Underdog (22 page)

The following is written with no disrespect to Mr. Layton, who was extremely charming and personable. I admired his passion and his determination to get his agenda through city council. He put the federal NDP on the map, no question. I always found Mr. Layton far more affable than his wife, Olivia Chow, during the years I covered his comings and goings at City Hall. But, for heaven's sake, he was hardly a saint. He was just a man with a mission, much of which was not accomplished. Mr. Layton was flawed just like everyone else. He was a narcissist like every other politician. Like all of his NDP counterparts, he was a master of hypocrisy. Nicknamed “Bicycle Jack Layton,” he would often ride his bike (for show) to City Hall with a city limo trailing him – costing eighty dollars per ride and spewing heaven knows how many greenhouse gases – to carry his paperwork. I'm not kidding. The limo carried his paperwork. I will not forget how he trotted out the homeless – many of them with mental health issues – before the camera to make some point or other. In the year 2000, when Mel Lastman and his supporters on council tried to get approval for the controversial million-dollar deal to send Toronto's garbage by rail to a willing host – the abandoned Adams Mine in Kirkland Lake – Mr. Layton brought in a council chamber full of professional protesters and used every trick in the book to stall the vote on the deal for four long days. In the end, the deal never went through because of
issues with the contract, and he and his ragtag group of protesters were only too happy to allow Toronto's garbage to be shipped by truck along Highway 401 to Michigan. That decision made absolutely no sense to me: sending four hundred trucks a day down Highway 401 through London, St. Thomas, and Woodstock was supposedly much safer in Mr. Layton's opinion than shipping the garbage by rail up north to a willing host.

Even the letter Mr. Layton wrote from his deathbed to inspire Canadians was classic Jack Layton – one intended to manipulate public sentiment. To this day, it continues to evoke that fuzzy-wuzzy feeling of hope and the mistaken impression that the NDP are the ones who are there to act for the most vulnerable. It's all smoke and mirrors. Still, the outpouring of emotion in the days following Mr. Layton's death and leading up to his state funeral was so over-the-top, I wanted to shout from the green rooftops at City Hall to the many people inscribing sentiments in chalk on the stone wall below, “Get a grip!” I'd never seen so many people (several there simply to be part of the action) in need of a “group hug” over a politician's death in all my years covering politics. If I'd said anything remotely as politically incorrect as this back in 2011, I would have been branded a heretic. I expect I still will.

By now, it should be obvious that I don't have much use for public sector unions or their political supporters – mostly because they are greedy and out of touch with reality, and many of them are still living in the 1960s. But even I was surprised with the game of brinksmanship played between the entitled teachers' unions and the Wynne government in the summer and early fall of 2015 – dressed in the guise of concern for students and the quality of teaching delivered in
the classroom. It would have been laughable, had students not been caught in the middle. The teachers' unions actually thought they could dupe us into believing it was all about kids and not about their entitlements. As for Ms. Wynne, we already knew the leopard was not prepared to change her spots, despite her faux attempt at outrage about the teachers' unions' demands and her even phonier concern for the province's finances. My goodness, she'd already been bought and paid for by the teachers in the 2014 election. She wasn't about to let her benefactors down, no matter how it would affect the province's bottom line.

And so I've come to realize that those on the Lib-left are far more adept at manufacturing outrage and compassion – when it suits their political purpose, of course – than at actually using their outrage and self-righteousness to fuel action. It is little wonder public disenchantment with government and politicians is at such at an all-time high, and that people are convinced more than ever that their votes do not matter.

As I headed out on the city's third homeless street count on a chilly April evening in 2013, my editors asked me if I would tweet about my experiences with a live feed planned on the
Toronto Sun
website. Even though I'd signed an agreement with the city's homelessness officials to respect the confidentiality of the street people we would encounter, I was assured by those same officials that I was perfectly safe tweeting about what I observed as my census team and I walked the streets we'd been assigned during the almost three hours we spent outside trying to track down the homeless. We were sent to the Bloor and Ossington area of Toronto – not exactly a part of town where the hard-core street people tended to gravitate, simply because the services they would normally access aren't there. Still, it took only a matter of minutes once I started my tweets – pretty innocuous and intentionally funny ones about the people we were required
to stop who clearly weren't homeless – before the Twitter-sphere went berserk. They questioned my motives, suggesting nastily that I was just trying to prey on the homeless and take advantage of them for another column in which I would denigrate them as I always had.

Not that that was true. If my Twitter critics had bothered to read any of my columns on the homeless, they would have observed quite a different perspective. However, the response was par for the course. Over the years, it has become obvious the Lib-left prefer to remain ignorant about my position; otherwise, they'd have no reason to attack. Or, because many of them have a vested interest in keeping the industry thriving, it suited them to make it seem like I didn't care about the homeless. In fact, my columns had always questioned the amount of money poured into the homelessness cause, which, instead of being used to help break the cycle of dependence and give the homeless a hand up, went toward propping up an ever ballooning poverty industry.

Throughout the evening of the count, my critics called me a heartless opportunist and a variety of other unflattering names. As they tweeted from their warm homes, pubs, or wherever they were, I was actually out on a somewhat chilly spring evening growing more exhausted as each hour went by, walking the talk. I don't recall any of them indicating they were actually participating in the count. Perhaps my participation challenged their view of me as a heartless bitch. But they were definitely incensed that I was out there that night. Actually, it was the second time I'd volunteered to count the homeless. From 2002, when I spent several weeks investigating how much was being spent on Toronto's street people, it
became a crusade of mine to question whether the millions of dollars allocated by council were going to those who needed it most, or to a growing industry of self-professed do-gooders and activists. In June 2002, I travelled to New York with then councillor Doug Holyday to see for myself what Mayor Rudy Giuliani had done to get the homeless off the streets of his city. At the time, the New York City Department of Homeless Services had just begun a count of the homeless living on the streets of selected areas of Manhattan, and was planning to expand the census to all of Manhattan the following year. The agency figured, quite rightly, that if they didn't know the extent of the problem, they couldn't fix it properly. I came back to Toronto pushing for a similar street census in our city. But when the NDP councillors – most particularly Olivia Chow and Joe Mihevc – and the poverty activists got their hands on the idea, they managed to drag their feet for four years, using every excuse they could think of to delay the count. They knew it would turn up far fewer serious street people than the grossly inflated numbers they regularly used to justify more cash for a cause that was already spending on average $32,631 per hard-core street person per year. Indeed the first baseline census in 2006 showed that instead of the 15,000 homeless Jack Layton estimated to be living on Toronto's streets, there were a mere 818 outside on April 19 of that year. Believing I had a certain stake in the street count, I decided to serve as a volunteer in 2009 and 2013 to see for myself how the survey was being conducted and exactly who was sleeping on the streets.

It confounded and incensed me that instead of applying tough love and forcing the homeless off the streets into shelters, the poverty activists were perfectly content to leave
Toronto's street people lying where they found them – as a testament to the federal and provincial governments' alleged refusal to properly fund affordable housing. The perennial mantra of the Lib-left is that if only the federal government would sink millions and billions of dollars into building more affordable housing units, there wouldn't be any more homeless on the streets. They still yap about the same thing today, fourteen years later. But as I soon discovered, affordable housing was darn unaffordable to build. It was beyond incomprehensible that the leftists would advocate for the construction of housing costing upwards of $300,000 or more per unit when there were and still are plenty of private apartments available in the city that could house street people at a fraction of the cost using rent supplements. There'd even be money left over to provide the homeless with proper counselling for whatever demons kept them on the street – whether it was alcohol, drugs, or mental issues. As the years went on and I heard the same story over and over again, I came to realize that the homelessness activists didn't truly want to end homelessness.

I got a sense of déjà vu about invading the alleged territory of the Lib-left on a bitterly cold January night during the hellish winter of 2014. This time I was not doing a street count but a tour of the city's streets and shelters to see how the homeless were coping, and I ran into leftist Toronto councillor Janet Davis. She made it clear she was not at all happy to see me. I did not encounter Ms. Davis, an avowed CUPE supporter who comes across as bitter and humourless at the best of times, outside on the streets in the bitter temperatures, where I had been for a few hours. I ran into her at the warming centre located in the lobby of one of the city-owned
facilities, my last stop of the night. She was so put out by my presence, she complained to the city workers that I was bothering some of the homeless there that night by attempting to speak to them. Ms. Davis left after a quick tour, having not spoken to a single person in the centre – except me, of course.

THE LIBERALS CLEVERLY TRIED
to play on the stereotype of me as a heartless bitch in the only all-candidates debate during my 2009 bid for MPP. They planted Karen Mock, the national director of the League of Human Rights, in the audience to pepper me with questions about my alleged newspaper attacks on the homeless. Ms. Mock, who had a vested interest in helping out given that she wanted to run for the Liberals herself (later vying unsuccessfully for a federal seat in Thornhill during the 2011 election), was only too happy to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of those in the audience.

After all, what a perfect counterbalance that would make me to my Liberal opponent Eric Hoskins – a doctor with perfectly coiffed hair and years of involvement as president of War Child Canada, a humanitarian organization that reached out to children in war zones. In his literature, the Liberals used all the right buzz words: “compassionate,” “honest,” “committed,” “industrious,” “renowned humanitarian,” and – get this – “loving husband.” Given that I'd married Denise just two months prior to the election, I've always wondered if that last label was meant to target those in the more ethnic reaches of the riding who didn't believe in same-sex marriage. Here I thought the Liberals were tolerant and inclusive! Still, Dr. Hoskins was portrayed as Dudley Do-Right, leaving the implication that I was Snidely Whiplash. I'm surprised he didn't have one of
those sparkles one sees on TV ads, emanating from his front teeth whenever he smiled.

That night, the Liberal Machine hoped no one would notice that Dr. Do-Right couldn't answer a single question without referring like a programmed robot to a briefing book nearly two inches thick – complete with tabs denoting each issue – while I spoke from the heart I allegedly did not have. I even dealt with the attempts to portray me as unfeeling toward the homeless by addressing my critics head-on. Thankfully, one of my opponents in the debate called out Dr. Hoskins for not being able to answer a single question without consulting his thick briefing book.

A few weeks later, and mere days before the election, Dr. Do-Right skipped the only televised debate for our riding. Whether he was poised to win or not, to me his absence represented the height of arrogance and disrespect for voters. But of course, such disregard has become a Liberal trademark and his arrogance has only gotten worse as Liberal health minister.

The most amusing act just before voting day was the Liberal attempt to smear me in a series of flyers dropped in voters' doors. I was flattered that my opponents considered me enough of a threat to go to those lengths. But the funny thing was, many voters would have agreed with the quotes they pulled out of my columns, even though they were taken completely out of context. Under a heading claiming that for over fifteen years, “Sue-Ann Levy has been complaining about everything and everyone,” they included this quote: “The TTC is inefficient and the management ranks bloated.” Considering that I'd spent time on St. Clair West hearing from store owners who had barely hung on during the TTC's mishandling of the dedicated streetcar line construction – which went 100 per
cent over budget – I'm not sure, if I were my opposition, that I would have used that particular quote.

The Liberals also included this one from a column I wrote about the city's decaying infrastructure, unkempt parks, and litter issues: “The fact is, I'm not the least bit proud to show off my city.” From a column on David Miller's fiscal ineptitude, they included this comment: “It would be better if the province wouldn't agree to bail this city out yet again.” It was hilarious. I ran for office mere days after the thirty-nine-day garbage strike ended – the strike that Mr. Miller put the entire city through for no reason. I heard the anger toward the mayor at virtually every single door during the campaign. In the Liberals' crude attempt to paint me as unfeeling, negative, unkind, and of course hard-hearted – in other words, the antithesis of their Liberal Golden Boy – they likely made more voters than they intended realize I was thinking just like them.

I'VE COME TO BELIEVE
that when I stir things up or express provocative opinions, I'm often saying what is really on the minds of other people who don't have the forum or the ability to say it the way they see it. I've always accepted that I have to expect some pushback for my strong opinions. That doesn't bother me. Over my years as an outspoken political columnist, I've grown an extremely thick skin. The reaction of my critics is invariably visceral and personal. And when these detractors become personal, they resort to the usual stereotypes and lies about someone who is politically right of centre.

For instance, in May 2013, when word first came that a Rob Ford crack cocaine video existed, most people in the media and Toronto's chattering classes and talk show hosts were
prepared to try to convict the mayor right on the spot. That was the start of what became a non-stop feeding frenzy. I was still prepared at that point to cut Mr. Ford some slack because the video had yet to surface. Besides, I put that latest round of harassment in the context of a witch hunt by the media (led by the
Toronto Star
) and Lib-left that had started virtually the day the mayor was elected to office in 2010, simply because he was right of centre, overweight, and at times inarticulate. It was like nothing I'd ever seen having covered three mayors during my fifteen years at City Hall.

For having the audacity not to rush to judgment and become part of the media pack that beat up on Mr. Ford with glee, I was practically eviscerated on social media. I was called the mayor's secretary, lackey, and apologist, a moron and hack. Apparently one was either with the Lib-left media or against them. And it got worse over the following months, when I dared to suggest to the supposedly “tolerant” left that they were being rather, well, intolerant and cruel toward the mayor, who clearly had serious addiction issues and was spiralling out of control. The word “enabler” was quickly added to their list of names for me. It became so ridiculous that I started to joke on social media and various other forums that yes, I'd personally bought Mr. Ford's crack cocaine and his forty-ouncers. The delicious delight with which so many people were prepared to mock and pile on Mr. Ford showed the true colours of both the supposedly tolerant Lib-left and far too many in the liberal media. I wondered if their over-the-top reaction stemmed from their need to belong to the so-called in crowd or to make themselves feel better about their own (perhaps insignificant or even dysfunctional) lives. I was shocked when I heard even rather rotund members of the
media mocking Mr. Ford's weight. Perhaps I responded more strongly than others because such comments reminded me of those days in the schoolyard when I was chased and bullied, having been perceived as vulnerable and an outsider.

Premier Kathleen Wynne – facing a long list of messes of her own, from the gas plant scandal to deleted e-mails about that scandal, to her decision to capitulate to the powerful teachers' unions in one of her first vote-buying exercises – tried to divert attention from her own sorry government by ex-communicating Mr. Ford from meetings with the province, including any efforts to bring the city back from the terrible ice storm of the winter of 2013. I knew it was all political grandstanding on Ms. Wynne's part. But nevertheless I found it shameless and bordering on cruel that Ontario's first lesbian premier, who expects everyone to accept her, would dare to rush to judge a man who obviously had serious personal issues. I couldn't imagine not showing him any compassion.