The Best Laid Plans (26 page)

Angus sat with his arms crossed, enduring the media’s scrutiny before eventually succumbing to exasperation and invoking the classic “shoo” gesture with both hands as if to chickens in a
barnyard. Great first impression. The Leader’s communications director eventually corralled the reporters and moved them out of the room so the meeting could start. Stanton gave me a steely look, to which I responded coolly and maturely with a plaintive, schoolyard “it wasn’t my fault” shrug, complete with retracted neck and upturned palms.

On balance, the meeting was mercifully uneventful, at least until the end. There was the requisite cheerleading and rabble-rousing in anticipation of the afternoon’s Throne Speech. Stanton was first at the mic and talked about bringing down the Government at the earliest possible moment while steam still rose from the Cameron sex scandal. If we waited, the balance of politics in the country would eventually return to equilibrium, and we would have squandered Eric Cameron’s one great mistake. Stanton argued that the motion accepting the Speech from the Throne was our first and best opportunity and that we should all be ready to vote against it.

The Leader echoed his chief of staff’s views on the Throne Speech in a passionate and compelling speech that climaxed in a charge that the Conservatives lost the moral authority to govern in the final days of the election campaign. The Leader concluded by calling the Throne Speech the Government’s last stand – its Waterloo – its Little Big Horn – its Alamo. We got it. I noted with some satisfaction that my replacement in the Leader’s office was prone to hyperbole and overkill in his writing. Nevertheless, the Leader delivered the speech with energy and verve. Much whooping and foot-stomping ensued, though Angus remained anchored in his seat. As the commotion died away and MPs sank back into their chairs, Angus rose from his.

I prayed he was just a little late embracing the caucus camaraderie and the partisan power of the moment. After all, as a rookie, his timing would be off until he found his feet. Right? Nope. Not only had he found his feet, he was on them.

“Sir, as you may recall, I’m Angus McLintock from Cumberland-Prescott. Nice speech – a wee bit over the top, perhaps, but a good
effort. I know I’m new to this world, but how is it that we can, in good conscience, decide now to defeat the Government on the Speech from the Throne when we have yet to hear it and consider it?”

The Leader bristled but, to his credit, hid it well. Having worked with him for several years, I could tell he was irritated because the back of his neck was striated in at least four shades of pink. I’d seen the same colouring on Angus’s neck – perhaps a small patch of common ground on which to build.

“Angus, I want to welcome you to the Liberal caucus and congratulate you on your extraordinary victory over Eric Cameron,” oozed the Leader.

“Well, sir, I appreciate yer kind words, but after Mr. Cameron hit the airwaves in his leather, studded birthday suit, I figure a ceramic garden gnome could have taken the seat,” replied a straight-faced Angus.

The room erupted in hysterics; the Leader merely smiled. “Perhaps, but don’t sell yourself short. We all saw your brilliant airport speech; no pottery lawn ornament could have pulled that off,” the Leader remarked, accompanied by a heartfelt chorus of “hear, hear” from the veteran MPs in the room.

“Well, sir, compliments aside, should we not hear what the Government has to say in the Throne Speech before we cast the first stone? Aye, I’m a newcomer here, so it may be beyond my ken, but I dinnae think it wise that we oppose that which we havenae yet heard.”

Ever-thoughtful and logical Angus. He showed real courage to ask such a question in his first caucus meeting. Well, I suppose “courage” was only one of the possibilities, but I’ll go with it. Angus would pay a price for his intervention, but wasn’t that the reason he came to Ottawa – to challenge conventional wisdom and politics-as-usual? Most of my anxiety drained away and pride filled the void.

“Angus, of course we’re going to listen to what the GG says. But my many years in politics and my knowledge of the Conservatives
assure me that this Throne Speech will earn our contempt, not our support.” End of story.

Angus nodded in comprehension, not agreement, and took his seat. The meeting droned on as the shadow cabinet was introduced. Bradley Stanton and some of his team were huddling in the back as lists of names were amended right up to the time they were passed up to the Leader. Unbeknownst to Angus, I had pushed hard with the Leader’s office for Angus to be named to the House of Commons Standing Committee on Finance, given his commitment to scrutinize every public dollar spent by the Government. I’d thought it was a done deal, but Angus may have undone it in his exchange with the Leader. Angus was the last MP appointed to a standing committee. He would sit on the Standing Committee on Procedure and House Affairs. How lame. The Centre had just sent a signal.

The irony was that Angus seemed very pleased with the appointment, as it would afford him the chance to exercise his growing interest in parliamentary procedure. It appealed to the methodical engineer in him. I hadn’t the heart to tell him he’d likely been demoted for questioning the Leader. He was utterly unaware that there were political implications for even the most innocuous actions. Support for the Leader was measured in exceedingly small gradations, and those in charge of calibration were more sensitive than drug-sniffing dogs.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, the Governor General settled into the raised chair normally occupied by the Speaker of the Senate and read the Speech from the Throne. Earlier, Angus had entered the House of Commons, walking in a way that I can only describe as reverential. He seemed reluctant to put all of his weight on his feet for fear the green carpet of this special place might take umbrage. His seat was on the far southern end of the second last row. He sat about as far as one could sit from the Speaker, but Angus was awestruck, nevertheless. He took two steps into the House, bowed to the Throne as tradition dictated, and climbed the gently tiered steps to his place on the backbench. I watched
from the Members’ gallery opposite him. He no longer looked like someone who was unhappy to be on Parliament Hill. He let his hands stroke the carved wood of his small desk before curiosity took over and he lifted the desk top and peered inside. Despite his off-the-rack grey suit and tartan tie (his idea, though I tied the double Windsor for him), he still looked out of place in the chamber.

Shortly thereafter, Angus joined the rest of the MPs in the quick walk down the main Centre Block corridor to the Senate where they stood in silence behind a ceremonial bar, permitted to go no farther into the red chamber. I managed to snag a seat in the public gallery and probably had a better view of the proceedings than did Angus. When the Throne Speech began, Angus locked his eyes on the Governor General and seemed to enter a flow state as he listened and concentrated. Some MPs took notes as they stood and listened, but Angus did not. He’d read that parliamentary tradition handed down from Westminster disallowed notes of any kind in the House or Senate. But time moves inexorably on. Nowadays during question period, six-inch-thick briefing books rested on each Minister’s desk. The “no paper” rule had long since been discarded as an anachronism. In his short time on the Hill, Angus had become a parliamentary purist of sorts and in the House kept his desk clear and clean.

The Governor General, a former Saskatchewan Cabinet Minister, wore a stately sapphire blue dress, fashionable high heels, white gloves, and a rather floppy and florid hat better suited for the big day at Churchill Downs than an afternoon in the Senate. The GG was three minutes into the speech before my mind finally swung from her chapeau to her words. I hoped I hadn’t missed much.

As a partisan Liberal, for me the Tory Throne Speech, by default, began well behind the starting line. But despite my bias, it was not long before I was forced to concede the speech’s brilliant writing and balanced content. Historically, Tory Throne Speeches and budgets have rewarded the rich by cutting taxes, liberated big business by eviscerating regulatory oversight, despoiled the
environment by gutting legislated standards and enforcement, and shredded the social contract with those living in poverty. At least that’s my detached and disinterested analysis. But this Throne Speech was obviously crafted by a party committed to governing from the centre and holding office for a long time, the minority Parliament notwithstanding.

It was a complex mobile of sated interests in perfect equilibrium. No one was overlooked. I mentally checked off the constituencies as they were rewarded with promises of new and enriched programs and supportive fiscal measures to be included in the Government’s next budget, expected in February. The wealthy – check. The poor – check. Aboriginal Canadians – check. Women – check check. Big business – checkorama. Small business – checkerooney. Tree huggers – check. Organized labour – checkity check check. Amateur athletes – cheque.

Here a check, there a check, everywhere a check check. When it was all over, I could find no holes, no forgotten groups, and no chinks in the armour. To make matters worse, for the Liberals I mean, the Government decidedly did not project profligate spending in the “drunken sailor” tradition. Many of the measures reflected creative regulatory tweaks, redirected spending, and the odd tax expenditure that allowed the Government to claim fiscal prudence while appeasing virtually all interests. Despite the Tories’ incessant campaign tax-cut rhetoric, I heard not a single, major tax cut in the speech for individuals or businesses. In fact, the speech even sounded a warning of an approaching recession and signaled the need for national belt tightening. In an oblique attempt to tarnish the chrome legacy of Eric Cameron and to distance the Government therefrom, the speech actually admitted there was room to improve fiscal management and strengthen fiduciary accountability to the people of Canada – a masterstroke.

From my vantage point, it seemed that the Red Tories, who might have felt quite at home in the conservative wing of the Liberal
Party, had won the first battle in the inexorable and internecine war against the extremist conservatives who were so far to the Right they considered General Franco a bleeding-heart social democrat. The budget, traditionally due in February, would be the next battleground as the warring factions fought for control of the party and the government. This conflict of ideological interpretation lived in virtually all parties but was a particular scourge among Progressive Conservatives. I had heard rumours of in-fighting but the Throne Speech was the first hard evidence.

From my perch looking down on the Senate floor, Angus seemed totally focused throughout the Throne Speech, nodding frequently as the GG read. Afterwards, the MPs trooped back to the House of Commons where, in a tired refrain, both the Liberal and NDP Leaders viciously attacked the Throne Speech as if the Government had suspended democratic rule and declared martial law. Our Leader went directly to calling the Throne Speech an egregious abuse of power that would set Canada back three decades. The press gallery yawned – been there, done that.

That night, following the generally positive coverage on the Throne Speech (positive for the Government, I mean), CTV and CBC ran follow-up stories on Angus McLintock, a “compelling new figure on Canada’s political landscape.” Both stories reprised his now-famous airport speech and included the footage shot earlier that morning at the first Liberal caucus meeting. Much to Bradley Stanton’s rage, there was not a single frame, let alone a separate story, on the Liberal Leader’s return to Parliament Hill and bombastic assault on the Throne Speech.

My office phone rang the next morning and “B. Stanton” appeared in the ever-helpful call-display window. What an excellent way to start the day.

“Hello, Bradley, what can I do for you?” (Other than present my unprotected posterior for the tearing of a new and unwelcome orifice.)

“What are you up to, Addison?” he sneered.

“What do you mean?” I replied. “I’m just sitting here, banging out our Throne Speech response. Angus is up this afternoon after question period.” I failed to mask the defensiveness I was feeling.

“I worked for two days to set up the Leader’s photo op, and what do I see on the news last night – the shining knight, Angus McLintock. I’m getting a little tired of his profile. It’s detracting from the Leader’s and helping the Government,” he explained in an icy tone. “The coverage you’ve been getting doesn’t just happen. So consider this to be a directive from the Leader’s office. Stop playing to the press gallery and start playing for your own team.”

“Wait a second. You think I’m working the Angus angle with the gallery? You think I’m managing all of this from behind the curtain?” I asked, awash in incredulity. Usually, I was repulsed by confrontation, but I found myself enraged by Stanton’s accusation. “Come on, Bradley, give me some credit. Angus is a force unto himself. I’ve managed to kill several stories already, but the guy is an ink machine. And believe me, he doesn’t like it one bit. Since the airport performance, our phone hasn’t stopped ringing. So you should stop insulting me and start thanking me there hasn’t been more coverage.”

“Insulting you?” Stanton retorted. “What crawled up your ass this morning? I’m just doing my job. I’m protecting and promoting the interests of my Leader and the party. When something or someone gets in my way, I get in their face. That’s what I do. This is all about the Leader. So take a Valium.” His tone became threatening. “Just keep your guy’s head down so I don’t have to call again or take other steps.”

“What are you going to do, Bradley, kick us off Procedure and House Affairs?” I said, still spitting venom, but Stanton had already hung up. What an asshole.

I was incensed. Nothing was more important to me than getting the Liberals elected. You don’t spend the years I had on Parliament Hill without yearning to govern. Living in Opposition
was a will-sapping experience that could only be redeemed by power. The gift of governing was everything to me. So Stanton’s accusation of grandstanding really stuck in my craw.