The Best Laid Plans Part 13

"Okay, okay, I'm simply saying that if you're the same person on the Hill as you were in the Ottawa airport on election night, we're in for an interesting time of it."

Angus just lowered his chin, nearly to his sternum, and shook his head. The simultaneous gesture translator in my brain came back with "haven't you done enough already."

"This from a man who promised me a Liberal could never win this ridin'. You need a wee credibility transfusion before your word carries much heft with me."

I held my tongue for the remainder of the drive while trying to coax vital signs out of my ego.

We had a busy day ahead. Angus had his first caucus meeting in the morning, about which I had considerable anxiety. In the afternoon, the Usher of the Black Rod would bang on the front door of the House of Commons and then lead a ceremonial procession of MPs to the Senate, where they would listen to the Governor General read the Government's Throne Speech.

While the House was in session, caucus meetings were held once weekly on Wednesdays. All Liberal MPs and Senators were supposed to go, but attendance was not taken and was frequently spa.r.s.e. However, because this caucus meeting was the first one since the election, a capacity crowd was expected. Normally, political staffers, except for the Leader's advisers, were not permitted to attend; the Leader's advisers could pretty well do whatever they wanted. As a very recent emigre from the Leader's office, I slipped into the meeting unchallenged. As in similar situations, if you carried yourself as if you belonged there, no one said boo.

The Opposition caucus room was full of new and returning MPs. Several Senators also showed up, including the Senate Leader. A long table stretched across the front of the room, and theatre-style seating spanned the s.p.a.ce from wall to wall with a centre aisle. The arched windows overlooked the front lawn of Parliament Hill while beyond, the Langevin Block, which housed the Prime Minister's Office, was visible on the south side of Wellington Street. The worn and seedy look of the green carpet was matched only by the beige drapes on five of the six windows. The sixth was curtainless, although a naked steel dowel stood ready to do its part. Aging metal light fixtures painted a garish gold hung from rods in the ceiling and looked as it they were last dusted when Diefenbaker led the Opposition Tories in 1956. Within Centre Block, Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Needless to say, the Government caucus room was in much better shape and was more lavishly appointed.

As agreed on the walk over, Angus and I separated on arrival. He looked good, for Angus, though a tad grumpy for a newly elected Member of Parliament. He was wearing one of two new suits I'd convinced him he needed. He'd tamed his hair, to the extent possible, and cleared his beard of food fragments, as a dedicated farmer might have rid his field of stones. He took a seat close to the far wall near the front. Most others in the room were smiling and laughing. Excitement was in the air, and thanks to a carefully chosen breakfast menu (no turnip), I hoped Angus would contribute nothing else of his own. Many MPs approached Angus and offered spirited congratulations. There was much "David and Goliath" banter, which, I confess, had become tiresome by the morning after the election. Angus was polite but looked to me like he was awaiting a vasectomy. I lurked in the back, chatting up my former colleagues on the Leader's staff and trying to mask a growing sense of foreboding.

Bradley Stanton popped into the room, surveyed the scene, and leaned into the microphone on the front table.

"Awright, folks, listen up. The Leader is on his way, and as usual at the first post-election caucus meeting, he's bringing the press gallery with him. So let's be upbeat and act like we're spoiling for a fight and ready to bring down this evil Tory government."

A few muted cheers greeted his instructions before Stanton darted out of the room to pick up the Leader's posse. At that stage, Angus looked like he was about a third of the way into his vasectomy. He had low-to-no tolerance for political theatre and the kind of "optics" Stanton was trying to orchestrate. Ten seconds later, the Leader, with the look and gait of a man on a mission, strode into the room. The a.s.sembled caucus erupted into a "spontaneous" standing ovation, triggered by the frenetic applause of Bradley Stanton and his underlings in the wings. I stood and clapped, too. That was what one did. The Leader reached the front of the room and stood to face his adoring throng. He held his hands in the air in a half-hearted attempt to quell the commotion, though we all knew enough to sustain it for several more minutes.

It took a while before we all realized what was happening. The eight Betacams with their glaring sun guns were not trained on the triumphant Leader but had encircled the lone MP who'd remained seated while all others had leaped to their feet. Yep, much to the Leader's chagrin, and my misfortune, Angus was the centre of attention. Needless to say, it was not the desired "optics" for that particular photo opportunity.

Angus sat with his arms crossed, enduring the media's scrutiny before eventually succ.u.mbing to exasperation and invoking the cla.s.sic "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 antic.i.p.ation 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 s.e.x 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 pa.s.sionate 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 p.r.o.ne 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 anch.o.r.ed 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 c.u.mberland-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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sed 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, fas.h.i.+onable 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 a.n.a.lysis. 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 const.i.tuencies 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 c.h.i.n.ks 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 a.s.sault 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 a.s.s 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 a.s.shole.

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.

Still fuming, I finished Angus's Throne Speech response and took it to him in his office. He was hunched over his desk, engrossed in the House Standing Orders.

"Okay, here are your draft talking points for your Throne Speech response this afternoon. Following question period, you'll be the fourth speaker called upon to respond to the Throne Speech, so be ready. Have a look at your remarks and let me know if you want any changes."

I dropped the response on the edge of his desk and headed out the door to my office, which was on the other side of the open reception area occupied by our new administrative a.s.sistant, Camille Boudreau. She was a very timid young woman who was raised in a large rural family in the most remote quarter of the Magdalen Islands. Despite her shyness, she was smart and dedicated and seemed to have been inspired by Angus. Her three-month interns.h.i.+p in the Leader's office had left her somewhat disillusioned (small wonder), but she had leaped into organizing our humble office with quiet energy and enthusiasm. She was perfectly bilingual, which really helped, as I was not.

Ten minutes later, a shadow cast by the overhead light and the unmistakable chaos of Angus's hair fell upon my blotter. It was not a happy shadow.

"What do you mean, givin' me this to say?" he asked, dropping the speech I'd written in my lap. "We had a long conversation about my views on the Throne Speech, and I dinnae think it unreasonable for me to a.s.sume that some of them might have found their way into my response."

"Angus, the Leader's office has provided key messages and talking points for caucus members to use in their responses so that we create a unified front against the Government. We can't forget that we're part of a team here and that coordinated action is better than everyone going their own way," I suggested, ever reasonably.

"Well, I'm all for teamwork but only if I happen to agree with the game plan," he replied. "You've put words in my mouth that exist neither in my heart nor my brain."

"Angus, you just can't praise the Government's Throne Speech up and down. It's not what Opposition parties do."

"b.a.l.l.s! Name me one thing wrong with the Throne Speech just one thing!" Angus demanded.

"The only thing I can think of, and the only thing that really counts in the Leader's office, is that it's the Government's Throne Speech and not ours. We're Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition. We oppose things the Government does, everything the Government does. That's how it works. You can't mess with a political dynamic as old as the country." I was pleading with my heart, not my head.

"Aye, well that's one of the problems I aim to fix." With that, he walked back into his office and slammed the door. He wouldn't answer the door or his phone, despite regular rapping and ringing. Needless to say, I was an a.s.sembly of anxieties as the clock ticked. I understood what Angus was saying. If a Liberal government had introduced the same Throne Speech, I'd have been proud to support it. But it was our arch rivals' speech, not ours. I agreed the system needed to be changed. h.e.l.l, that's why I'd left the Hill in the first place. But change always came with a price.

I've never been a big fan of the scorched-earth approach, and I feared that Angus had his flame-thrower locked and loaded when he emerged from his office at 1:45. He was still eschewing paper in the chamber. I could see ink scrawled on both his palms.

"See you later," he said as he strode out the door and headed for the House. I scrambled to catch up.

"Angus, wait up," I chirped as I followed him out into the corridor. "I, ah, see you don't have your remarks with you. What do you plan to say?"

"I intend to give voice to my views on the Government's Speech from the Throne. I take it that is my right and duty as a duly elected Member of Parliament," he replied calmly as he walked.

"Angus, we can help change this place, but if we try to move too far and too fast, we may lose it all," I submitted. He stopped to face me.

"Well, young man, you seem to forget. Neither one of us has anythin' to lose. Neither one of us really wants to be here. Neither one of us likes playin' these asinine games. We both have secure jobs back at the university. So let's use this rare opportunity to shake the foundations and see what's still standin' when we're through," he said, trilling the r in through.

My head caught up with my heart. I could muster no opposing view. I just nodded in surrender. He was right. He knew it. I knew it. And what's more, he knew I knew it. His face cracked in a mischievous grin.

"Can you give me one good reason not to do what we both know is the right thing to do?" he asked.

"Good reasons? Other than party solidarity, there are none," I conceded.

"Not there are none. There is none. None literally means not one, so the verb is singular. A common mistake."

With that, he winked, turned, and disappeared into the chamber. I hustled up the white stone stairs to the Members' gallery, flaying myself for a grammar error I was forever correcting in others.

I felt as if I'd betrayed the principles Angus laid out in his airport message. His approach was just so foreign. I thought I'd let him down. I was clearly still at least partially captive to the last remnants of my political indoctrination years earlier. As I sat watching the debate unfold that afternoon from my perch above the fray, I was alternately proud of Angus and concerned for my own safety. Not to put too fine a point on it, I knew the Leader's office would be enraged when they heard about the inaugural speech of Angus McLintock. I suddenly felt queasy. Throwing up on the House Leader's rubber plant in the dead of night was one thing; projectile puking onto the floor of the Commons from the Members' gallery in the middle of the Throne Speech debate was something else again. I kept my head low and breathed deeply and slowly to quell my roiling stomach.

Angus rose after two other Liberals and one NDPer had vehemently a.s.sailed the Government for its irresponsible and ill-conceived Throne Speech. Angus then stood in his place with no notes save for the hieroglyphics on his palms. He proceeded, not to applaud the Government, but rather to support the Throne Speech as a well-crafted, balanced, and progressive agenda that seemed more aligned with an enlightened Liberal platform than with the typical Conservative program that wors.h.i.+ped at the altar of free enterprise. He spoke eloquently, pa.s.sionately, thoughtfully, and briefly, with no words wasted. After about ten minutes, he concluded his inaugural speech in the House with this: "Mr. Speaker, tradition would have me oppose this Throne Speech for the simple reason that I sit on this side of the House. Well, I cannae yield to that ritual. There are many sheep from Scotland, but I'm not one of them. I will be supportin' this Throne Speech as it reflects the values and principles that, in my mind, underlie the Liberal Party and offer the greatest promise to the people of Canada. Part of my job as a Member of this Parliament is to support that which earns me favour and to oppose that which does not. On the whole, this Throne Speech, despite its provenance, has earned my support. Mr. Speaker, another part of me job is to ensure that this Government fulfills the spirit, the letter, and the promise of this Throne Speech. Well, I can a.s.sure the Government that I'll be stayin' right here to keep their feet to the furnace. I thank you."

As you can imagine, the Government side of the House erupted in chants of "hear, hear," "come on over," and "cross the floor." The Liberal benches were perplexed, but as a group tried to muster an impression that said "we meant to do that." Throughout the ten minutes of heckling and table thumping, an endless stream of Tory MPs approached Angus to shake his hand. Finally, about a dozen courageous Liberal backbenchers sidled over to him and offered congratulations. Angus looked distinctly uncomfortable. Mercifully, the Leader was not in the House for the remarks of the Honourable Member for c.u.mberland-Prescott. Eventually, the next Opposition speaker rose to thrash the Government yet again and restore the natural political order. Back to business as usual.

When we returned to the office, Camille waved 13 pink phone-message slips. Twelve from the Leader's office and one from Muriel.

DIARY.

Wednesday, November 6.

My Love,

Good fun today. I think I'm going to like being a Member of Parliament. I sat through my first caucus meeting yesterday, making few friends. I really do think our alleged Leader is a buffoon. He's just like most other politicians I've met. He is governed by polls and the press the twin pillars of modern politics. Of course, the caucus was asked to oppose the Throne Speech even before we'd heard the wretched thing. I understand why. I just cannot accept it. What can they do, throw me out? Perhaps they can.

I gather the Leader's office, what I'm told is called "the Centre," has dragged Daniel through the ringer for my sins. And that was before I stood up in the house today and dropped the bomb that I'd be supporting the Throne Speech. After having heard it, I could do nothing but. It sounded to me like a speech the Liberals would draft; perhaps that was the intention. In any event, after I spoke, I was invited to join the ranks of the Government though I suspect tongues were firmly planted in cheeks. Even a few of my Liberal colleagues were prepared to be seen shaking my hand, which lifted my spirits. Strength lies in numbers, even small numbers.

Muriel called me tonight all atwitter at my speech. Even though she's been a loyal Liberal soldier for 60 years, she seems to think the party needs to have its cage rattled. Apparently, she's nominated me to do the rattling. As far as I can tell, she's utterly at peace with this unlikely turn of events. I admire her sense of purpose and perspective. My anger with Daniel has receded though I still have to knock him about the head and ears when he slips back into his old way of thinking. I know he's with me, but I also know he's taking a beating from the powers that be, all on my account. They think he's orchestrating my maverick image. As you can appreciate, I'm not exactly a willing subject when it comes to image management. "The Centre" will learn this eventually and lay off poor Daniel.

I've a meeting upcoming with old man Sanderson, at which I'm sure he'll ask me to support federal subsidies to prop up his factory. I can't do it, love. It just isn't right. But I do have an idea I'm hoping will take the sting out of my answer.

Will you keep watch over me, love? I'm in a foreign land, and your steadying hand is what I need.

AM.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I spent the next morning, Thursday, on the phone, defending Angus and wondering how many abusive calls I could endure before I ripped the receiver's curling umbilicus from the base unit and hurled it out the window. At 10:17, I had my answer: 26. I actually only fantasized about chucking it out the window. I really wasn't capable of such rashness. The most I could manage was to unplug the phone and toss it gently onto the brown corduroy couch in my office where it landed softly, making no noise at all. I heard the jovial voice of Angus in his office, taking calls, too, though his tone suggested he was getting off easy, or was amused by it all.

Of the 26 calls I'd taken, 19 were from the Leader's office, including 4 from Bradley Stanton. Effective phone management is a critical political skill to have and to hone. In fact, telephone transactions, be they wooing or whacking, const.i.tute a significant share of politics. I like to think part of my success on the Hill was due to my prowess on the blower. And in my experience, knowing how to "give" on the phone was not quite as important as knowing how to "receive."

Success often turned on how you handled a bad call, a mad call, a "this town ain't big enough for the both of us" call. When you exercised patience and restraint, listened well, issued soothing sounds at strategic junctures in your adversary's profanity-strewn tirade, and always maintained a relaxed and quiet voice, even the most crazed caller would eventually, inexorably, calm down and speak in reasonable, albeit tense, tones. In extreme situations, I would pull out all the stops and play Zamfir's greatest hits in the background, just loud enough to be heard on the line. Rest a.s.sured, the coma-inducing pan flute could quell the rage of a cornered gorilla. I used this calming telephone technique to defuse hundreds of irate calls; it worked even when I was the one who had screwed up and when temper tantrums were justified.

And then, there was Bradley Stanton, the smoke-snorting, fire-breathing, foul-mouthed exception to my rule. To say he was angry that morning didn't quite capture it. At least twice during our phone calls, I feared he might be in the throes of a stroke. He'd hung up on me three times in paroxysms of rage before we'd finally finished our "conversation" on the fourth call. By that time, Angus was sitting across from my desk, chuckling, shaking his head, and once even giving me a thumbs-up, complete with manic smile and arched eyebrows. He really was enjoying himself. I hung up the phone, exhausted.

"I think it would be a good time for Brad to up the dosage of whatever medication he's on," I sighed, laying my head on my desk blotter.

"Dinnae fret yourself, Daniel boy. Young Mr. Stanton's anger is the surest sign we're on the right path," replied Angus as if it was supposed to comfort me. "Have you seen the Citizen this mornin'?"

Uh-oh, I didn't like the sound of that. I'd glanced at the front page when we'd arrived, but with the phone ringing by the time I'd reached my desk, I'd been in the crosshairs ever since. Angus pa.s.sed me the front section.

"Have a gander at A4," he directed with a mischievous grin.

With hands near trembling, I opened to the page: "Maverick Liberal Blazes Own Trail" read the headline. "Some backbenchers follow" read the subhead. My mind instinctively conjured up the next day's headline: "Liberal Leader Orders Former Staffer Crucified on Parliament Hill."

Obviously, Stanton hadn't seen the Citizen piece, either, or I would surely have heard about it in our morning calls. In fact, anyone in a 200-metre radius of my office could have heard Stanton's expletives, exploding from the telephone like bazooka sh.e.l.ls. Salt in my wounds was the knowledge that the Citizen was owned by a large conglomerate of newspapers so that the "Maverick" article must have played in dozens of dailies across the country. Excellent.

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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 "refres.h.i.+ng," "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 fas.h.i.+on, 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 s.h.i.+t-disturbing, pot-stirring, trouble-making, rabble-rousing MP for c.u.mberland-Prescott. I a.s.sumed 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 cla.s.sic 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 embarra.s.sing 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.