer garden.
How very apropos. How very Nazi-like.
In the film, "Is it safe?" is the question repeatedly asked by former SS dentist Christian Szell of the hapless Babe, an innocent bystander who hasn't a clue what the war criminal is talking about, which turns out to be his cache of diamonds stolen from Jewish guests in his concentration camp.
In the Star Chamber of the LCLB, I can't imagine there was much chance for Q&A but if there were, it might have gone like this.
"Is it safe?"
"Of course it's safe. We're spending tens of thousands of dollars on RCMP and private security to ensure it's safe."
"Is it safe?"
"Safe as mother's milk. All our servers will be Serving It Right certified."
"Is it safe?"
"Safe and secure. We'll have an unbreachable fence around the festival grounds. No one will be able to simply wander down the village holding a glass of festival wine in their hands."
"Is it safe?"
"Well, it's probably safer than a fenced beer garden within an already fenced area since people enjoying a drink will be sitting with their families and friends, savouring their wine or beer instead of crowded into a cattle pen knocking it back as fast as they can so they can get back to enjoying the music."
"Is it safe?"
"What the f*@k do you want me to say?????"
"Ve vant you to say ze only drinking vill be in da beer garden, om-pah-pah."
You know how Nazis love beer gardens.
Anyway, there won't be a beer garden. There won't be a festival licence. There won't be any legal way to enjoy anything stronger than a sip of water at JOM.
According to festival organizers, a beer garden is a non-starter. Not just because it has all the cachet of an open sore and is insulting to the intelligence and maturity of anyone with half a brain, but because, bottom line, it's a losing proposition. The costs of running a beer garden aren't significantly different from the costs of operating a festival licence. But the probable revenues are significantly lower and the risks of an already non-profit venture becoming a money-losing venture are dramatically higher. Better to save the costs of extra security, servers and the already risky outlay for refreshing beverages that may or may not be snapped up by thirsty festival-goers.
All that's bad enough. What really makes it downright insulting is the fact Whistler council voted unanimously to support JOM's festival licence. Having reviewed the applicant's security measures, serving plan, and physical layout, seven reasonably sober, elected leaders decided it would be, in Martha's words, a good thing. Good for the festival, good for Whistler, good for the first paid-admission event at Whistler Olympic Plaza.
So, excuse me, but who the f*@k is Cheryl Caldwell to override the will of local officials and say different? Why shouldn't decisions like this be left in the hands of people on the ground, people who know the terrain, people who appreciate the risk, people who have skin in the game? Whose "public safety" is Ms. Caldwell protecting? Mine? Yours? The uptight, puritanical, historically anomalous temperance leftovers? Has she ever been here? Has she seen WOP? Has she any idea how much time, effort and money has been spent trying to turn this town into a magnet for festivals, cultural extravaganzas and, let's not lose sight of the fact, a cash cow for the province?
JOM is not going to attract the same crowd a heavy-metal festival might attract. It's not going to attract the same crowd a Stanley Cup riot might attract. Or a chamber music festival, or a quilt show, an equestrian competition or a cricket match. But in an insular world where alcohol = evil, the finer nuances really don't matter.
And it's Whistler - and more particularly, Whistler's concerted efforts to broaden its appeal beyond sport and adventure - that suffers. There isn't a bar or restaurant in town that can't tell you a liquor inspector horror story. There hasn't, at least in recent memory, been an event or festival of any nature that hasn't been inspected, harassed and/or threatened with some kind of punitive measure by either the liquor inspector or RCMP or both.
Yet, the two biggest threats to public peace we consistently face are thugs from the Lower Mainland, who may or may not be fuelled by drink, and the very archaic liquor laws bars across the province operate under, more specifically, the insane paradox of set closing times.
In a rational world, bars would close when they wanted to close. The decision would be driven by the preference of bar owners and customer demand. Instead, we have closing hours and last call. There are two deleterious effects of set closing times. First is the phenomenon of drinking to the clock. If you know you're going to be turfed at a specific time, you're going to drink to that time. Ironically, the fixed closing time encourages over-consumption.
The second, and far worse effect, is to disgorge herds of drunks into the village all at the same time. Throwing a bunch of inebriated people out at the same time, to fight over taxis, to find themselves confronted by others suffering from bad judgment and over-active egos, has predictable results.
Get rid of closing hours and people would leave when they got tired of sitting around drinking themselves broke. They'd leave in ones and twos and small groups. They slink home like the losers they are.
When will we grow up? When will we be given the authority to make our own decisions? When will we truly be safe... from the unrelenting oppression of power-crazed bureaucrats wielding outsized power over our lives?
