Just Watch Me

by John English

  There had been coalitions before in Canadian politics, most frequently on the right, but the NDP and its predecessor, the CCF, had vivid memories of the history of the British Labour Party and its “betrayal” by Ramsay MacDonald in 1931, when he and a group of Labour MPs joined with a Conservative majority in a coalition government to fight the Depression. Broadbent and Rae, with whom Broadbent consulted in the washroom during Rae’s wedding at Toronto’s Primrose Club, had both studied in Britain and knew the history of the “betrayal” well. Rae believed at the time that “it was an old left-Liberal strategy” to do in the socialists and it “was never on.”* Ironically, five years later, as Ontario NDP leader, he made such an accord with the provincial Liberals to displace the provincial Conservatives. And in 2008–2009 Rae, as a leading Liberal MP, urged his party to embrace a coalition with the NDP.17

  Broadbent rejected Trudeau’s offer—an important turning point in Canadian political history. Acceptance might have transformed Canadian party politics by “uniting the left” and ensuring a decade or more of government for the liberal-left coalition; on the other hand, it might have led to a split within the Liberal camp and a strengthening of the Conservatives in increasingly conservative times. But no matter what the outcome might have been, the rejection of the coalition offer created a dilemma for Trudeau. Should he proceed with his plans for major constitutional reform and nationalist economic programs, both of which would meet with strong opposition in the West? With the referendum imminent, there was little time to ponder, and his plans soon crystallized. Although constitutional patriation had not been an issue in the 1980 campaign, he had promised in the 1979 campaign that if re-elected, he would “bring home” the Constitution, even if he had to act without provincial consent. His distrust of Ryan had grown during the course of the debates about reform in 1979–80, and the Quebec Liberal Party, he later wrote, “was drowning in a swamp of its own verbiage, while the Parti Québécois was speaking out with pride in firmness.”

  Trudeau is unfair: the livre beige was an impressively detailed and carefully worded document, drafted mainly by Ryan himself, but it was a mistake. Ryan later admitted to journalist Ian MacDonald that the time spent drafting and discussing the document in the winter and early spring meant that the Liberals “had not really prepared for the debate in House”—and the document was an easy target for the skilled PQ front bench. The polls confirmed how badly Ryan and his party had done in the Assembly debates in March 1980. Whereas the “no” side led by a comfortable margin of 52 percent to 41 percent during the first two weeks of February, a poll taken in the second week of March showed the “no” side leading only 47 percent to 44 percent. Moreover, Lévesque was 8 percent more popular than his party, while Ryan was 18 percent less popular.

  Horrified by these figures, the federal government abandoned its hesitations completely. Trudeau immediately made Justice Minister Jean Chrétien the federal representative on the “no” side with this instruction: “Get in there a bit more vigorously. Play whatever role you want….” The appointment, in the words of political analyst Gérard Bergeron, would offset Ryan’s political style: “This populist street-fighter would stand apart from Claude Ryan’s authoritarian and dialectical leadership.” Moreover, Trudeau told Ryan on April 4 that he would take a direct role himself and do whatever was necessary to win the campaign.18

  The campaign was angry and all-consuming, and it went down in history as “the battle of the champions”—a struggle between two remarkable politicians who had first confronted each other in the Montreal Radio-Canada cafeteria when Trudeau, then co-editor of Cité libre, taunted TV celebrity Lévesque, who had promised an article, with the words: “Hey, Lévesque, you’re a hell of a good speaker, but I’m starting to wonder whether you can write.” Their contests continued in the early sixties in Gérard Pelletier’s modest home when Lévesque, then a minister in Bourassa’s government, called on Trudeau, Pelletier, and others to help him interpret the convulsions of the Quiet Revolution. Their common quest ended as Lévesque chose a separatist path in the mid-1960s and Trudeau emerged as the most eloquent voice for an altered Canadian federalism. Then, in the later 1970s, they faced each other on opposite sides of a profound divide as Lévesque brilliantly marshalled the diverse separatist forces behind a common banner while Trudeau, with increasing difficulty, sought to band federalist troops together for a battle in which many Canadians outside Quebec had lost interest.19 “The champions” (as they were described in a National Film Board documentary) were not heavyweights slugging away at each other but middle-weights like Sugar Ray Robinson and Sugar Ray Leonard—artists who deftly jabbed, dodged, bobbed, and weaved as they jousted with each other. Long before, Lévesque had said that Trudeau had an “inborn talent for making you want to slap his face.” The feeling had become mutual.20

  The debate went poorly for the federalists in the Quebec National Assembly, but Trudeau entered the fray in the new Parliament on April 15, 1980—the very day Lévesque announced that the referendum would be held on May 20. Rarely referring to his notes and speaking in an effective monotone, Trudeau told a strangely silent House that he would not negotiate sovereignty-association with Quebec if there was a “yes” vote. The question was too vague, the separatist arguments too dishonest, and the constitutional ability to undertake such negotiations uncertain. But a “no” vote would not mean that political change in Canada would be frozen. Rather, it would be “the first step” in reforming the federal system, one where Parliament would become more effective in representing the interests of all Canadians, as it must: “When there is a conflict, the country must be convinced that there will be a national government that will speak for the national interest and that it will prevail.” Parliament would work to guarantee the civil and political rights of all Canadians, and a national referendum could affirm that the federal Parliament brought together “the only group that can speak for every Canadian and for the whole nation.” In this way Trudeau cleverly used the impending referendum in Quebec to advance the cause of constitutional reform that had stalled in the seventies and to add the new cause of the reform of Parliament itself. This potential referendum had become a clarion call to stir tired political bodies and to alert those, like Joe Clark, who had turned away from the battle for Quebec. Though he appeared confident in the Commons, Trudeau’s nervousness emerged as he left the chamber: he stopped to shake hands with a woman, and when her ring pinched his finger, an expression of pain passed over his face. Photographers caught the moment, and as he started down the stairs, he tripped.21

  But he stumbled seldom in the critical weeks ahead. Gradually, the “yes” side lost ground in the polls, particularly when Lise Payette, a Lévesque Cabinet minister, attacked women who supported federalists as “Yvettes”—a name widely identified in Quebec with docile, taciturn, and traditional women. In response, Claude Ryan’s wife, Madeleine, whom Payette had foolishly attacked personally, set out to organize women to advance the federalist side, and on March 30 in Quebec City, she held a “brunch des Yvettes,” which attracted enormous attention. It was followed by many other rallies, including one with over fourteen thousand “Yvettes” in the Montreal Forum.22 Yet the polls were volatile—a reflection of the uncertainty and the intensity of the campaign. Trudeau’s speech in the House, promising that a “no” vote would not mean the end of change but, rather, a renewed attempt to alter the federal system, provoked considerable criticism, not only in Quebec but also in other provinces, where there was little appetite for such challenges. As the campaign neared its end, the tone became bitter, particularly as the “yes” lead diminished.* Lévesque became careless and, in the fashion of earlier Trudeau foes, reportedly mocked Trudeau’s middle name, “Elliott.” When Trudeau heard the allegation, it fired his anger just before his final speech of the campaign, on May 14 at the Paul Sauvé arena.

  There, in November 1976, the PQ had celebrated its electoral victory with historic brio. Now the red Maple Leaf flag waved bes
ide the Quebec flag, and chants of Canada-Québec rocked the hall in a spirit as intense as that of the proudest separatist moment in that space. Trudeau began by saying that the other parties and leaders in Ottawa were united against separatism and shared his commitment to a renewal of federalism. Then he became personal.

  Mr. Lévesque has asked me what my attitude would be if the majority of Quebecers voted YES.

  I have already answered this question. I did so in Parliament. I did so in Montréal and in Québec City. And I say it again this evening: if the answer to the referendum is YES—I have said it clearly in the House of Commons—Mr. Lévesque will be welcome to come to Ottawa, where I will receive him politely, as he has always received me in Québec City, and I will tell him that there are two doors. If you knock on the sovereignty-association door, there is no negotiation possible.

  (Applause)

  Mr. Lévesque continues to repeat, “But what about democracy—what would you do if a majority of the Québec people voted YES? Would you not be obliged, by the principle of democracy, to negotiate?”

  No indeed!

  It is like saying to Mr. Lévesque, “The people of Newfoundland have just voted 100 percent in favour of renegotiating the electricity contract with Québec. You are obliged, in the name of democracy, to respect the will of Newfoundland, are you not?”

  It is obvious that this sort of logic does not work.

  The wishes of Quebecers may be expressed through democratic process, but that cannot bind others—those in other provinces who did not vote to act as Québec decides.

  So by that reasoning, Mr. Lévesque, there will be no association. Now, if you want to speak, if you want to speak of sovereignty, let me say that you have no mandate to negotiate that, because you did not ask Quebecers if they wanted sovereignty pure and simple.

  You said: Do you want sovereignty on the condition that there is also association?

  So, with no association, you have no mandate to negotiate sovereignty; you do not have the key to open that door, and neither do I.

  (Applause)

  I do not have that mandate either, because we were elected on February 18, scarcely a couple of months ago—for the specific purpose of making laws for the province of Québec.

  So don’t ask me not to make any, don’t ask me to give full powers to Québec.

  (Applause)

  On the other hand, if Mr. Lévesque, by some miracle, and it truly would be a miracle, knocked on the other door, saying: I have a mandate to negotiate, and would like to negotiate renewed federalism, then the door would be wide open to him, and I would say: you did not have to go to the trouble of holding a referendum for that; if it is renewed federalism you want, if that is what you wish to negotiate, then you are welcome.

  But is it really possible that Mr. Lévesque would say that, because what are the YES supporters saying?

  The YES supporters are saying—and I asked Mr. Lévesque this a couple of weeks ago: What will you do if the majority votes NO? What will you say then? Will you respect the will of the people, or will you claim that a NO vote does not mean as much as a YES vote, and that a NO does not count for the moment, but that another referendum needs to be held?

  I asked Mr. Lévesque that, and this was his answer: We will not refuse a few crumbs of autonomy for Québec, but we will still be going around in circles.

  Mr. Lévesque, if the people of Québec vote NO, as I believe they will …

  (Applause)

  … won’t you say that since the people have rejected sovereignty-association, it is your duty to be a good government and put an end to the status quo on which you place so much blame, and to join us in changing the Constitution?

  Mr. Lévesque told us: We will still be going around in circles.

  Well, that should enlighten all those who intend to vote YES in order to increase Québec’s bargaining power, all those who intend to vote YES out of pride, and all those who intend to vote YES because they are fed up.

  If Mr. Lévesque does not want renewed federalism even if the people vote NO, then, clearly, if the people vote YES, he is going to say: “Renewed federalism is out of the question.”

  For my part, I will say: Sovereignty-Association is out of the question.

  (Applause)

  Which means that we have reached an impasse, and those who vote YES must realize right now that a YES vote will result in either independence, pure and simple, or the status quo—that is what the YES option boils down to: the independence of Québec, the separation of Québec, or else the status quo, no change, because Mr. Lévesque refuses to negotiate.

  That’s what we have to say to the YES side: if you want independence, if you vote YES, you won’t get independence because you made it conditional on there being an Association, an Association being achieved along with independence.

  If you want Association, your YES vote doesn’t mean anything because it is not binding on the other provinces, which refuse to join in an association with you. And if you vote YES for a renewed federalism, your vote will be lost as well, because Mr. Lévesque will still be going around in circles.

  So you see, that is the impasse that this ambiguous, equivocal question has led us into, and that is what the people who are going to vote YES out of pride, that is what they should think about.

  Voting YES out of pride means that we are putting our fate in the hands of the other provinces, which are going to say NO, no association, and then we will have to swallow our pride and our YES vote.

  And those who are saying YES in order to get it over with, YES to break away, Yes to get negotiations started, they read in the question itself that there will be a second referendum, and then maybe a third, and then maybe a fourth. And that, my friends, that is precisely what we are criticizing the Parti Québécois government for; not for having wanted independence—that is an option we reject and we’re fighting it openly.

  But what we are criticizing the Parti Québécois for is for not having the courage to ask: INDEPENDENCE, YES or NO?

  (Applause)

  YES or NO?

  (Applause)

  Next, Trudeau talked about how the referendum had divided families, created bitterness among old friends, and drained the energy from other purposes. His brother, Charles; his sister, Suzette; and other family members were in the audience when, for the first time, his voice broke with emotion, as he responded to Lévesque’s reported taunt about his mother’s name:

  I was told that no more than two days ago Mr. Lévesque was saying that part of my name was Elliott and, since Elliott was an English name, it was perfectly understandable that I was for the NO side, because, really, you see, I was not as much of a Quebecer as those who are going to vote YES.

  That, my dear friends, is what contempt is. It means saying that there are different kinds of Quebecers. It means saying that the Quebecers on the NO side are not as good Quebecers as the others and perhaps they have a drop or two of foreign blood, while the people on the YES side have pure blood in their veins. That is what contempt is, and that is the kind of division which builds up within a people, and that is what we are saying NO to.

  Of course my name is Pierre Elliott Trudeau. Yes, Elliott was my mother’s name. It was the name borne by the Elliotts who came to Canada more than two hundred years ago. It is the name of the Elliotts who, more than one hundred years ago, settled in Saint-Gabriel-de-Brandon, where you can still see their graves in the cemetery. That is what the Elliotts are.

  My name is a Québec name, but my name is a Canadian name also, and that’s the story of my name.

  Trudeau then reminded Lévesque that Pierre Marc Johnson was one of his ministers, the son of Premier Daniel Johnson. So was “Louis O’Neill,” that fine francophone. And, Trudeau asked, what about the leader of Quebec’s Inuit, Charlie Watt? His people had lived on the land long before Cartier met them over four hundred years earlier. Would he deny Watt’s right to call himself a Quebecer? This question and the Elliott history became the
story of the speech, which endured as perhaps Trudeau’s most memorable address, even though he considered it not one of his best. His opinion is understandable: the first paragraphs were familiar rhetoric, and the last part, for Trudeau, was surely too personal—too close to his own memories of his struggles with identity and his relationship with his past. Journalist Ian MacDonald, a strong critic of Trudeau, was overcome at the meeting and later wrote that the speech was “the emotional and intellectual coup de grâce of the referendum campaign.” It exposed how deeply he engaged with his own identity. Long ago, in his essay on canoeing in the wilderness, he had written that individuals acquire “nationalism” when they “feel in [their] bones the vastness of the land and the greatness of its founders.” In those wartime days, Trudeau’s nationalism had no feeling for the country beyond the Ottawa River and Quebec’s eastern boundaries. By 1980 his patriotism spanned the nation, embracing the North and all Canada’s people.23

  Trudeau left Montreal quickly that night and took no further part in the campaign. Meanwhile, after some initial jousting, Jean Chrétien (as federal representative on the “no” side) and Claude Ryan had developed a solid working relationship, and Ryan now accepted the help of his federal “cousins” graciously. Yet troubles were brewing. As political analyst Gérard Bergeron and Globe and Mail columnist Geoffrey Stevens pointed out, Trudeau’s presence in the debate and his assertive program for the post-referendum period pushed Ryan and the official campaign into the shadows, and the questions of “yes” and “no” became a duel between Lévesque and Trudeau, one that changed the terrain and assured future battles. On referendum day, Quebec voted as never before as young and old, the athletic and the infirm, anglophone, allo-phone, and francophone all crammed into the polling stations.24

  On the morning of the referendum, Trudeau went to Ryan’s modest duplex at 425 St. Joseph Boulevard in Outremont. On the street he had known since childhood, in a house where he had long ago met with colleagues from the Université de Montréal, and where Marc Lalonde had lived upstairs when Ryan moved in, the two warriors of modern Quebec politics stirred their coffees together. Ryan had already voted; Trudeau would later. Both were confident of victory as they spoke of the uncertain future. Trudeau troubled Ryan when he stated that he wanted to move ahead and patriate the Constitution after the referendum, but Ryan said nothing directly that day; it was not the time for debate or disagreement.