Ted Barris

It seemed awfully quiet when I got there. I arrived in the middle of the evening, so some of the downtown streets still had shops open. I guess they were hoping for some early December Christmas sales. But there didn’t seem to be much pedestrian traffic where I was. Wind blew snow into drifts as if the place were some forgotten ghost town. The streets were barely ploughed. At any rate, I asked the cabby why things seemed so quiet.

“Harper prorogued Parliament,” he said. “The place is dead.”

I arrived at the scene of the crime – Ottawa – Sunday night, in order to MC an event the following morning at the Canadian War Museum. Unlike the rest of Ontario, the cold along the Ottawa River seemed even chillier than the reading on the thermometer, minus 20. The prime minister had suspended the business of the country and so, it seemed, everybody had gone away. Not on holidays. Not in search of Christmas cheer. The National Capital just seemed to have closed down … indefinitely.

Monday morning, I was up early to get ready for my appointment. I dashed across Dalhousie Street to Dunn’s café, a 24-hour delicatessen in the old Bytown tourist area of downtown Ottawa. Even though the hour was early, I figured this popular eatery would be humming at the beginning of another work week. It wasn’t. The place probably had seating for 300 people, but I might have managed to organize a game of pick-up baseball with the number of patrons present Monday morning. The waiter made the point.

“If they’re not on the Hill, they’re not in here,” he said.

Outside, around downtown Ottawa, I noticed the flags on all government buildings flying at half-staff. At least the city had recognized Pte. Dmetrios Diplaros, Cpl. Mark McLaren and W.O. Robert Wilson – the three Canadian troops killed Friday in Afghanistan. But like the lowered flags, it seemed the entire city had ceased functioning. No street traffic. Half-full buses. Empty sidewalks. We went by Parliament Hill on Confederation Boulevard and not a light, not a footprint, nary a person in sight. I thought of the three men lost overseas and of a House of Commons prorogued, come to a grinding stop, dysfunctional to the point of inaction. What an insult to three men who, I’m sure, never considered abrogating their responsibilities in the face of adversity.

I made my way west of downtown Ottawa and arrived at the Canadian War Museum in anticipation of the event I was invited to MC. Oddly, the museum was actually closed to the public that day too. An employee on duty told me the slowing economy and the present situation in Ottawa had dictated the facility be closed on Mondays, at least for the time being.

Inside the museum at the appointed hour of the press conference, I invited the Dutch ambassador, Wim Geerts, to address a group of students, teachers, veterans and the media present. The ambassador announced that in May 2010, Holland would once again roll out the welcome mat for thousands of Canadians as his homeland will celebrate the 65th anniversary of liberation from German occupation. Joining the ambassador on the podium was retired Port Perry High School history teacher Dave Robinson.

“More than 42,000 Canadian soldiers lost their lives in the Second World War,” he said, “including 7,600 liberating the Netherlands.”

Robinson turned to three students beside him at the lectern and asked them to show the press conference the newly created symbol for the upcoming EF Education tour. The three students each put a hand forward – palm to the audience – and the three hands side-by-side with fingers splayed created a maple leaf configuration. Robinson, who has organized student tours to Juno Beach, Hong Kong, Vimy Ridge and Ortona, Italy, explained that he hoped more than 5,000 Canadian students would take up the challenge and travel to Holland “as a gesture of remembrance.”

When it came time for MP Rick Dykstra (joined by House Speaker Peter Milliken, the only two politicians choosing to attend the event) to speak, he told the story of his own parents emigrating from Holland after the war to Canada. He echoed his parents’ gratitude for Canadians liberating their country in 1945 and hoped “the torch of freedom…be passed from one generation to another.”

He also felt compelled to address the events of the past week in Ottawa. He suggested they were not the norm and hoped more appropriate behaviour would come to the Commons in 2009.

For the sake of the national economy, the reputation of Parliamentarians, not to mention the (now dormant) city of Ottawa, I hope he’s right.

I remember as if it were yesterday.

It was coming down to the wire in the Quebec referendum that fall of 1995. “Oui” supporters campaigned for the latest version of Quebec separation, called “sovereignty association.” Meanwhile, “Non” supporters seemed equally strong, preferring to keep Quebec within Confederation.

Suddenly that autumn, however, it seemed the “Oui” forces had pulled into the lead. A pro-Canada rally (four days before the referendum on Oct. 30) invited citizens from across the country to come to Montreal’s Place du Canada to show their support. Our younger daughter asked if we would drive her to Montreal to be part of the rally.

“I want to be part of history,” Whitney told us.

We went. We rallied. We cheered for unity. Fortunately for Canada, the “Non” side won in a squeaker with just 50.6 per cent of the Quebec vote. For a few days that fall of 1995, at least, it seemed that the future governance of Canada had become our national passion. Then, after the vote, we all went home and promptly let our interest in Canadian politics slip into its usual condition – a state of hibernation and apathy.

Well, it appears that’s about to change.

For whatever reason, this past week, I’ve fielded a number of calls about the so-called crisis in Parliament. People seem captivated by reaction to the Conservatives “economic statement” and the potential for an Opposition group of Liberal, NDP and Bloc Quebecois MPs to throw out the sitting government in a non-confidence vote and form a coalition government as early as next Monday. People have called, e-mailed and approached me with concern in their voices.

“What’s going to happen up there?” they ask. One man even called to ask me if there was a public gallery in the House of Commons; he’s so angry with federal politicians, he plans to drive to Ottawa when the Conservatives’ economic package comes to a vote, to see what happens first-hand.

Most agree the whole mess seems unnecessary. Meeting with Opposition leaders after the Oct. 14 federal election, the prime minister seemed to suggest a kinder, gentler Parliament. Then, the global economic crisis began worrying Canadians and undermining the prime minister’s confidence in so-called “sound fundamentals.”

For whatever reason, the finance minister’s announcement to axe federal party subsidies, federal civil servants’ right to strike and pay equity commitments for women, seemed to undo that political truce in Ottawa. Whatever your political stripe, Jim Flaherty’s words in the House of Commons last week struck a nerve. And by Monday, Messieurs Dion, Layton and Duceppe had signed a coalition agreement for Governor General Michaelle Jean the moment the Conservatives next lose a vote of confidence.

So, how radical is this Opposition proposal? How precedent-setting? Not at all.

In the Great Coalition of 1864, a Liberal-Conservative détente overcame the deadlock between forces in the province of Canada (Quebec and Ontario) and led to Confederation three years later. During the First World War, the federal Union government brought together Liberals, Conservatives and independents to deal with wartime conscription; the coalition lasted from 1917-20. In 1941, the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (later the NDP) co-operated with the Liberals in B.C. and the resulting coalition survived a decade. And following a virtual tie in the 1985 provincial election, Bob Rae’s New Democrats and David Peterson’s Liberals formed a coalition which served the people of Ontario for two years.

Whether the federal Conservatives put Flaherty’s economic statement to a vote in the House next Monday or (if the prime minister prorogues Parliament) shut down the House until January, it seems the entire affair will grab our collective attention.

It will also catapult an unlikely Canadian into the limelight. With an otherwise uneventful term as Governor General behind her, next week Michaelle Jean could face three historic choices: accept the prime minister’s decision to prorogue the session; dissolve Parliament and call a new federal election; or, accept the signed agreement of Dion, Layton and Duceppe to govern in a coalition until at least the summer of 2010.

“In any case,” a Canadian Press reporter said on CBC radio, “she is condemned to make history.”

If nothing else the GG and federal politicians have now rocketed onto the public’s collective radar screen. People are either furious or consumed by curiosity. Whether we like it or not – either next week or next month – Canadians are going to witness history. Where a multi-million-dollar federal election campaign, just two months ago, failed to get more than 59.1 per cent of the eligible population to go to the polls, it seems today the whole country is buzzing about “those politicians up in Ottawa.”

They now have our undivided attention.

It proved to be one of those rare moments of enlightenment.

Some time ago, a woman friend, who had no real concept of adult recreational hockey, wondered why I chose to play such a violent sport. She said she considered it ostensibly a game for young people. I agreed, since that’s when must of us learned to play it, but I insisted our brand of the game was gentlemanly and perfectly safe. She said the game was inherently violent. Well, I suggested, for those of us who really loved the game, the real attraction was the skating and stick-handling.

“Oh,” she said, “A game with two blades on your feet and a piece of wood in your hands, doesn’t suggest violence.”

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I lost one of my closest veteran friends, recently. When the Second World War began, Charley Fox left Guelph, Ont., and enlisted in the RCAF. At age 20, he got his wings and then instructed in the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan until 1943.

Overseas, he served as a Spitfire pilot from D-Day to V-E Day. He was twice decorated with the Distinguished Flying Cross. Then, in his retirement years, he quietly fought to have fellow veterans recognized for their service. Last month, he died in a car crash. He was 88.

“Canada and its veterans,” I wrote then, “had no greater friend than Charley Fox.”

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Ninety-one years ago this week, the men of Zephyr, Sandford, Sunderland and Uxbridge came away from Passchendaele, Belgium.

In three and a half months of fighting that fall of 1917, Canadian troops – including members of the 116th Battalion from Ontario County – had managed to seize about six kilometres of ground from the occupying German army. Before the battle, the Canadian Corps commander, General Arthur Currie, had forecast to his British superiors that taking Passchendaele would cost 16,000 Canadian casualties. He was almost exactly correct; 15,654 Canadians died, were wounded or captured there.

“Passchendaele!” Currie had exclaimed before the battle. “What’s the good of it? Let the Germans have it – keep it – rot in the mud.”

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Normally, I wouldn’t have to encourage them. Under regular circumstances they would be at each other’s throats. In fact, the conditions of their workplace would have insisted upon it. Their philosophical and political differences would certainly have dictated it. And yet, there I sat among four people so diametrically opposed to each other’s views, I couldn’t believe what wasn’t happening. At one point, I even encouraged their wrath.

“Would you please debate each other?” I asked.

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It was about 8 o’clock last Thursday night, when I made my way to the microphone to begin festivities at this year’s Books and Authors Night in Uxbridge. It was the 23rd edition of interviews with, and readings from, Canadian authors. It is, of course, a cornerstone of the annual Celebration of the Arts festival in our community. Like the Studio Tour, the Art Show, the Gala and countless other Celebration events, the Books and Authors Night was nearly at capacity. The lights dimmed slightly in the Music Hall as I prepared to speak.

“Would anybody, who’s been subsidized to be here, please identify himself?” I asked.

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Returning from a family gathering in the U.S. on Monday morning, I flew into Pearson International Airport, gathered my baggage and headed for the parking facility to pick up my car. As we approached the lot, I was the only person left in the mini-bus. I was refocusing on being back home and asked the bus driver who she thought was winning the federal election.

“I don’t like any of them,” she said.

“OK, but what would you like to see from them?”

“I just want things to be the way they used to be,” she said. “No crime. No high gas prices. No problems. No fear.”

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