The Best Laid Plans Part 18

Angus was having so much fun he could contain himself no longer. "Blast those d.a.m.ned health and safety zealots! Do they have no idea what it takes to make a buck in this day and age? The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" Angus clenched his fists in mock outrage. Slick was lapping it all up. No warning bells were sounding in his brain; it was full speed ahead.

"I like your style, McLintock. I really do. But there's more. We just had a little visit from Environment Canada the other day when we weren't exactly expecting 'em."

"The dirty blackguards," Angus muttered under his breath. I coughed to stifle a giggle. I held up my hand, signaling that I was breathing again and that the meeting could proceed. This guy was nothing but a caricature.

"Anyhoo, those p.r.i.c.ks at Environment said there's some kind of discrepancy between what we're dumping in the river and what we're reporting to them. I'm sure it's just some kind a clerical f.u.c.k up, but it would sure help if the local MP stepped in to 'clear the water' you might say," explained Slick.

"Well, how about if I arrange to have the effluent limits lifted so you can dump whatever you like in the river?" Angus proposed with great sincerity.

"You could do that? Well now, that would be fine, just fine. h.e.l.l, Cameron tried and said it couldn't be done, and he was the G.o.dd.a.m.n Finance Minister. I am surely pleased to make your acquaintance, McLintock."

For a moment, neither Angus nor I knew how to proceed. We thought for certain our dim guest would have picked up on the performance long before now, allowing us to deliver the real message. But he was still bathing in our little act.

"h.e.l.l, this is the best news I've had all month. I gotta tell you, if we weren't able to take care of those two little problems, the plant would be in shutdown mode," Slick commented in pa.s.sing.

Angus took his cue. "How soon could you be gone?" he asked, straight-faced. Slick looked at him but then chuckled in a "you almost had me there" kind of way.

"d.a.m.n if you're not a pistol, McLintock. So when can you get the tree huggers off my a.s.s?"

"Answer the question, man. How soon could you pack up the plant and be gone?" Angus bore down on Slick, who had finally noted the change in temperature.

"What's your game, McLintock? Am I reading you wrong? Where'd the guy go who was going to cut us loose from all that dang red tape?" Slick smiled, still not quite sure what had just happened on the previously smooth road to regulatory subversion.

"No game here, Mr. Haldorson just a little misunderstandin' on yer part. We have no interest in aidin' and abettin' a rogue company in ravagin' our river, scarrin' the sh.o.r.eline, and endangerin' the lives of those who sweat for you," Angus said. "I hope the picture's becomin' a tad clearer for you now."

"You've been playing me, you sorry-a.s.sed mountain man. Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are? I come in here trying to save you some jobs, and you play the game and make nice, and now you're breaking my b.a.l.l.s? What is this s.h.i.t?" Slick was on his feet, spoiling for a fight.

"Sit down, Mr. Haldorson," Angus directed calmly. "I'm sorry we led you on, laddie, but we just couldnae believe you were still with us. This isnae the bayou, man. We'd like yer jobs but not if it means despoilin' the water and imperilin' the lives of the workers. Are you daft? Can you really get away with this elsewhere?" As he finished his battery of rhetorical questions, Angus tilted his head slightly to drive home the quizzical look on his face. It was a nice touch.

"Cameron never treated us this way," was all Slick could muster. "He would have whipped those crunchy granola Environment folks good."

"Aye, that he would have. He might even have asked them to whip him for a wee bit, too," Angus replied, stifling a grin.

Slick walked out the door.

We called Muriel together on the speakerphone right after. From her earlier dealings with him, she'd already pegged him as a good old boy but was side-split when we recounted the confrontation. Before leaving, I called the workers' representative and set up a meeting for the following week.

That night, I actually helped Angus paint the top deck of Baddeck I. I was what you might call a full service EA. I hated painting. But I was still juiced from our remarkable meeting and couldn't sit still long enough to read or watch TV Besides, Lindsay was away at a symposium in Edmonton on the Triple-E Senate, not that she was a supporter, mind you.

Angus rested his single malt on the engine cowling, and we re-enacted the meeting, taking turns playing the role of "Slick." Angus finished his side of the craft and leaned back against the wall of the boathouse.

"I just cannae believe I'm enjoyin' myself so." He whistled as he cleaned out his brush while I concentrated on painting inside the lines.

Nice.

DIARY.

Wednesday, November 27

My Love,

I've found refuge for my methodological mind in the Standing Committee on Procedure and House Affairs. As in engineering, in the universe of parliamentary procedure, there's usually a right answer and a wrong one. The more I immerse myself in these arcane and esoteric rules, the clearer it becomes that the Standing Orders best serve the interests of the Government and not the Opposition. In short, the rules are not intended to benefit the three major parties equally. Nay, it may appear so on the surface, but underneath throbs the machinery of politics, and the Government has the upper hand.

I've concluded that the greatest gift the Standing Orders bestow on the Government is the power to control the agenda, to manipulate the Order Paper to its own ends. For a majority government, this benefit is more tactical, given that the governing party holds all the cards anyway. But in a minority situation, the authority to set the agenda becomes strategic and yields an advantage lost on too many of my colleagues. I'll be keeping my eyes open so as not to compound the Government's edge by being caught with my kilt around my ankles.

I needed your moderating influence yesterday. My temper reigned, and I took offence when an insolent galoot tried to take off my noggin with a cantaloupe. Yes, I do lead an interesting and varied life, do I not? Not to dwell on an incident I'd rather leave behind me, but I returned the melon from whence it came, and it met a sudden stop against the poor sod's skull. I'll never feel quite the same way about cantaloupe again. Daniel said I'm lucky to have escaped without an a.s.sault charge or at least without having to grovel in the House in abject apology. I shudder at the thought. But the cameras were rolling the whole time, and the resulting video has been rolling ever since. If one is keeping score of the editorials, most in the country seem to consider my deed a clear case of justifiable "meloning," unleashed in self-defence. I've wasted enough breath and ink on this trifle already.

Daniel joined me in the workshop tonight and actually took brush in hand to help paint Baddeck I. I'd almost have preferred him to watch, in view of his seriously stunted painting skills. He ended up with more paint on his hands, arms, thighs, and even a splotch on his ear lobe, than he did on the bleeding craft. At any rate, 'tis done now, and the dark blue looks lovely. As I'm sure you know, it's your blue, though it's come to be mine, too.

I'm knackered after a frenetic day. I've not the brain to tell you about a cla.s.sic meeting we had with the unevolved head of the gravel plant on the outskirts of town. What an oaf. If we don't ignore serious environmental and health and safety infractions, he'll stop the plant's expansion and shut the d.a.m.n thing down. Knowing what an eyesore it is, I'd be happy if they ceased operations, but for the loss of jobs. Well, there may well be good news on that front, too. After a call I've just had with Norman Sanderson and Deepa, I've another wee idea in the pot, steeping.

I've yet to fly on the ice a second time but am hopeful I'll have my chance in the coming days. I know you're watching over me.

AM.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

On Monday, December 2 at 4:00 PM, Finance Minister Roger Chartrand rose in the House of Commons and executed a picture-perfect, inward triple-twisting, double flip-flop in the pike position. Rip entry, no splash. It took my breath away.

If the Red Tories had won the battle of the Throne Speech, the hard right supply-siders had clearly triumphed in the war of the mini-budget. The rumours swirling on the Hill had obviously been closer to the truth than I'd thought. In the previous few weeks, the Right-Left split in Cabinet had broken wide open, from crack to crevice to chasm. The right wing had been incensed by the "candy-a.s.sed Throne Speech" and had dug in for a bloodbath on the mini-budget. As I listened to the Finance Minister's speech in the House, the victor in the latest clash of Tory factions was clear.

I could certainly understand the confusion washing over Canadians. It seemed impossible that the Throne Speech and mini-budget could have been penned by the same party. It was Jekyll and Hyde, Oscar and Felix, Leafs and Habs. An army of spin doctors could never shoehorn Chartrand's fiscal measures into the philosophical framework laid out by the Governor General four weeks earlier. Never mind the lipstick; it was still a pig.

On the eve of what appeared to be a continental, if not global, recession, the highlights of the minority Tory government's mini-budget came into view: Another ten-percent cut in personal income tax Another one-percentage-point cut in the goods and services tax (GST) A ten-percent cut in corporate income tax A ten-percent cut in fiscal transfers to the provinces A two-year freeze on federal spending Bottom line? The tax cuts would cost the federal government about $43 billion while the spending freeze and provincial transfer rollbacks would save only $35 billion. Math was never my strong suit, but didn't that still leave an $8 billion shortfall? Chartrand explained it this way as he closed his mini-budget speech.

"Mr. Speaker, these bold measures will not just help us weather the gathering economic storm but will actually stimulate growth. By putting money back into the pockets of Canadian businesses and taxpayers, we will reap more than we've sowed because the market itself is the very engine of efficiency. And the government is not and can never be. The market will close the fiscal gap but only if we cut taxes and liberate the resources the economy needs to fortify itself for the battle ahead. Mr. Speaker, Canadians want tax cuts. They deserve tax cuts. It's their money. They earned it. By honouring their wishes, we are building our economy and our nation."

I'll take that barf bag now.

The Tories were actually proposing a return to Reaganomics, voodoo economics, supply-side economics whatever euphemism you liked. They were turning back the clock to the time of the old trickle-down theory that worked oh-so-well for low-income Americans in the 1980s of Ronald Reagan. Obviously, Milton Friedman had won "Economist of the Month" honours in the Prime Minister's Office. For Liberals, it marked a return to the "bad old days."

Mayhem ensued as the stunned Opposition tried to square the mini-budget they'd just heard with the Throne Speech a month earlier. Insults and profanities ping-ponged across the floor. From my perch in the Members gallery, I watched Angus as his facial hue spun through the colour wheel. I hadn't seen him look so enraged since I'd mistakenly drilled too far through the stern decking of the hovercraft and into his left thigh waiting below. (It was an accident just a minor flesh wound.) He was on his feet even before the Finance Minister's cheeks met chair.

"Mr. Speaker, point of personal privilege!" Angus boomed above the chaos in the Commons. "Point of personal privilege!"

"Order, order, please!" cried the Speaker. "I can wait." He stood with his hands clasped before him, surrounded by his obedient pages. Eventually, the ferocious uproar settled to a modest exchange of heckling.

"Point of personal privilege, the Honourable Member for c.u.mberland-Prescott."

You'd have thought I'd be used to this sort of thing by now, but no. My heart rate doubled as the scene unfolded below me in slow motion.

"Mr. Speaker, this Government has abused my privileges as a Member of this House. This Government lied to me, lied to his House, and lied to Canadians."

The L word was verboten in the chamber, and Angus knew it. The Speaker and the Government side of the House knew it, too. The response was as deafening as it was colourful. With everyone yelling at once, I had to rely on the official Hansard record for the next couple of minutes of the proceedings until the Speaker regained control: "Shame, shame!"

(Inaudible) "... sanctimonious little " (inaudible)

"Withdraw that remark, you snaky-haired hermit!"

"Take it back, gas bag! Take it back, you " (inaudible)

"You're a pile of " (inaudible)

"Order, please, order!" The Speaker waited like a veteran child-care worker. "Order! Thank you. The Honourable Member for c.u.mberland-Prescott has used language in this House that is unparliamentary, and I ask him now to withdraw his remark."

Angus rose, the picture of indignation. "Mr. Speaker, I have nothin' but respect for this place and have done my best to honour its traditions. Pray enlighten me as to my offence so that I can reconsider the offendin' words."

The Speaker stood again. "The Honourable Member should know by now that accusing the Government of lying is not permitted in this chamber. I ask him again to withdraw his remark."

"Mr. Speaker, I merely spoke the truth, a concept with which this Government seems wholly unfamiliar. I accept that it may, in the strict parliamentary sense, be offensive to use the word lied, as in, 'this Government lied to me, lied to this House, and lied to Canadians,' and so I should like to replace it with misled, as in, 'this Government misled me, misled this House, and misled Canadians.' I trust that is satisfactory." Angus smiled sweetly and resumed his seat.

It's hard to describe the outrage of the Government MPs and Ministers as they listened to these statements. Invective and vitriol arced from one side of the House to the other.

"Order, please, order! You will come to order!" shouted the now-inflamed Speaker. "The Honourable Member cannot simply replace one unacceptable term with another. Neither lied nor misled is acceptable in this place. The Honourable Member is again asked to withdraw the remark, or I shall have no choice but to name him and eject him from the House until it sits again."

Angus up again. "Mr. Speaker, I do apologize. 'Tis not my intention to test yer mettle nor the rules of this House. I'm a newcomer to this place and appreciate yer guidance. Is it acceptable to employ the term dishonest as in, 'this Government has been dishonest with me, dishonest with this House, and dishonest with Canadians?'"

"No!"

"How about not forthright?"

"No!"

"Misrepresented?"

"No!"

"Played fast and loose with the truth?"

"Enough! The Honourable Member will withdraw his remark or be named and ejected!" the Speaker thundered.

The House was actually quiet by now as this surreal scene played on. His point now irrevocably and indelibly made, Angus stood once again. "Mr. Speaker, as I said, I'm still new. Can you tell me what it means to be named and ejected for sayin' the Government lied to me, lied to this House, and lied to Canadians? Yer wise counsel will greatly inform me decision," Angus gushed.

The Speaker was one step from infuriated. He answered through gritted teeth.

"It simply means that you are named in Hansard and escorted out of the House by the sergeant-at-arms for the duration of the day's sitting. Now, I ask again, will the Honourable Member please withdraw his remarks?"

Angus wiped the smile from his countenance and drew himself to his full height and width. "Mr. Speaker, I'm grateful for yer illumination of the rules of order. I have too much respect for this House to allow this Government to sully its honourable traditions with deceit and subterfuge. It is the Government's dishonest conduct that is the true affront to this inst.i.tution, not the words I've used to describe it. This Government has lied to me, lied to this House, and lied to all Canadians. I cannae shrink from that truth, and I cannae withdraw my words despite the high regard in which I hold this place."

Angus then sat back down with his arms crossed in defiance. Liberals cheered, Tories raged, and the NDP didn't quite know what to do. The Speaker merely shook his head and rose yet again. The pages got quite the workout, leaping up and down in time with the Speaker.

"I'm left with no choice but to the name the Honourable Member for c.u.mberland-Prescott and instruct the sergeant-at-arms to escort him forthwith from the chamber."

The sergeant-at-arms, who actually carried a sword in the name of parliamentary ritual, rose from his seat on the floor of the Commons and strode stone-faced to stand beside the offending Member. Angus slowly stood, to wild applause from the Liberal side. The sergeant-at-arms moved his right hand, presumably to seize the left arm of Angus and place him in symbolic custody. The sergeant's hand shot back to his side after a menacing glare from Angus. In the midst of a maelstrom of adulation and insult, Angus stared straight ahead as he stepped to the middle of the floor, bowed deeply to the Speaker, then turned and walked out of the House with the sergeant-at-arms doing his best to keep up.

I unclenched as the last vestiges of parliamentary decorum disintegrated on the floor of the Commons.

The broadcast news Monday night and the papers Tuesday morning were filled with stories on the Government's about-face budget and the Angus ejection escapade. The Tory strategy was clear. Bribe Canadians with our own money and then dare the Opposition to bring down the Government and its tax-cutting mini-budget along with it. The success of the Government's gambit turned on one of society's pernicious and persistent forces greed. The mini-budget bore all the hallmarks of a cynical, manipulative, and desperate political ploy to help the Tories cling to power just a little longer. I had no doubt that the Prime Minister's Office had numbers showing significant public support for tax cuts. I also had no doubt that the Globe and Mail or the National Post would be in the field within 24 hours, giving us all access to public-opinion research, saying exactly the same thing.

But there was something big missing from the Tories' a.n.a.lysis and from the initial media coverage of Chartrand's speech. The mini-budget threatened to compound the Government's moral bankruptcy with financial insolvency. Giving the people what they thought they wanted would exchange short-term gain for long-term pain. But three weeks before Christmas, the Tory strategists gambled that the Liberals and the NDP wouldn't dare defeat the Government over a budget that promised to give Canadians back some of their hard-earned money a reasonable view, to be sure. But a marked paucity of reasonable people existed in federal politics.

According to Standing Order 84, the mini-budget would be debated in the House for not more than four sitting days, culminating in a vote. The House Leaders had agreed on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday for the first three days. About a dozen MPs from all parties would be on an extended weekend Inter-Parliamentary Union junket in Victoria from Friday to Monday, so the final day of debate and the vote itself were scheduled for the following Tuesday, December 10. The Whip and the House Leader put out the call to clear the decks and be in the House for the Tuesday vote, come h.e.l.l or high water.

Ever transparent, and mindful of his commitment to open communications, Angus asked me to organize a public const.i.tuency town-hall meeting on the mini-budget. Now, I felt quite confident that the people of c.u.mberland-Prescott wanted the money promised them in the Tory mini-budget. Conversely, their newly elected MP wanted to kill their tax cuts and their windfall. So Angus and I argued for a time over his town-hall idea. I could see little point in inviting dozens of irate voters to dump all over us in person when we could simply read their nasty letters in the comfort and security of our own office. But as usual, he was insistent, and I was respectful. I stopped after observing that hosting a town hall meeting on the mini-budget was tantamount to sitting atop a carnival dunk tank in Riverfront Park and giving each const.i.tuent five baseb.a.l.l.s.