Authors: Terry Fallis
“Good morning. For those of you whom I’ve not yet met, I’m Daniel Addison and I work for the Cumberland-Prescott M P, Angus McLintock, from whom we’ll hear in a moment. This is a special meeting of caucus with a single agenda item. Angus will give you a big-picture briefing on the collapse of the Alexandra Bridge and then outline the general direction of his recommendations for ensuring that such a failure never recurs. Bradley Stanton has asked me, well more accurately, he demanded that I
remind you all that this is a highly confidential briefing. I don’t think you need to hear it again, but I’m supposed to remind you all that what you hear this morning is not yet public. So we are all sworn to secrecy until it is made public, we expect, later this week. For this reason, no hard copies of Professor McLintock’s report will be distributed this morning. Finally, because of the travel schedules of some ministers, you’re actually hearing this before Cabinet is briefed on Wednesday morning. So we’re counting on your discretion.”
“We can keep a secret, you know,” whined one MP with a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “We’re not children.”
“I hear you, but I promised Bradley that I’d reiterate the importance of confidentiality on this until it hits the streets officially.”
“And what’s the big deal anyway? An old bridge gave way. So what.”
“Well, now might be a good time to invite Angus McLintock to top-line his report and why this is in fact a big deal. Angus?”
I sat at the table across the front of the room as Angus came forward. He ignored the podium and simply stood before the government caucus. As usual, he had no notes.
“Good morning. I thank you for convening this special gathering. Daniel is right. This is a big deal. It has the potential to affect each one of us, every other MP from the other parties, and ultimately every Canadian.”
He then pointed to the MP who had spoken up earlier.
“You, sir, just asked ‘What’s the big deal?’ Let me tell you. Yes, a single century-old bridge has collapsed. But our investigation reveals that this is not an isolated event. This is not a single aberration predicted by statisticians and actuaries based on how many bridges we have in this vast country. I implore you, do not think of it in that way. Do not delude yourselves as past governments have, including Liberal regimes. You must understand and accept that if we sit idly by and do nothing, I promise you, the collapse of the Alexandra Bridge will be just the first in a long and tragic series of catastrophic infrastructure failures across the country
that will surely cripple our economy and cost Canadian lives. Lives we could have saved. I can put it no more plainly than that.”
Angus had the room now.
“We have the power to transform the Alexandra Bridge collapse into an isolated incident, but only if we muster the political will to act quickly in defence of the national interest.”
Silence in the room. All eyes now fixed on Angus. Had the fire alarm sounded, I doubt whether anyone in the room would have noticed.
“Now, with that preface, let me tell you the story of the Alexandra Bridge so that you, too, will see it as a national warning we must heed.”
Angus then proceeded to pace the room as he talked. He spoke so powerfully and eloquently that it sounded scripted, yet I knew it wasn’t. He just had that innate ability to command the room: to combine eye contact, gestures, movement, and voice in such a balanced way that his audience was left somewhere between transfixed and spellbound. In fifteen uninterrupted minutes, he summarized his report. He covered the actual physical cause of the collapse using language and metaphors that the average Canadian could understand. He spent time on the maintenance records, on the steady decline in funding, on the systematic neglect, and on the mounting evidence that this was just the first collapse of many. He noted that the sad state of the Alexandra Bridge captured, in microcosm, the sad state of Canada’s infrastructure. He did his “We haven’t beaten, but just transformed, the deficit” routine, and it seemed to take root. Many were either nodding in understanding or shaking their heads in concern.
Angus concluded by outlining the general direction of our recommendations. He didn’t give figures on the required spending to restore Canada’s infrastructure but he did make it clear that it would take time and much more money than the government had ever intended to spend on such unexciting long-term initiatives as roads, bridges, ports, and canals.
Even though Angus was thorough, convincing, articulate, and passionate, not everyone was convinced.
“This just seems too far out there to believe,” started one skeptic. “Is what you’ve just told us really entirely true?”
Although Angus was tolerant of many things, stupid questions that cast doubt on his integrity were not among them.
“No, now that I’m off my meds, this is entirely a construct of my very fertile imagination,” sneered Angus, shaking his head. There was a limit to Angus’s equanimity, and the backbencher had just blown right through it. “Of course it’s all true. We’ve just spent the last three weeks getting to the bottom of this sorry story. I’ve hung by a rope in the guts of the downed bridge. We’ve met with dozens of experts who have spent their professional lives in this world. We’ve followed the paper trail to irrefutable conclusions. We’ve crunched the blessed numbers. Everything I’ve just presented has been documented, verified, corroborated, double-checked, and examined under a microscope and through a telescope in search of even the tiniest tear in the truth. This, ladies and gentlemen, is as close to gospel as we’ll ever get.”
“But it sounds like it’ll cost billions to get back to where we need to be,” complained one M P. “We just can’t afford to cough up that kind of dough right now, particularly when we’ve promised tax cuts. We’re screwed.”
“I’m neither the Prime Minister, nor the Finance Minister, for which I’m certain you’re all grateful,” conceded Angus. “The power to resolve the spending dilemma our report undeniably raises rests largely with them. It will not be easy. But governing responsibly is seldom easy. If presented effectively, I believe Canadians will accept that infrastructure decay is not just a priority, but very nearly a national crisis, requiring extraordinary remedial measures. It is my fervent hope that the PM and Monsieur Coulombe will accept the dire findings and embrace the recommendations of our report.”
“And what about the tax cuts we all rode to victory on?” asked a backbencher incongruously sitting in the front row.
“Aye. I know, I know. I suppose one option is to delay them for a few years until we’ve got a start on redressing our infrastructure,” replied Angus.
“Don’t forget that investing in infrastructure will also create jobs, which will bring in more tax dollars. In this economic climate, such an investment will pay dividends, even if we suffer politically in the early going,” I chimed in.
The discussion continued until the attention span of the caucus had been exhausted. There were many questions, some of them even good ones. Through it all, except for that initial sarcastic rebuttal, Angus maintained a calm and authoritative demeanour. I tried to read the room but there were quite a few poker faces. Some were trying to hide how they felt, while others were trying to hide that they didn’t know what to think. I’m sure many were simply waiting to hear from the Leader’s office before deciding how to feel about this issue. That’s the reality of politics. Still, I was encouraged after the meeting. It seemed to me that Angus had turned at least a healthy portion of the assembled to our side. As the meeting broke up, the two PMO plants scuttled out the door on their way back to report to Bradley.
“Well, what’s your read?” I asked Angus as we walked back to our office.
“I cannae tell for sure, but I think we may have turned a few minds,” he replied.
“It was a good warm-up,” I noted. “The real test is on Wednesday. Cabinet is where the decisions are made. Cabinet and the PMO.”
That afternoon at four, after the markets had closed for the day, the Senate chamber filled to capacity for the Throne Speech. In a 600-year-old tradition, the Usher of the Black Rod, the Senate’s ceremonial security officer, led the members of the House of Commons down the main corridor of Centre Block and into the red Senate chamber. MPs do not have official standing in the
Senate and so must stand behind a bar in the entrance to hear the Speech from the Throne.
Angus was there, of course, but I decided to watch the proceedings on television from our office. The PM looked pleased and proud to be sitting in the ornate chair at the right hand of the Governor General. A former Saskatchewan Cabinet Minister, the GG was seated up a few steps from the PM in the beautiful and ornate wood and upholstered throne at the very epicentre of the Senate. She wore a multicoloured dress that sparkled so much it looked as if she were wearing a sack of exploding fireworks. I could almost hear the Parliamentary Channel’s producer cursing as the gown wreaked havoc with the television picture. Add a few munchkins and she could have stood in for Glinda the Good Witch of the South. Despite her Christmas tree fashion sense, the GG was an intelligent woman who took her role as viceregal representative and head of state very seriously. On my TV screen, classical music played in the background as she leaned over to chat with the PM. Soon they were both chuckling. MPs were still filing into the restricted area of the chamber so we were still a few minutes away. Eventually, the scene settled and the music faded to be replaced by the sound of a quieting crowd. A few coughs and throat clearings could be heard before the camera focused on the GG. She remained seated, put on her reading glasses, and opened a folder in front of her. Then she started to read.
“Honourable Members of the Senate, Members of the House of Commons, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to greet you on this first day of a new Parliament. Today, we celebrate the unique bond between Parliament and its people, just as we have in Canada since 1867.”
While it was a standard Throne Speech opening, I still found myself moved by the tradition and pageantry of it all. She welcomed new and returning members of the House of Commons and congratulated the Prime Minister on forming a new government. About four minutes in, the preliminaries seemed to be over
with and she moved into the Throne Speech proper. Had I stayed in the Leader’s office, it is quite likely that I’d have written a good part of the speech. I was wistful for a minute or two but then realized that I was in a much better place.
It was a good speech. Clear and clean, with some solid writing. The Throne Speech is one of those few opportunities to wax eloquent without being accused of being over the top. The speech was nearing the end and I was worried we’d be shut out. Finally, I heard what we were awaiting.
“My government promised during the campaign that we would reduce taxes and put more money in the pockets of Canadians. We intend to do just that, but the rapidly declining economy and the collapse of the Alexandra Bridge nearly a month ago has forced the government to confront a new reality. We must begin to rebuild our crumbling infrastructure and stimulate an ailing and failing economy. The government will keep its promises, but we must also do what is right for the country.”
Yes. That was it. I recognized some of the words as my own, submitted to Bradley a few days earlier. We could have asked for little more. We didn’t expect the speech to go into any more detail than that, so I was happy. He was not visible on screen, but I could imagine Angus standing at the rail in the Senate, smiling and nodding. We’d made it into the Throne Speech. The government was now committed to do at least something to redress a fallen bridge. I also imagined a stone-faced Emile Coulombe, quivering with rage and pushing pins into an Angus voodoo doll. He’d lost one battle, but the war was far from over. There were plenty of precedents for governments merely paying passing tribute to Throne Speech commitments. I felt good, but the champagne was still on ice. Not that I’d ever be allowed to uncork another bottle.
Lindsay had a night class, so after dinner I headed up the slope to see Angus, quite pleased with myself. Feeling athletic, I bounded up to the back deck, taking the stairs two at a time in
three long strides. I’d forgotten that there were actually seven steps. I was never really that good at math. It’s a long trip from
feeling
athletic to
being
athletic. As I lay on my stomach on the deck, my knees resting on that unaccounted-for last stair, I had the familiar feeling I was being watched. I turned my head to discover that I was being watched. Angus was on the chintz couch, sipping single malt from a squat tumbler and watching me through the window. He raised his glass to honour my perfectly executed pratfall. He then hoisted himself to his feet and came around to open the deck door.
“Will you have a drink of somethin’?” he asked, sticking his head through the doorway and looking down at my horizontal form.
There I was, perhaps paralyzed, lying on my face on the snowy deck, and Angus was taking drink orders.
“I’m not hurt, Angus, so don’t you worry. I’m okay. I’m fine,” I mocked. “Really, I’m just fine.”
“I saw the whole thing, and you went down very gently, you know,” he replied. “Were you expecting me to bring the backboard and call for the air ambulance?”
“No. But it’s just nice to be asked if I’m okay.”
“Och, stow the bellyachin’. I’ve seen you go down far harder than that and up you popped just fine.”
By this time, I had had in fact popped back up and was brushing the snow from my pants. Ten minutes later I had a Coke in my hand and was prodding my white king pawn ahead two squares to start the good fight.
“I’m still feeling good that we pushed our way into the speech,” I said as Angus considered his move. “It’s no mean feat to get that kind of verbiage into the Throne Speech. Everyone and their cousin are clamouring to get their pet projects in there, but very few make the cut. Today, we made the cut.”
“Aye, we did, but a few platitudes in a Throne Speech are not worth a tinker’s curse if the Budget doesn’t hand over the sterling to get the job done,” Angus replied as he shoved his king
pawn up two squares to meet mine. “We’re not home yet, lad.”