John Cartwright

The following is my tribute to my dad: My father, John Robinson Cartwright, winged his flight yesterday to the world of light and mysteries. He was a month shy of his 89th birthday. Although it had been a long time coming, dimmed by several years of dementia, his end was fairly quick and painless. He was well-loved by the Perley long-term care staff for his kind and polite manner, and his love of Africa was well appreciated by so many of the staff who were of African background. He had made a number of visits to Africa; his first was in 1957 where he was a delegate attending the inaugural World University Services Canada (WUSC) international seminar in Ghana, along with others who went on to have illustrious careers – such as Pierre Trudeau. He then moved to Sierra Leone with my mother, six months pregnant with me (in those days family life revolved around the man’s career and interests). He taught for three years at the Fourah Bay College in Freetown while my mum watched me run around on the beach and generally held the fort at home until I was three. They went on to spend a few years in Saskatoon where my sister Alexa showed up, and he then joined the faculty at the University of Western Ontario, where he wrote several books on Sierra Leonean political leadership and politics as well as on comparative politics in Africa. Over time, he taught and wrote more on environmental politics. His love of Africa was likely influenced by his love for birding from a young age – and which was one reason for his extensive global travel (including a honeymoon camping trip that revolved around bird watching). I remember him studying bird songs prior to a trip by listening to records of Birds of Peru over and over again in the early mornings. To the end, even when his short term memory was absent, he could still tell you the difference in the calls of various species of birds. For most of his life could explain the habitat and behaviour of almost any bird you could name. He long believed in the oneness of humanity and working to create a better world, especially from an environmental lens. That likely helped lay the groundwork for me to become a Baha’i. And as a political scientist, he was intrigued by the Baha’i ideas and practices on governance and he respected my beliefs. As a father, he was a man of the times, leaving most of the parenting to my mother, although he always made sure we had a good breakfast and unquestioningly paid for endless dance classes and supported my professional ballerina dreams. He loved good food, and I remember him taking up cooking Indian food in the ‘70s that included grinding up fresh spices for each dish, as well as baking up brioche or croissants or some interesting new dish for Sunday breakfasts. (That was long before frozen croissants or good bakeries existed in London Ontario!) I also remember him challenging me to think for myself. When I asked a question about something, he would frequently pose it back to me: What do you think? His marriage to my mother lasted almost 20 years, after which he married Rosemary Kelley with whom he shared a love of the outdoors and birding. I gained a wonderful step-family from that partnership. That also ended, and then began what became an over 30-year partnership with Jean Mair, to whom he was devoted to the end, as she to him. Theirs was a strong intellectual companionship until dementia took hold, after which she gave sacrificially of her time and energy to care for him. In the last years while he was at Perley Health, as his deep intellectual resources diminished, he became more emotional. It was like the veils of the mind fell away and his gentle heart and soul revealed themselves. In the last few years we had a wonderful time doing art together; he was never an artist but he really knew how to observe from years of watching birds. But, he loved the superb music programs available at Perley the most. I discovered his deep love for Irish, Scottish and Canadian folk songs, and was often surprised at how he knew all the words to songs I had never heard of. We read Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass together which was a joy for both of us. It married our mutual love of nature with an Indigenous perspective on the spiritual nature of life. We had started it for a second time a few months ago. He was also really enjoying the American nature poet, Mary Oliver, whose poems I read to him in his last months. Sunday, July 5th was my last visit. He wasn’t really stirring much so I had a wonderful long time to pray beside his bed. It truly felt that he was that bird in a cage, to which Abdu’l-Baha alludes: “To consider that after the death of the body the spirit perishes, is like imagining that a bird in a cage will be destroyed if the cage is broken, though the bird has nothing to fear from the destruction of the cage. Our body is like the cage, and the spirit is like the bird…if the cage becomes broken, the bird will continue and exist. Its feelings will be even more powerful, its perceptions greater, and its happiness increased…” Fly forth my dear dad. I’ll miss you.