by Rick Mercer
And this is where it should have ended: a substantial and unexpected victory for a lame-duck Liberal leader and a humiliating lesson to the Prime Minister. A nice little reminder to all involved that nobody was granted a majority in this Parliament, and we expect everyone to get along.
Tragically, Dion wasn’t strong enough to put on the brakes. Or more likely, he was unwilling.
Enter the Governor General of Canada.
Try explaining this one to those alien overlords: thirty-five million people, in one of the greatest democracies on earth, stare at their television sets, waiting to see whether an unelected former TV broadcaster will choose to shut down our government for over a month or let it live just long enough to be killed by the Opposition.
The drama that played out this week was many things: unimaginable, embarrassing, and yes, it made our parliamentary system look like a laughingstock. However, this situation was not, as Harper insisted, undemocratic, illegal or un-Canadian.
The facts are clear. He has a minority in the Commons—something he has never accepted. So he loves daring the Opposition to defeat him, and prides himself on shaming them at every opportunity.
But them’s the rules, and he knows it. And yet, when faced with actually losing a confidence vote, he chooses to launch a full-fledged attack on the very institution he is sworn to protect. He took to the airwaves, saying that having him lose a vote would amount to a coup d’état. He knows this isn’t true, but he said it anyway. Then his ministers fanned out and told everyone who would listen that an election was being stolen. They shouted from the rooftops that, as a nation, we elected Stephen Harper to lead us, that the 308 members of Parliament actually had no say in the matter.
Harper zeroed in on Quebec. The master strategist who has wooed that province for the past two years turned anything and anyone with a French name into a whipping boy. Memo to Quebec: call Danny Williams. A world of hurt is coming your way. And our prime minister suggested that, in a constitutional crisis, the Governor General must not listen to constitutional advisers, but to him and him alone. The Prime Minister’s Office organized a protest at the Governor General’s residence. Staffers all over Ottawa were given the day off to stand there waving signs reading “The Bloc Sucks” and “Stop the Coup.” Surely the Queen was not amused.
Back on Parliament Hill, Minister of Bluster John Baird proudly announced that Conservatives would go over the head of Parliament and of the Governor General. He planted the seed for what sounds like the Republic of Canada, in which Harper and not the monarch is the head of state. One assumes that a Harper republic will differ from others in the world, as he ostensibly will have majority powers without having that old-fashioned 50-percent support in either the country or the Commons.
All this made for a perfect storm. Our system works on the assumption that, regardless of whether we have a minority government, we will always be guaranteed of having a clear and decisive majority of rational men and women who will, in times of crisis, put nation over personal or party interests. It operates on the assumption that our leaders will put country before party.
Seems we are out of luck on that front—our bad.
The crisis has not ended, but simply has been postponed. In the new year, Stephen Harper will return with the biggest-spending budget in Canadian history. People who voted Conservative will be outraged, but their cries will be drowned out by the applause of the paid staffers again lining the sidewalk outside 24 Sussex. Knut the polar bear will bask in the adoration.
And, yes, the coalition may survive long enough to defeat them anyway—revenge being a dish best served at the first possible opportunity.
Meanwhile, this great democracy of ours has ceased to function. We have no government because they just can’t get along. It is a mess that defies comprehension but has one simple solution. We need one more strange-bedfellows event: a historic press conference at which Stephen Harper and Stéphane Dion apologize to their country and then to their parties. And then they resign—no questions, please.
Because they deserve one another—and Canada deserves better.
With Jann Arden on the CN Tower Edgewalk.
Jann: “I can’t do it! I seriously can’t!”
Rick: “This will make you calm. We’re walking down the street. Jann—
I heard you wrote a book. What’s the name of your book?”
Jann: “You id-”
Rick: “What’s the name of your book?”
Jann: “Falling Backwards!”
ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL
January 13, 2009
A month before Christmas, it looked like the Harper government was going to collapse and be replaced with a coalition. A very interesting scenario, and for a lot of people, not a very nice one. But like it or not, our system is designed that way.
But the truly astounding thing was, in the middle of the whole fiasco, the Dominion Institute did a poll and they found out that a majority of Canadians had no idea what was going on, and in fact lacked a basic understanding of our parliamentary system. This is a crisis. And what did our own government do? They went out of their way to make it worse.
They had ministers go on TV and say this was a coup d’état, that coalitions were illegal and undemocratic. John Baird said his government had the right to ignore the will of Parliament altogether and go over the head of the Governor General.
None of which is true. How can a country function when half the population doesn’t know what the hell is going on and their own government actually likes it that way? Being a good citizen is like driving a car. We all have to know the basic rules of the road. We don’t have to like the rules—we can even get together and change the rules. But we all have to know how to proceed when dealing with a four-way stop or a blinking red.
And it doesn’t matter if John Baird is in the back seat saying, “No, no, no, go straight on through, don’t stop.” We know we have to stop, look both ways, and then floor it.
Canada is no different. We are a parliamentary democracy. And that system has served us well for 141 years. But clearly, we’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. And if we want to protect this democracy, we all have an obligation to wake up and get informed. Because our members of Parliament can’t be trusted with it anymore.
OBAMA’S EXAMPLE
January 20, 2009
It’s inauguration day in America, and like everyone else, I can’t help but get caught up in the moment. As a Canadian, I did not believe in my lifetime I would see a man like Barack Obama become president of the United States. And not because he’s black, but because he ran a positive campaign and actually got elected. And if recent history has taught us anything, it’s that that could never work up here.
When it comes to politics, we haven’t seen anything remotely positive in a very long time. Think about it. In the last American election, the defining themes were “change is possible” and “hope.” And they had the highest voter turnout in forty years. In our last election, the defining themes were “stay the course” and “destroy the enemy.” And we had the lowest voter turnout in our entire history.
Clearly, we are on two different tracks. Which is fine—we are a sovereign nation, we are unique on the world stage. For example, we’re now the last nation on earth that wants Guantanamo Bay prison to stay open, and it’s not even our prison.
Yes, it’s a brave new world, and we’re old school. Now, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate the new president. Everyone loves this guy. Cripes, when Obama announced that his first foreign visit was going to be to Canada, Stephen Harper looked so excited I thought his head was going to pop off.
I don’t blame him. I’d like to get my picture taken with Obama, too. And clearly, the fact that he’s visiting Canada is very exciting, because, as of today, he is the forty-fourth president of the United States—and eight hours in, he’s doing a bang-up job.
He got that job by doing something that no Canadian political leader has done in a very long time. He appealed to the very best in
his fellow citizens and gave them something to believe in. So when the visit finally happens, let’s hope some of that rubs off.
SPENDING IN SECRET
January 27, 2009
Budget day in Canada is one of the few times of the year when Canadians pay attention to how the government is spending our money. And believe me, governments hate that. They would much prefer to operate in total secrecy. It’s in their nature.
But luckily, we have the Freedom of Information Act. Which says if you or I or a journalist has a legitimate question about how our government is spending the money, they have to answer it. And just to make sure they do, we have an information commissioner, Robert Marleau, whose job it is to make sure that government plays by the rules.
And what does he say? He says that when it comes to transparency, this government is … what’s the word I’m looking for? Terrible.
He says in Ottawa, the “fog is thickening.” That government is intentionally delaying or ignoring most information requests. Well, that’s great news, isn’t it? Just when government is preparing to spend more money than any of us could have ever imagined, it’s suddenly harder to find out what they’re actually up to.
Money and secrecy. What could go wrong? It’s such a good duo. It’s right up there with gasoline and matches. And maybe over the last couple years, a bit of secrecy didn’t really matter, because at least we knew they were spending within their limits. But now they’re preparing to spend billions of dollars we don’t even have. Billions, with a B—and like a lot of Canadians, I had a hard time wrapping my head around what a billion actually was. Then I got an email pointing out that a billion seconds ago it was 1978. Yes, a billion seconds ago, the Village People were at the top of the charts.
So a billion is a lot! And seeing as we’re preparing to spend over sixty billion dollars we don’t even have, maybe now is not the time for added secrecy. Or the next thing you know, we’re going to wake up and find out that half that money got spent in Jim Flaherty’s riding.
So if they have to spend the money, fine, but only if the fog lifts and the sun shines in.
THE MOST SURPRISING THING about meeting Rick Hansen in person is that he can walk. He is also quite tall. You only get one chance to defy expectations completely with a first impression, and he knows how to do it.
I’d been waiting for him in a rented van on the side of a highway outside Whistler, B.C. I didn’t have to wait long as he arrived exactly on schedule, pulling up in a sporty pickup with a king cab, looking, as they say, just like himself. He opened the passenger side door, swung out his legs and stood up.
It’s hard to describe my reaction. Part of me was just gobsmacked. He started moving, one leg in front of the other, along the side of the vehicle towards the back of his king cab. Part of me thought, I have a pretty big scoop on my hands. Another part of my lizard brain, the bad part, the part that admires great scams and con men, was very impressed. As far as cons go, getting in a wheelchair and circumnavigating the entire globe when you could walk the entire time is pretty spectacular.
It also crossed my mind that perhaps, somehow, he didn’t know I was there watching him. Perhaps I had stumbled upon some great secret that would alter the course of my life. Suddenly, I could find myself starring in a Robert Ludlum novel, fighting for my life, being chased across the globe by trained snipers who work for the Rick Hansen Foundation. Every one of them committed to ensuring the secret would die with me.
Not so. Turns out the Man in Motion has some sort of bionic exoskeleton braces that he wears under his pants when driving around town. These braces let him get out of his truck, stand and move to the back so he can fish out his wheelchair.
I learned this later. It’s a tad embarrassing to admit that the first thing I said to him was, “Holy shit. You can walk?” Awkward.
I’m not the first person to do that, apparently. He gets it all the time. When he first got the bionic exoskeleton braces, neighbours driving down the street came close to crashing thier cars into poles after seeing him upright, moving down his driveway with one hand on his truck.
That would be an ironic story to have to tell in the rehabilitation ward. “I’m in a wheelchair because I was driving down the road, saw Rick Hansen walking, lost my shit and crashed into a pole.” Having met a lot of Paralympians, I’ve learned that they often have an epic and entertaining story to tell about how they ended up in a wheelchair. Sure, there are tragic stories, but there are also darkly funny ones. This mostly applies to men in chairs versus women. We are the stupider gender. We are the ones who get it into our heads at eighteen that it would be an excellent idea to crawl up on the garage roof and attempt a backflip onto a trampoline that will then deliver us over the fence into the neighbour’s wading pool. Young women generally don’t get those ideas. Young women are the ones standing on the ground, looking up, yelling, “For God’s sake, Gary—don’t.”
This is also what allows a young man in a wheelchair to decide that nothing as insignificant as a wheelchair or a severed spinal cord is going to stop him from hurtling down a ski hill at a thousand miles an hour or taking part in the vicious sport of murderball, which has recently been renamed wheelchair rugby to make it sound less, well, murder-like.
I generally don’t get nervous meeting famous people, but I was very anxious about meeting Rick Hansen. Meeting people you admire can be disappointing. Meeting someone you think of as a personal hero is a recipe for disaster. Because heroes, just like the rest of us, can be jerks or divas in person. At a benefit concert, I once watched a well-known and highly respected humanitarian berate a child volunteer because there was a baguette in his dressing room and he was on a strict wheat-free vegan diet. Four hours later, I saw the same humanitarian three sheets to the wind, sitting in the gutter, eating a sausage on a bun.
Turns out my fears about meeting Rick were totally unfounded. Not only did he avoid berating any children, but he is about as nice a guy as you could possibly meet.
I’ve met him now on a number of occasions, and am amazed by how generous he is with his time. Hansen is different than your standard rock star, news anchor or prime minister. People don’t want to just meet Rick or get a picture with him, they want to touch him. They want to tell him exactly where they were when he rolled through their town on the Man in Motion tour. Young people, who probably don’t actually remember the Man in Motion tour, want to tell him what they learned about him in school. His story has affected so many people in so many ways and they want to tell him exactly how. He greets every person in a way that is truly impressive. He is a hell of a guy. If I were prime minister, he would be my first appointment to the Senate.
Of course, I am not prime minister. Stephen Harper is, and that’s why our Senate has been filling up lately with the likes of Mike Duffy, who, like Rick Hansen, can teeter short distances as long as he has something to lean on.
On that first meeting, however, I did learn something about the Man in Motion that very few people are aware of. And I’m not referring to the bionic leg braces; those, like the Prime Minister’s dark mood swings, are an open secret. No, the secret about Rick Hansen, the secret he has kept hidden from his millions of admirers around the world and I am about to reveal, is this: he is afraid of heights. Despite this, he gave me the great honour of allowing me to throw him off a bridge. I admire that in a guy.
Rick came on the show to help celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Man in Motion tour. He was thrilled that I wanted to shoot an interview with him outdoors and in his province. Personally, I couldn’t imagine doing a Rick Hansen shoot anywhere else, because while he is certainly a great Canadian, when I think of Rick Hansen, I think of British Columbia.
During our initial telephone conversation, I gave him my regular pitch. This is where I ask a potential guest if there is anything they do in their private life that might make for good TV. People have surprising habits, and it never hurts to ask. For example, John Baird is an amateur taxidermist—I once sho
t an entire interview with him on the subject of decorum in the House of Commons while he eviscerated and stuffed a raccoon, but we later bulk-erased the tape because it was far too gruesome for prime-time TV. General Lewis MacKenzie races cars for a hobby, and my old friend General Rick Hillier does needlepoint.
Hansen told me he did have a hobby that many people were unaware of: sturgeon fishing. Wouldn’t it be amazing, he said, if we went out on his boat and went fishing for sturgeon? I had opened Pandora’s box. Turns out that fishing for sturgeon is not just a hobby for Hansen—he is somewhat of a sturgeon-fishing zealot. If life hadn’t dealt him the blow that put him in a wheelchair, there’s a good chance he would now be a world-famous sturgeon fisherman, if such a thing exists.
A few searches on YouTube taught me all I needed to know about fishing for sturgeon. It might make for a relaxing pastime, but it doesn’t make for great TV. Picture it: he’s in a wheelchair, on a small boat, with nowhere to go. I would be sitting in a chair next to him, with nowhere to go. We would be out in the middle of the Fraser River, bobbing up and down with our lines in the water, chatting about God knows what. My favourite TV segments involve kinetic energy, action and adventure, and I couldn’t see any of that happening on a sturgeon-fishing trip. If we were lucky—a big if—one of us would get one of those butt-ugly prehistoric fish on the line and then spend so much time bringing it up from the depths that it would be about as exciting as pulling in a log.
That would be the best-case scenario.
Experience has taught me if you are going to fish on TV, you have to actually catch something or you end up looking like an idiot. When I took Bob Rae fishing, despite travelling by floatplane to the middle of pristine wilderness in northern Ontario, we didn’t get a single bite. We had to take serious measures to avoid looking like idiots. And as a result, we ended up looking like naked idiots. I didn’t want a repeat of that.
