Citizen of the World
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What he saw of Pearson in the first months of office confirmed some of these doubts. The failure to win a majority government profoundly depressed the prime minister: on election night his face seemed frozen when he spoke on television; he took no questions and told reporters, “It’s been a hard two months—I think I’ll go home and go to bed.” Probably he slept little that early morning of November 9 as he contemplated the resignation he would offer to his Cabinet in the morning. It was, as expected, rejected, but he left the meeting determined to have a new team. Walter Gordon left quickly, along with prominent party officials such as Keith Davey and Jim Coutts. Tom Kent, a dominant intellectual presence in Pearson’s office, became Jean Marchand’s deputy minister in the new Manpower Department. Pearson insisted that different faces were essential, even if the old ones were, in some cases, those of friends or of politicians wrongly caricatured as corrupt. Maurice Lamontagne, who had been Pearson’s major Quebec adviser since opposition days, was an early casualty as Pearson told him personally that it was time for him to “get out.” René Tremblay suffered the same fate, and Guy Favreau was retained in the minor post of president of the Privy Council. There his health continued to weaken, his East Block office remained empty, and his secretaries rarely saw him until he died in 1967. Maurice Sauvé, correctly distrusted by his colleagues as the source of “leaks” to the press about the government’s internal troubles, retained his minor Cabinet post of minister of forestry, but his influence was much diminished. Apart from Jean Marchand, the sole important francophone was Minister of Justice Lucien Cardin—and, as another scandal would soon reveal, his task was beyond his capabilities.41
Later, when asked about these times, Trudeau said that “what surprised our little gang … is how easy it was to get yourself in a position of importance in a … historically established party … We knew that if we could get the people to support our ideas, some of the old guard would say: ‘Well, these guys can win with new ideas, so let’s win.’”42 What made their success possible were two major factors: the discrediting and disappearance of the “old guard” (Lamontagne dated from the St. Laurent era, and Favreau and Tremblay from 1963); and the priority that Pearson and the Canadian public gave to the Constitution and the Quebec issue after the election of 1965.
Trudeau sensed the opportunity immediately. André Laurendeau, who did not “feel” like congratulating Trudeau on his victory, met him at two cocktail parties in early January. He remained the jolly soul he had been in November in the Windsor Hotel, and Laurendeau “was struck by his good spirits, and his energy: it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him so up.” Marchand told Laurendeau that the Liberal MPs were finding it difficult to accept Pelletier, whose barbs they remembered well and whose column on being a candidate during the 1965 campaign reflected extremely poor political judgment. Trudeau was different: he was “wonderfully successful. He astounds English Canada.” And, Marchand concluded, “I’m willing to bet my shirt that within a year Pierre will be their big man in French Canada, eclipsing all the others.”43
Fortunately and fortuitously for Trudeau, the first big issue he had to address was the Constitution. Already, before he entered politics, he had worked intensely on constitutional questions with his friends Marc Lalonde, Michael Pitfield, and groups affiliated with the Canadian Labour Congress in Quebec. Now, the unwillingness of the Lesage government to support the Fulton-Favreau process for constitutional revision in 1965 and 1966 brought deadlock and crisis. For Lester Pearson, it was a bitter disappointment. In February 1965, for example, he had confided to his close friend the journalist Bruce Hutchison that his greatest accomplishment was in the area of “Canadian federalism” and that he was now “totally devoted to national unity.” This issue became the bond between Trudeau and his political chief: he could grasp the bloom of fresh opportunity from this nettle of failure. And, as he gained success, his respect for Pearson slowly grew.
The opening came from Premier Jean Lesage, who, anticipating a provincial election, separated the provincial Liberals from the federal Liberals. The federal Liberals immediately arranged a convention for their Quebec branch, where constitutional policy became the central issue. Jean Marchand, realizing he must establish his authority at this convention, turned to Trudeau for assistance on policy questions. Already Lesage’s hesitancy had cast doubt on the federal government’s earlier approach to Quebec, and the January 20, 1966, Throne Speech in Ottawa had set out a “harder” line in its approach to constitutional revision and to provincial demands, stating that it would “exercise great care in agreeing on joint programs with the provinces in which all provinces do not participate.”
Now, at the convention, Trudeau, under Marchand’s tutelage, brought forward resolutions for the Quebec Liberal Federation that reflected his own similar hesitations about “any kind of special status for Quebec.” Intellectually, he dominated the gathering. His argument that no major revision of the British North America Act was needed was generally accepted, as was his rejection of “an independent Quebec, or associate status, or special status, or a Canadian common market, or a confederation of states.” He also argued for bilingualism within the federal government and the importance of a Bill of Rights that would enshrine individual rights across the country. Although Claude Ryan in Le Devoir dissented from Trudeau’s “honest but dubious” propositions and his “cold logic,” the power of Trudeau’s ideas and the centrality of his role in federal politics in Quebec were firmly established within months of his arrival in Ottawa.44
Trudeau’s early success in federal politics occurred at a time of chaos in Ottawa. The CBC’s popular television series This Hour Has Seven Days (which had considered Trudeau as a host) had introduced a confrontational form of interviewing that caught most politicians unprepared. In one program just after the election, Justice Minister Lucien Cardin revealed the name of George Victor Spencer, a postal clerk who had been fired because he was suspected of spying for the Soviet Union. Ruffled, he went on to say that Spencer would not be charged but would be under surveillance for the rest of his life.
With those careless words, Cardin upset both civil libertarians and anti-Communists and made himself a target for John Diefenbaker, who fancied himself, with some justice, as the advocate of both. When the House returned in January, Cardin faced Diefenbaker’s relentless attack. Quebec Liberals already detested Diefenbaker and blamed him for the destruction of Favreau, Lamontagne, and Tremblay—again with some justice. The Cabinet had decided in January that there would be no inquiry into the charge, but Diefenbaker and the NDP demanded that George Victor Spencer’s curious case required investigation. Some members of the Liberal caucus, including Trudeau and Pelletier, began to question the government’s stand. Bryce Mackasey, an outspoken Montreal MP, rose in the Commons to call publicly for an inquiry. On the way to Pearson’s office, apparently to offer his resignation as parliamentary secretary, Mackasey encountered Trudeau, who, in Mackasey’s recollection, told him, “I’ll go with you [to Pearson’s office] and I’ll resign as well, because I felt what you felt.” Pearson gave them a “good tongue-lashing,” telling them if he wanted their resignation he would ask for it.45 It was, for Trudeau, a good lesson.
More lessons soon came as Spencer’s case magnified the government’s and the prime minister’s weaknesses. On March 2 David Lewis of the NDP told the House that Spencer himself wanted an inquiry—a clear repudiation of Pearson’s statement the previous day that no inquiry was needed. Diefenbaker went for the jugular as only he, the most effective parliamentary debater of his generation, could do. Two days later, sensing that the beleaguered justice minister stood alone, he pressed the attack, hinting that the government was concealing various security breaches in the past and the present. It was mudslinging at its worst, and Cardin responded in kind, warning Diefenbaker that he was the last person to give advice on security cases. Pearson, who had come into the House, strongly applauded his minister. Diefenbaker pointed at him and shouted: “App
lause from the Prime Minister. I want that on the record.” Cardin misunderstood, thinking that Diefenbaker was demanding the name of the security case, and he stupidly blurted out “Monseignor.” He had meant to say “Munsinger.” Gerda Munsinger was a German immigrant to Montreal who had carried on affairs simultaneously with a Soviet diplomatic official and Pierre Sévigny, the associate minister of national defence in Diefenbaker’s government. Pearson and Favreau had threatened Diefenbaker earlier with revelation of the Munsinger affair if he persisted in his bitter personal attacks on Quebec ministers.* Thus began the only serious sex scandal in Canadian political history and, more significant, the departure of Lester Pearson from Canadian politics.46
In a minority government and with his major advisers of the past now absent, Pearson made the fatal error of reversing his position and agreeing to the inquiry, even though three senior ministers, including Marchand, had defended Cardin’s stand against an inquiry in the House.47 Once again it seemed that Pearson had abandoned a Quebec minister under siege. Jean Marchand, according to one account, went over to Pearson’s desk after he announced the inquiry and said: “If you ever do to me what you’ve just done to Cardin, all hell will break loose.” It soon did. Lucien Cardin went home to Sorel for the weekend, decided he must resign, returned to Ottawa, and handed a letter of resignation to the prime minister. Pearson refused to open it. On the Tuesday, Trudeau attended the Quebec caucus. The members were furious with this abandonment of Cardin and almost voted for a motion of censure directed against Pearson, an action that would force the prime minister to consider resignation. Marchand told Cardin that he would resign with him, as would some other francophone Quebec ministers. Under pressure, Cardin stayed on; and Pearson stumbled through a sordid inquiry into the security risks of Gerda Munsinger’s lively sex life.48
Trudeau shared the anger of his Quebec colleagues. He drew important impressions from the political chaos he experienced during his first three months in Parliament. First, he confirmed his impression that Lester Pearson was a weak but well-meaning leader. Second, he agreed with his Quebec francophone colleagues that their ministers did not receive the support they needed to confront the challenges of Quebec nationalism and separatism. Third, he strengthened his opinion of the House of Commons as a chamber where “trained donkeys” brayed and “imbeciles” roared. One day when Trudeau appeared for a vote wearing leather sandals and a foulard, Diefenbaker thundered denunciations at him for showing such disrespect for the ancient sartorial rules. He paid little attention to the House in the remainder of his first year and never developed the affection for the Lower Chamber that parliamentarians ranging from Wilfrid Laurier to Henri Bourassa to John Diefenbaker had done. In later years, Trudeau made some memorable speeches in the House, and his quick repartee made him highly effective in Question Period. But he was not a born gladiator in the political arena of the House of Commons.
After Trudeau’s death, Pierre Vadeboncoeur defended his old friend, with whom he had bitterly disagreed since the mid-1960s, against charges that he was haughty and conceited. Quite the contrary, he said, Trudeau was often unsure of himself and was not “a natural tribune.” As a politician, he became successful through his talents, but even more through a determined will to control “with precision, his actions and his attitudes.” Because he was not a natural in the political battle, he sometimes adopted a pugnacious approach that was “contrary to his own more simple and authentic character.” These thoughtful comments illuminate Trudeau’s unusual political persona when he went to Ottawa in 1966—one exuding strength while simultaneously retaining a deep reserve that could become a beguiling shyness or, unexpectedly, a burning anger.49
Although Trudeau became Pearson’s parliamentary secretary, they seldom worked together that year. In his own memoirs, Pearson admits that “Trudeau had neither very much to do nor the opportunity to learn very much in my office.” Trudeau, in his own memoirs, states that he expected “some modest parliamentary chores and some pencil-pushing.” Instead, Pearson sent him “running around the world.”* In April he attended a meeting in Paris of the newly created Canada-France Parliamentary Group, one of the forums that allow backbenchers to travel and be rewarded. Herb Gray, a young MP from Windsor, also attended the Paris meetings, where, he recalls, Trudeau startled the Canadians and the French alike with his detailed knowledge of Paris, Europe, and Africa, and with the stunning blonde woman who accompanied him to some of the formal events. Trudeau seemed at home in Paris, a perception validated by the “contact” list from his 1963 trip, which bears over forty names, including such eminent intellectuals as Jean Domenach of L’Esprit and the distinguished and currently fashionable philosopher Paul Ricoeur—and, inevitably, numerous single women.50
This parliamentary association was important because of the French and, more particularly, President Charles de Gaulle’s interest in Quebec nationalism and separatism. Many French journalists travelled to Quebec at this time, attracted by the liveliness of the political debate, the literary and musical efflorescence of Montreal and Quebec—Michel Tremblay and Marie-Claire Blais, Félix Leclerc and Monique Leyrac were suddenly receiving raves in the French press—and their own government’s increasing willingness to deal directly with a Quebec administration that had completely lost its suspicion of republican and atheist France. Quebec responded warmly to this embrace, establishing a “délégation générale” in Paris and undertaking a series of ministerial visits where Lesage and his ministers received treatment normally reserved for representatives of the most important sovereign states. Meanwhile, the Canadian ambassador, Jules Léger, Trudeau’s old friend from Ottawa days, was treated contemptuously by de Gaulle, whose government signed a Quebec-France cultural entente in February 1965 that Le Magazine Maclean termed “the entry of the state of Quebec on the international scene.”
Although the struggle between Ottawa and Quebec City to limit Quebec’s “international” activities had many comic aspects, including the measurement of flags and even battles between limousines to lead processions, there is no doubt that some French officials, principally in the president’s office, joined in intrigues to promote the independence movement in Quebec. Just as Canada had gained independence through its signature on fishing treaties and its appointment of “ministers” to foreign countries, so Quebec’s international activities in Paris and, increasingly, in the former French colonies could well have led to political sovereignty. On this matter, Pearson and Trudeau strongly agreed. Trudeau therefore represented Canada at an international convention of French jurists and, later, wandered through five African countries to promote Canadian interests in the new “Francophonie”—a French Commonwealth being promoted by Senegal president Léopold Senghor, a poet who very much impressed Trudeau.51
Before he entered politics, Trudeau had criticized Quebec’s efforts in the international arena, and he agreed to chair a group of legal experts who were considering how Canada should respond to these challenges. Two Pearson advisers whom Trudeau admired greatly, Marc Lalonde and Michael Pitfield, were part of the group, along with the undersecretary of state for external affairs, Marcel Cadieux, and the head of the department’s legal division, Allan Gotlieb. This brilliant group of lawyers tested Trudeau, honed his intellectual skills, and shaped his response to Ottawa as well as Quebec. They shared the fear that Quebec’s international ambitions could cut away the legal ties that bind a nation together, and these fears intensified when the Lesage government endured a stunning defeat in the election of June 5, 1966.
The new premier, Daniel Johnson of the Union nationale, promised to be much more nationalistic than Lesage, who in the final weeks of the campaign had ferociously denounced separatism. Johnson, whom Trudeau had met in the 1940s and who had been an early subscriber to Cité libre, campaigned on the slogan of his 1965 book, “equality or independence,” and promised in the first plank of his party’s platform to make Quebec “a true national state” through an extension of the province’s pow
ers and its sovereignty, especially on the international level. On election night, Johnson ominously remarked that, when you subtracted the Jewish and English Liberal vote, 63 percent of the French “nation” had rejected the Liberals. “Too many people,” Johnson opined, “treat the BNA Act like a sacred cow, even though it’s been violated many times in closed committee sessions and even in hotel rooms. So why not get rid of it and draft a sixth constitution?”
Trudeau, of course, personally rejected all these premises: the need for a new Constitution, the equation of the French-speaking population of Quebec with a “nation,” the need for special status for Quebec, and the right of Quebec to have separate international representation. His group, together with Al Johnson, who had joined the Department of Finance from the Saskatchewan bureaucracy, began to elaborate a strong federal response to Premier Johnson’s demands, which were presented by Finance Minister Mitchell Sharp to the federal-provincial conference on tax and fiscal affairs in September. Firmly rejecting special status for Quebec and further “opting out” by Quebec alone, Sharp asserted the essential need for the federal government to maintain the taxing authority necessary to meet Canada’s fiscal needs. Claude Ryan in Le Devoir accurately noted the influence of Trudeau and Marchand in the federal approach, particularly in the firm rejection of “special status for Quebec.”52