The Best Laid Plans (28 page)

The headline and subhead just about said it all. Angus was standing caucus discipline on its head by defying the authority of the Leader, the Whip, and the House Leader. Rogue MPs were nothing new. Virtually every caucus had one or two. What left me wishing I had some medication of my own, or anyone else’s for that matter, was the final paragraph in the story, reporting that
II
other Liberal backbenchers would join Angus in supporting the Throne Speech. Emboldened by my neophyte MP, they parroted the rationale he had outlined in his speech. I figured that by nightfall the Leader would have banished Angus from the Liberal caucus for his disobedience, leaving him sitting as an independent. But for some reason, that call never came. As I scanned the other papers in the office and flipped through the caucus clipping report that daily gave each Liberal MP political media coverage from across the country, an explanation emerged from the fog.

I read 4 editorials and 12 political columnists in various dailies across Canada applauding the stand Angus had taken. I saw the adjectives “refreshing,” “courageous,” “honourable,” and “honest” sprinkled throughout. Only one commentator took Angus to task for his breach of party discipline, noting that if organized political parties did not behave in an organized fashion, the whole democratic system might be thrown into disarray. As I listened to the radio talk shows and kept one eye on the television coverage on CPAC, this “blindly toe the party line” position gained no traction. Angus appeared to have considerable support among key political journalists, who played such an influential role in shaping public opinion. I began to see that the Leader could neither afford to rein Angus in nor expel him from caucus. Too much support
was coalescing behind the shit-disturbing, pot-stirring, trouble-making, rabble-rousing MP for Cumberland-Prescott. I assumed Zaleski would be in the field with a quick poll in the coming days to see whether Angus was registering with voters beyond the insular world of Parliament Hill.

That afternoon, Angus was scheduled to probe the Government with his debut performance in question period. Most Opposition MPs used the term
probe
in the “alien abduction” sense of the word. But Angus adhered to the classic definition: to explore, examine, investigate. Televising parliamentary proceedings live from the House of Commons had forever changed the face of question period. Much of the decorum, protocol, and mutual respect within the chamber had died off as soon as the television cameras had turned on. Televising the proceedings was a challenging issue for those of us who wanted Canadian democracy to be more accessible, accountable, and for that matter, democratic.

In the pre-TV days of the House, question period actually had been an opportunity to challenge the Government, hold it accountable for its actions or inaction, and nudge reforms along the winding road to adoption. Now, the broadcasting of question period had completely reoriented the Opposition parties’ approach. For the Liberals and the NDP, it had become a daily televised opportunity for embarrassing the Government, securing the pithy sound bite on the evening newscasts, and looking good doing it. I suppose I need not point out that Angus hadn’t exactly bought into the prevailing political imperatives of what was known as QP.

I was sequestered in my office, watching on television. Why be a sitting duck in the Members’ gallery, inviting free shots from the Leader’s staff? To the extent possible in influencing Angus and his actions, I’d instructed him to slip out right after QP and return to the office. I watched with tired ambivalence as our Leader and the NDP Leader asked their typically loaded but 100-percent-substance-free questions. I watched as the Prime Minister responded with shopworn rhetoric, nevertheless landing a few blows in the process.

Then, towards the end of question period, I heard my cue to put the phone on “do not disturb” and break into a cold sweat.

“The Honourable Member for Cumberland-Prescott,” intoned the Speaker.

The camera swung up to the backbench as Angus rose in his place, no notes in his hand or on his desk. Recognizing that this was Angus’s inaugural question in the House of Commons, several of his seatmates thumped their desks with open palms and cried “hear, hear.”

“Mr. Speaker, ’tis the first time I’ve participated in the cut and thrust of question period, so do bear with me. I’m a wee bit nervous,” Angus began.

Angus and I had gone back and forth on what question to ask and to whom he should pose it. Because Remembrance Day was quickly approaching, I’d suggested getting his feet wet by asking the Veterans’ Affairs Minister about long-delayed funding for a war memorial in Cumberland. But Angus had already spoken to the Minister on this issue and had been given an assurance that the funding was forthcoming. So he thought it redundant to ask a question that had already been answered, particularly if it embarrassed the Minister who had approved the funding in the first place. No, Angus wanted his question to go straight to the PM. Excellent.

“Mr. Speaker, I’ve been sittin’ quietly and listenin’ carefully for the last three quarters of an hour, and it’s now perfectly clear to me why this part of the proceedin’s is called question period and not answer period. But hope springs eternal, Mr. Speaker. I have a question for the Prime Minister.”

Angus’s opening prompted appreciative snickers from the Liberal benches, stern harrumphing from the Government members, and a wry smile from the Speaker himself. In anticipation of what might come next, I clenched my sphincter so tightly it’s a miracle it didn’t fuse shut permanently. Clearly, I needed to work on my coping skills.

“Mr. Speaker, does the Prime Minister consider himself to be an honourable and trustworthy man, whose word is his bond?” Angus sat down and fixed the Prime Minister with a steely gaze.

The PM seemed taken aback by the brevity and simplicity of the question. Normally, Opposition members droned on and on before posing an unfathomable question that generally defied response. In reply, Ministers usually ignored the question anyway, and seized the free air time to hammer home a few more key messages about all the wonderful things the Government was doing to make Canada a better place. Caught off guard, the Prime Minister hastened to his feet, looking as if he’d blown a tire somewhere on the road from perplexed to befuddled.

“Mr. Speaker, I appreciate the newly sworn-in Member’s question and welcome him to this place. I want to assure him that this Government is committed to fulfilling the vision and the plan laid before Canadians yesterday by the Governor General in the Throne Speech. It represents a balanced response to the challenges we face as a nation, and I appreciate the support the Honourable Member yesterday declared for it.” The PM took his seat and inserted his ear phone.

“Supplementary?” invited the Speaker. Angus again stood up.

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. Well, it appears the Prime Minister has declared this chamber an ‘answer-free zone,’ but we on this side of the floor will keep tryin’.”

“Hear, hear,” exclaimed the Liberal backbench, accompanied by more desk drumming.

“Order, please, order. Supplementary?” The Speaker shut down the heckling Angus had triggered.

“Mr. Speaker, I am new to this game and perhaps am easily confused. So my supplementary question is simply this: Could the Prime Minister please clarify which plan his Government intends to pursue? Is it the carefully contrived and perfectly balanced Throne Speech we heard yesterday, or is it the Conservative Party’s ‘Blueprint for Canada’ on which the Prime Minister and his
candidates campaigned so slavishly a mere four weeks ago? Mr. Speaker, I ask only because these two documents present utterly divergent visions,” Angus said, before sitting back down.

Much hooting, hollering, and heckling ensued until the Speaker once again restored order. I unclenched and calmed down. Angus was finished on his feet for the time being. But the Prime Minister had yet to respond.

“Mr. Speaker, it is our responsibility on this side of the House to govern within the context of the economic and political conditions we confront at any given time. Since the election, it has become clear that the economy has not only slowed but has nearly come to a complete halt. The Throne Speech presented yesterday represents the Government’s most up-to-date program for overcoming the economic challenges we now face as a nation. With this in mind, I am pleased to count on the support of the Honourable Member opposite. I also remind him that there is plenty of room on these Government benches to accommodate the Honourable Member at his convenience.”

The Prime Minister sat down, the picture of smugness. His caucus rose in a standing ovation as the Speaker did his best to maintain at least a semblance of authority in the midst of such revelry. For a brief instant, the camera panned the Liberal benches, and I caught a glimpse of Angus, nodding and smiling as if commending the Prime Minister’s recovery.

“Well, that was great fun,” noted Angus as he flopped down on the chair in front of my desk after strolling along the north corridor from the House. “The PM appeared ill-prepared for my first question but put me in my place on the supplementary, I thought.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call your effort particularly sharp or penetrating,” I commented, leaning back in my 1970s-era, purple swivel chair.

“Aye, but Daniel, I wasn’t hurlin’ a spear at him, I was simply askin’ for a straight answer to a straight question.”

“I get it, Angus. But there’s no way your exchange with the PM will make the cut on any newscast tonight. It was just too bland and congenial. No one was mad. No one was upset. No one was insulted. It was altogether too civil to be of interest to the pack of wolves in the press gallery,” I explained.

“Aye, ’tis a sad state of affairs when constructive and respectful debate is subordinated by cheap theatrics and mock outrage.”

“Welcome to your new world.”

It turned out I was wrong about what the media would choose to run that night. Angus did make the news in a CBC “The National” story on rookie MPs and how they were adjusting to life on the Hill and in the House. The reporter dwelled on the “Angus as maverick” angle and used a clip of his question in the House as corroborating evidence of his atypical approach. Unbeknownst to me, Angus had been intercepted as he left question period and scrummed about his thoughts on party discipline. His clip in the story that night sounded like this: “Aye, well, I am a member of the Liberal caucus, and I’m beginnin’ to understand what that entails. But first and foremost, I’m here to serve the nation’s interest – if that coincides with the party’s fortunes, all the better.”

Thanks, Angus. I turned off the TV and reached to unplug the phone just a few milliseconds after it started ringing.

Friday. Constituency day. Angus and I spent the morning on Parliament Hill but returned to Cumberland after lunch for our first official afternoon of constituent meetings. When we entered the Angus McLintock constit office, Muriel greeted us and we took in the repurposed Purple Rain Café that had folded a month earlier. A pair of red IKEA reception chairs flanked a white, plastic, modernist end table, circa 1961, on which were stacked back issues of
Reader’s Digest
and
Today’s Senior
magazines stamped with “Property of Riverfront Seniors’ Residence.” A leftover fluorescent violet counter that more closely resembled a runway stage in
a strip bar separated the office’s waiting area from its working space. We saw seated at a desk farther back a rather clean-cut young fellow I couldn’t quite place, which troubled me somewhat since Muriel and I had done the hiring together. He gave me a friendly and familiar wave. A few Liberal Party posters left over from the campaign adorned the cheerful yellow walls. The faint scent of paint was only partially masked by the 13 solid air fresheners I counted in a quick scan of the front room. The painting party had adjourned at midnight.

When we had first arrived, Muriel had been leaning on the counter, talking on the phone, rolling her eyes, and shaking her head, yet sustaining a congenial and helpful patter. “That’s right, Mr. Archibald, Eric Cameron is no longer your MP. Angus McLintock is.” (Pause) “No, you’ll have to deal with your paperboy directly on that. The federal government does not regulate delivery times.” (Pause) “No, that’s not a federal responsibility, either. Your driver’s licence is issued by the Ontario government. Yes, I like the old blue better, too.” (Long pause as Muriel laid her head on the counter while still holding the phone to her ear. Angus and I waited patiently, not daring to venture farther into the office until she had given us leave to pass through her checkpoint.)

“Mr. Archibald, I’m afraid I must take another call now, but if you turn the oven dial all the way around until it hits Broil and then bring it back to Bake, you should be able to brown the top of the macaroni while it’s cooking.” (Pause) “Yes, that’s right, but you’ll have to watch it carefully so it doesn’t burn.” (Pause) “Yes, I agree it’s not the same without ketchup. Good day, Mr. Archibald.”

She cradled the receiver gently but with blinding speed before making her way out from behind her desk to greet us. “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” she bubbled. “Welcome to the ‘Angus McLintock action centre.’” Muriel embraced us both in turn before taking Angus by the hand for a slow tour of his constituency office. I hung back, deciding I’d better introduce myself to the other staffer.

He looked up as I approached. “Hey, Professor!” The voice rang a bell. Red ink peeked out just above the collar of his dark blue turtleneck, and the pieces fell into place.

“No no no! No way! I cannot believe it!” I was reeling. Pete2 sat before me, looking more like Greg Brady than Johnny Rotten. His hair, though still longish, was precisely combed with a side part straighter than a skate blade. The turtleneck’s long sleeves hid his epidermal arm art, and brown brogues rested peacefully at the ends of his grey flannels where Doc Martens usually scowled. It was a makeover worthy of its own MTV reality show. I just stood there and gawked as I rotated his office chair to take in the spectacle from all angles. “So this is the new Pete. What happened to the old one?”