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| definitely not the Prime Minister |
Politics for Joe
Chapter Two
A Grateful Nation Expresses its Grief
In the end, Walter decided to not drive the black Lexus, but instead take a taxi to the Cabinet Meeting. First impressions. Man of the people. No limo for him! (Not that hye had call for one anyway.)
Because the meeting would involve every ministry and department, it would not be held on Parliament Hill; instead the Government Conference Centre’s schedule had been cleared, so the blue and gold cab headed for the converted old railway station. That beautiful, stone, vaulted and pillared building went back to the Edwardian Age and Laurier. It occurred to Walter that this might even be the biggest constitutional crisis since the time of Sir Wilfrid Laurier.
‘What the hell were they going to do now?,’ Walter thought as they sped along the Queensway. The only cars passing them were media cars, which was fine by the taxi passenger as he damn well wanted the media there first.
But the government ... The leadership race was a given. The Liberal Party clearly needed a leader. Something interrupted Walter’s thoughts.
That interruption being me. Yes, it’s the Liberal Party of Canada and not some made-up wink, wink creation like the Constitutional Democrats of Canada, or perhaps the Progressive Social-Capitalists. Actually, that last one could work. It sounds wonky enough to have appeal to the frightened. But using a made-up Party then would mean changing the names of the other Parties, or adding another national party and then we’re in some strange Star Trek ‘Mirror, Mirror’ world which is not going to improve your enjoyment one shred. Screw it. It’s the Liberals. Names have been changed to protect the obvious. Back to Walter in the cab.
The situation, for once was being neatly encapsulated on CBC Radio by Don Newman, brought back once again out of retirement whenever the impoverished public network felt it needed an adult voice that bore knowledge. The Harper Conservatives had basically put CBC in a fiscal iron lung, and even though the Liberals were in their third year of power, they hadn’t done much to bring it back to life.
But Newman knew how to present a story. “The Liberals only had a working majority of one in combination with the NDP. Now that’s gone, at least until a by-election is held in Winnipeg Centre. But what do they do until then? Will they proroooooouge the House?” (Newman still rolled his vowels like round logs floating downstream to a B.C. sawmill.) “What will the public reaction be to that? Will the people be understanding and allow the Liberals time to re-configure themselves, or will puiblic opinion press towarrrrds a coalition with the New Democrats?”
When hell freezes over, thought the Secretary of State for National Unity. Walter didn’t have anything against the NDP. They’d had a grand time together in Opposition, they really did throw the best parties, and the NDP was useful as a sort of policy test marketing group. Whatever policies the NDP had that were proving really popular, the Liberals would just absorb, as they would the best of the Conservative ideas - not that the latter was a particularly large number. This formula had worked beautifully for decades - the Party’s slogan could well have been ‘We Sample the Best so You Don’t Have To!’ - it was a wonder they ever lost it for a decade. It’s only when Liberals try and be original that they fall apart at the seams.
As they moved down Elgin to the Conference Centre, Walter could see the most incredible sight. People walking slowly up the street towards Parliament Hill bearing flowers, greeting cards, even old record albums given Singer Marley’s love of 1960’s music. It was like some sort of Far Eastern, even farther than Cape Breton, funeral rite. A parade in parkas and ski jackets.
Of course, that had been Singer’s political ace in the hole. People liked him. That still counted for something in politics. And the man could belt out one hell of a rendition of O! Canada. He’d patterned his style after Roger Doucet, who sang the anthem for the Montreal Canadiens for years and years. Singer Marley didn’t have Doucet’s voice, Christ knows, but he did share the man’s enthusiasm for the piece. People could tell he truly loved this big, awkward country - either that or he was a better actor than Christopher Plummer. Because they liked him, they forgave him his mishandling of the budget or the time he was caught on a camera and microphone pointing at David Cameron of the UK, and mumbling ‘he’s a bit of a turd.’ Marley had said he’d been pointing at the dessert at the state dinner table and what you were really hearing was our Prime Minister pointing at the pecan pie and stating, ‘We’ll have a bit or a third.’ Which made absolutely no sense, unless Marley was completely pissed and that’s scarcely an improvement. But because they liked him, the people forgave him.
The cab stopped half a block from the doors, as Walter had requested. As he stepped out of the cab door, his folders in arm and his hair casually tossed, he thought about how much fun things must have been back in the days when there were flashbulbs. Armfuls of tiny cameras the size of Bic lighters waved at his face was more weird than empowering. But yes ... yes it was still fun ...
even in a crisis, a man’s entitled to enjoy himself.
Chapter Two
A Grateful Nation Expresses its Grief
In the end, Walter decided to not drive the black Lexus, but instead take a taxi to the Cabinet Meeting. First impressions. Man of the people. No limo for him! (Not that hye had call for one anyway.)
Because the meeting would involve every ministry and department, it would not be held on Parliament Hill; instead the Government Conference Centre’s schedule had been cleared, so the blue and gold cab headed for the converted old railway station. That beautiful, stone, vaulted and pillared building went back to the Edwardian Age and Laurier. It occurred to Walter that this might even be the biggest constitutional crisis since the time of Sir Wilfrid Laurier.
‘What the hell were they going to do now?,’ Walter thought as they sped along the Queensway. The only cars passing them were media cars, which was fine by the taxi passenger as he damn well wanted the media there first.
But the government ... The leadership race was a given. The Liberal Party clearly needed a leader. Something interrupted Walter’s thoughts.
That interruption being me. Yes, it’s the Liberal Party of Canada and not some made-up wink, wink creation like the Constitutional Democrats of Canada, or perhaps the Progressive Social-Capitalists. Actually, that last one could work. It sounds wonky enough to have appeal to the frightened. But using a made-up Party then would mean changing the names of the other Parties, or adding another national party and then we’re in some strange Star Trek ‘Mirror, Mirror’ world which is not going to improve your enjoyment one shred. Screw it. It’s the Liberals. Names have been changed to protect the obvious. Back to Walter in the cab.
The situation, for once was being neatly encapsulated on CBC Radio by Don Newman, brought back once again out of retirement whenever the impoverished public network felt it needed an adult voice that bore knowledge. The Harper Conservatives had basically put CBC in a fiscal iron lung, and even though the Liberals were in their third year of power, they hadn’t done much to bring it back to life.
But Newman knew how to present a story. “The Liberals only had a working majority of one in combination with the NDP. Now that’s gone, at least until a by-election is held in Winnipeg Centre. But what do they do until then? Will they proroooooouge the House?” (Newman still rolled his vowels like round logs floating downstream to a B.C. sawmill.) “What will the public reaction be to that? Will the people be understanding and allow the Liberals time to re-configure themselves, or will puiblic opinion press towarrrrds a coalition with the New Democrats?”
When hell freezes over, thought the Secretary of State for National Unity. Walter didn’t have anything against the NDP. They’d had a grand time together in Opposition, they really did throw the best parties, and the NDP was useful as a sort of policy test marketing group. Whatever policies the NDP had that were proving really popular, the Liberals would just absorb, as they would the best of the Conservative ideas - not that the latter was a particularly large number. This formula had worked beautifully for decades - the Party’s slogan could well have been ‘We Sample the Best so You Don’t Have To!’ - it was a wonder they ever lost it for a decade. It’s only when Liberals try and be original that they fall apart at the seams.
As they moved down Elgin to the Conference Centre, Walter could see the most incredible sight. People walking slowly up the street towards Parliament Hill bearing flowers, greeting cards, even old record albums given Singer Marley’s love of 1960’s music. It was like some sort of Far Eastern, even farther than Cape Breton, funeral rite. A parade in parkas and ski jackets.
Of course, that had been Singer’s political ace in the hole. People liked him. That still counted for something in politics. And the man could belt out one hell of a rendition of O! Canada. He’d patterned his style after Roger Doucet, who sang the anthem for the Montreal Canadiens for years and years. Singer Marley didn’t have Doucet’s voice, Christ knows, but he did share the man’s enthusiasm for the piece. People could tell he truly loved this big, awkward country - either that or he was a better actor than Christopher Plummer. Because they liked him, they forgave him his mishandling of the budget or the time he was caught on a camera and microphone pointing at David Cameron of the UK, and mumbling ‘he’s a bit of a turd.’ Marley had said he’d been pointing at the dessert at the state dinner table and what you were really hearing was our Prime Minister pointing at the pecan pie and stating, ‘We’ll have a bit or a third.’ Which made absolutely no sense, unless Marley was completely pissed and that’s scarcely an improvement. But because they liked him, the people forgave him.
The cab stopped half a block from the doors, as Walter had requested. As he stepped out of the cab door, his folders in arm and his hair casually tossed, he thought about how much fun things must have been back in the days when there were flashbulbs. Armfuls of tiny cameras the size of Bic lighters waved at his face was more weird than empowering. But yes ... yes it was still fun ...
even in a crisis, a man’s entitled to enjoy himself.
(iDo share with anyone you think might enjoy this odd little political novel aned I invi9te your comments.
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