The Best Laid Plans (41 page)

“Sorry, Angus, but the Government House Leader just killed the motion to suspend today’s sitting.”

“You mean the whole region is shut down, and he wants us to gather in the chamber and carry on as if it’s just another day?” asked Angus.

“Yep, that’s exactly what I mean.” I heard nothing but Angus’s breathing on the other end.

Finally, he spoke. “No no, I cannae believe they’d stoop to that depth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel, the Government may be playin’ us for fools. How many members do we and the NDP have in the House?”

“By the looks of it on
TV
, not very many. The Government benches seem a little fuller,” I noted.

“Then, I suggest you get off the blower with me and get to the Leader’s office. I reckon the Government’s tryin’ to force the mini-budget vote when they’ve the numbers to win it,” Angus said, his voice rising. “The slimy sons o’ brigands!”

“Angus, relax. That vote’s not till tomorrow. There was all-party agreement on the debate schedule,” I reminded him.

“I’m well aware of the schedule but you dinnae understand what I’m sayin’. The tide is turnin’ against the Government. I’m sure you’ve seen the papers this mornin’. They could lose the vote when everyone shows up tomorrow. But they could very well win it if it’s held today when so many MPs are snowbound,” he explained.

“But Angus, it can’t be done, there was all-party agreement. They wouldn’t dare mess with that,” I countered.

“My boy, all-party agreement is a whisper in a wailin’ wind to this Government. They’re desperate. I’ve told you before, the rules of the house favour the governin’ party. The budget motion is already sittin’ on the Order Paper. The Government House Leader has only to call it, and the despicable deed is done.”

Angus had become quite the procedure geek since joining the Standing Committee, but I was still unconvinced. “But that would
mean violating all-party agreement, not to mention parliamentary tradition,” I replied.

“Daniel, the way their mini-budget’s unravelin’, it may well be their only hope of survival. I feel it in my bones. They’re about to swindle us.”

It still sounded far-fetched, but discretion was the better part of valour. I called and warned Bradley Stanton, giving Angus the credit for unearthing the Tory stratagem. He, too, was skeptical but had always survived by a “take no chances, take no prisoners” approach to politics. So the call went forth across the land to all Opposition Members, Liberals, and NDPers alike, wherever they were, to brave the blizzard and make it to the House by six o’clock. If the Government were actually going to renege on its promise and call the vote 24 hours early – on a snow day, to boot – I was convinced history would view it as the Pearl Harbor of political sneak attacks. December 9 would live in infamy in the annals of Canadian politics.

With so few MPs in the House, and even fewer Ministers, question period that afternoon was not the spectator sport it often was. The chamber was so sparsely populated that inexperienced backbenchers were called upon to pose the lead-off questions. It was generous in the extreme to say the questions were boring. Mildly put, the performance could have rendered a charging rhinoceros unconscious before the second supplementary. I stayed awake to witness the pivotal moment as question period drew to a close. The live broadcast of the House proceedings offered a very narrow slice of what was actually going on in the chamber. The cameras stayed trained either on the Speaker or on whichever Member was on his or her feet. Little else could be seen on TV. So I zipped over to the Members’ gallery for an all-encompassing view and made it just in time. As the Minister of Veterans’ Affairs droned on in response to what the clock confirmed was the last question, my heart rate rose as I watched the Government House Leader stand
up and approach the Clerk’s table. I was forced to concede that Angus might well have been on to something.

The Government House Leader finished his brief conversation with the Deputy Clerk, who was standing in for the vacationing Clerk, leaving the black-robed parliamentary expert looking as if he’d just slipped off his bicycle seat onto the crossbar below. The Tory House Leader resumed his seat, looking cool and calm. The Deputy Clerk conferred briefly with the Speaker, who listened but then shrugged his shoulders in submission. Following Routine Proceedings, the Speaker stood once more. “Orders of the Day.”

The Deputy Clerk stood, holding the Order Paper, which vibrated in his trembling fingers.

“Order number seven, resuming the adjourned debate on the motion: ‘That this House approve in general the budgetary policy of the Government,’” intoned the Deputy Clerk in a voice that sounded tense and taut. He repeated his words in French and then dropped back into his chair as fast as gravity permitted.

Understanding slowly dawned on the rest of the House. The Tories had laid down their cards on the Clerk’s table in the calculated hope they had a winning hand. The chips would fall in a couple hours – but would the Government?

“Dickhead” was immediately on his feet, enraged. “Point of order, Mr. Speaker. Point of order!” he shouted.

“I ask the Honourable Opposition House Leader to calm himself and present his point of order,” replied the Speaker, well aware of the ignominious precedent the Government was setting.

“Mr. Speaker, we had all-party agreement to conclude the mini-budget debate and vote tomorrow, not today. It is an unparalleled abuse of office, of our rights and privileges as Members, and of the traditions of this place. It is also an insult to the people of Canada. I ask you to intervene to set things right.” “Dickhead” sat down and looped the small audio speaker over one of his elephantine ears to hear above the roar.

“Order, order. I remind the Honourable Opposition House Leader that while calling this motion to the floor today may well violate parliamentary tradition and violate all-party agreement, it does not violate the Standing Orders that govern all that is done in this place,” the Speaker decreed. “Resuming the adjourned debate. The Honourable Member for Vancouver East.”

With that, the Speaker sat down and a Tory backbencher stood and delivered a passionate and partisan defence of the Government’s mini-budget.

So that was it. They had really done it – and on a day when the elements had stranded nearly half the MPs wherever they’d laid their heads the previous night. Travelling to Centre Block from outside Ottawa was impossible, and making it from within Ottawa was next to impossible. Most streets in the city were impassable, and all major thoroughfares into and out of Ottawa were closed and not expected to be plowed and opened for up to 48 hours. The airport had been closed since late Sunday night, leaving many MPs trapped in their constituencies. By my informal head count during question period, the Tories had about 17 MPs while the Opposition parties mustered only about 13. The Standing Orders set quorum at 20, including the Speaker.

The time by then was close to 4:00
PM
, with the vote scheduled for 6:00
PM
. Both the Government and the Opposition parties had about two hours to get as many of their MPs as humanly possible into the House. The life of the Government hinged on the vote. I rushed back to the office to work the phones. Time was very short.

When I phoned Angus, my call rang into his voice mail. I figured he was on the phone. I hung up without leaving a message and called the Leader’s office. They already had a phone tree going. For the next hour and a half, Liberal MPs stuck in and around Ottawa made Herculean efforts to reach Centre Block. Two MPs who roomed together in a Hull condo found an open sporting-goods store and bought cross-country skis. They made it to the
House in plenty of time, leaving their new purchases stuck upright in a snowbank next to the west door of Centre Block. An NDPer snowshoed two miles from deep in the Glebe and made it. A young Liberal MP in his first term, representing Ottawa-Gatineau, roared all around Ottawa on his snowmobile, dragging a trailer sleigh of sorts filled with caucus mates. He considered making the run to Cumberland for Angus, but a broken timing belt put an end to that icy side trip. The Tories had their own stories of derring-do as well. It was a race to fill the benches by 6:00
PM
.

The speeches in the House that afternoon were as predictable as they were passionate. The Government Members defended their tax cuts with religious zeal while the Opposition railed against the Tories’ audacious opportunism. Clearly, MPs on both sides of the House had been counting on another day of speech prep and polish. For every dozen well-crafted lines of oratory, I heard at least three stumbles, two sentence fragments, and a non sequitur. Even the Government Members had been caught off guard by their House Leader’s procedural gambit.

The division bells rang at 5:45
PM
, calling the MPs to the vote. I left the office and entered the public gallery at the south end of the House so I could count Members on both sides of the chamber. In the intervening fifteen minutes, I found it impossible to get an accurate read on numbers. Members were darting about, conferring with one another and disappearing behind the curtains that separated the House from the Government and Opposition lobbies. I gave up until the Speaker rose to bring the bedlam to order. Everyone took their seats, and virtually everyone in the chamber starting counting as the Speaker and the Deputy Clerk introduced the vote.

I’d smuggled a small message pad into the gallery and shielded it in my lap from the vigilant eyes of the two House of Commons security staff posted at either entrance. I finished my first count: Government 31, Opposition 38. I took little comfort in this margin. The Government House Leader and Whip looked too calm
and confident to be seven votes short. They were playing us again.

The roll-call vote started precisely at 6:00
PM
with the Speaker calling for the “Ayes.” The Tory side stood. Starting at the north end of the chamber, as the Deputy Clerk read each name, the Members, in turn, sat down. As I expected, halfway through the “Ayes,” I watched as the Government House Leader nodded once and seven MPs floated in to take their seats in the south end of the House, just in time to record their affirmative votes. The Prime Minister could not contain a Cheshire-cat grin. Government 38, Opposition 38. They had done it. They had their tie, and a tie was all they needed. The Speaker had made his own mental count and looked uncomfortable at the prospect of breaking the tie. But he would, without doubt. He was a loyal Tory soldier, and duty called.

The Deputy Clerk finished counting each standing Government MP and turned to the Speaker.

“And the ‘Nays,’” invited the Speaker formally.

The Opposition benches rose, and the Deputy Clerk again started his roll call from the north end of the NDP and Liberal benches. I watched in hope and then in vain for additional Opposition Members to slip into the chamber to break the tie and wipe the smug smile off the Prime Minister’s face. But we were stalled at 38. It was over.

About three Opposition Members were yet to be counted when I heard a commotion beneath me. What looked like an Arctic explorer, complete with heavy boots, snow pants, and a bright orange parka with a hood zipped to the hilt, stumbled into view on the floor of the House of Commons, dragging two Commissionaires with him.

“Unhand me. I’m to be here. I’m to be here!” he shouted.

He unzipped and pulled back his fur-lined hood, revealing soft, brown leather and aged goggles. As the zipper descended still farther, a grey and straggly cascade spread onto his chest. It could not be. But there he was. As the leather headgear was removed, so too was all doubt as to the identity of the intrepid traveler. I have
never heard such noise in the House as I did at that moment. Movement to the right caught my eye. I looked over to the press gallery to see André Fontaine, dressed to tackle the final push to Mount Everest’s summit, beaming my way. When he took off his soaking parka, his face appeared bright pink, and his eyes were streaming, though not with emotion – apparently just from winter’s wind. He looked like he’d just gone through a car wash on a bicycle. An ice-encrusted camera swung from his left shoulder. I was at a complete loss. I had no words, no explanation.

Below me, a dozen Liberal MPs gathered around Angus, hoisted him to their shoulders, and carried him to his seat like an Egyptian pharaoh. He did not seem happy about the antics and looked to the Speaker, who was still trying to restore order in the chamber, in apology. Before the vote could be resumed, the Government House Leader was on his feet. The Prime Minister was no longer smiling.

“Mr. Speaker, the Honourable Member for Cumberland-Prescott must not be permitted to vote as the roll call was already in progress.”

The colour had drained from the Speaker’s face as he summoned his Deputy Clerk for counsel. Whispered conversation ensued for several minutes. Throughout, repeated and emphatic head shaking was the Deputy Clerk’s response. He returned to the table as the Speaker wobbled to his feet.

“The Standing Orders are silent on the matter, but we are guided by precedent. Provided the Member is in his place before the roll call is concluded, his vote is legitimate and will be counted.”

“Mr. Speaker, I demand a formal ruling on this matter before we proceed,” barked the Government House Leader. He was waving his hands, grasping at straws.

The Speaker rose again, steadier now. “I have just given the only ruling possible in this situation. In fact, my Deputy Clerk reminds me that last year, the Honourable Government House Leader himself sought and received this very judgment, allowing a tardy
Minister to register her vote on her own bill. The vote will proceed.” Live by the sword, etcetera, etcetera.

The Government House Leader had nothing in return. He bolted from the chamber, followed quickly by the Prime Minister, the rest of his Ministers, and eventually, the entire Government caucus. The Tory benches were empty when Angus McLintock, reluctant MP for Cumberland-Prescott, took his seat after delivering the coup de grâce. Every scrap of paper on and in the Opposition desks was tossed into the air as if in tribute to the day’s snowstorm. The noise was deafening. Angus sat calmly in the eye of a storm of well-wishers. The Leader himself was first in line to pump Angus’s hand, afterwards locking him in a bear hug. The Speaker had already adjourned the House, no doubt to return to his Centre Block apartment and contemplate his less-than-promising future in the Progressive Conservative Party.