The Great Migration: Canada's Dance with Mediocrity and Mercy

In the frozen realms of the North, where comfort-seekers gather like sheep in winter's fold, a great drama unfolds - one that speaks volumes of mankind's eternal struggle between compassion and preservation. The Canadian government, that great shepherd of the docile masses, now beckons Parliament to loose its purse strings wider still, for the care of those who flee from distant shores.

Behold how the merchants of mercy trade in gold! They who proclaim virtue while their coffers drain, who speak of kindness while their own house crumbles! What strength is there in such weakness, what wisdom in such folly?

The Interim Federal Health Program, that grand monument to modern man's desperate need to appear virtuous, has swelled from a modest sum of 60 million to a staggering 411.2 million gold pieces in but a few winter's turns. Like a river in spring flood, it bursts its banks, carrying away the careful plans of yesterday's stewards.

In the land of the sleepers, where comfort is king and mediocrity reigns supreme, the masses shuffle about in their daily dance of indifference. They know not that their very foundations quake beneath the weight of their own good intentions. The program, restored by those who fancy themselves enlightened, now covers all manner of earthly ailments - from the healing of bodies to the mending of minds.

See how they slumber, these last men! They blink and nod at their own destruction, calling it progress! They build houses upon sand and wonder at their sinking!

The numbers speak with thunderous voice - where once stood 130,340 souls seeking succor, now stand 280,322, each bearing their own tale of woe, each demanding their share of the common wealth. They come through gates both proper and improper, through Roxham Road's muddy path and through airports' gleaming halls.

In the first nine moons of 2024 alone, 132,525 have lifted their voices in supplication, crying "asylum!" to the northern sky. The sleepers hear these cries and, in their comfortable beds, turn over and dream of virtue, while their hospitals groan and their healers grow weary.

What strength builds in weakness? What future springs from the soil of perpetual charity? The strong must learn to say 'No' - else they shall become as weak as those they shelter!

The conservative voices, those would-be wielders of the surgeon's knife, speak of systems broken and chaos unleashed. Yet they too sleep, dreaming different dreams but sleeping nonetheless. They speak of numbers and housing starts, as if the great tide of human movement might be measured with carpenter's tools.

The wise ones in their ivory towers, like Y.Y. Chen of Ottawa's learned halls, speak of duties humanitarian and fiscal prudence. They warn of past cuts that brought suffering, yet fail to see how present excess might bring greater wounds still.

The road to destruction is paved with good intentions, and those who would save all shall save none! Where is the wisdom in emptying one's cup that others might drink, only to find all dying of thirst?

Lo, as the system groans beneath its burden, as waiting lists lengthen and healers grow scarce, the last men continue their dance of denial. They speak of compassion while their own suffer, of generosity while their foundations crack, of virtue while their strength ebbs.

The truth stands naked before them, yet they cover their eyes and speak of morality. They would rather be seen as good than be strong, rather appear virtuous than be wise, rather sink together than swim alone.

Hear me, O Canada! Your virtue becomes your vice, your mercy your undoing! Rise from your slumber before the weight of your goodness drives you into the earth!

Thus do we witness the great paradox of our age - a nation so desperate to prove its worth through kindness that it risks its very ability to be kind. The road ahead forks, and the choice grows stark: continue in comfortable sleep toward certain decline, or awaken to the harsh light of necessity and find strength in limitation.