Category: Chairman’s Desk

With a host of challenges ahead, a clear and urgent question emerges for Justin Trudeau: should I stay or should I go?

Former Ontario finance minister Charles Sousa’s win over his Conservative opponent, Ron Chhinzer, was decisive. Victorious by 14 points, Sousa more than doubled the margin of victory his Liberal predecessor secured in 2021. No doubt, an impressive feat, but not altogether shocking for a candidate of Sousa’s prominence and community ties.

As ever in politics, more intriguing than the result itself are the reactions it has elicited.

For Conservatives and their new Leader, Pierre Poilievre, the severity of the warnings are only rivalled by those visited upon Scrooge by the ghosts. This first-test-first-defeat combination has some calling for no less than a wholesale tactical course correction — and fast.

“Change your ways, Mr. Poilievre,” they chime, “before it’s too late!” Conversely, for the Liberals and Trudeau, many have marked this as a highly symbolic closing act to 2022: hardened by trials of every description, a defiant leader stands tall, ready for combat once more.

On both fronts, I see things differently.

While it’s true that Conservatives require significant progress in the seat-rich GTA if they’re to stand any chance in the next election, the Sousa vs. Chhinzer race was between a veteran politician and a political newcomer — the results reflected this reality. The chance for introspection or message refinement ought never to be missed, but the numbers are clear: nationally, the Conservatives hold the lead, and some polls (as recent as last week) show its growing.

So, in assessing this race, the Conservatives should not overreact, nor should the Grits. Stepping outside the partisan opinion bubble and the Mississauga-Lakeshore result proves only that the Sousa and Liberal brand retain strength but does little to counteract a truth too few Liberals are willing to accept, let alone vocalize: that Trudeau’s personal brand remains deeply polarizing.

Heading into this new year, the details Liberals should most closely scrutinize are not the final accounts of a foregone byelection but the ominous forecast ahead. The prime ministerial briefing for 2023 consists of dire challenges, from a battle with the provinces over a crumbling health-care system to resurgent sovereignty movements. Combine these ordeals with a likely showdown against an opponent with energy and momentum, and a clear and urgent question emerges for the PM: should I stay or should I go?

For any politician, there are few inquiries so personal, so demanding of frank introspection. Beyond the original question all new candidates must face — am I the right sort of person for this profession? — is one far narrower and that can often only be conceived with success: am I the right person for this specific task, to win this election?

In fairness, Trudeau and his supporters can respond quite simply: we’ve heard it all before, and on each occasion we’ve been proven correct — the specific task was met by the right man, so what’s different now?

But that’s the thing about the feeling of invincibility, it’s with you until it’s not, until it’s been coldly disproven by defeat. A fundamental truth in politics is that success is fleeting, it’s corollary: that there is, therefore, a right and wrong time to go.

Unfortunately, most politicians get that timing wrong and fail to exit while, crucially, an exit lane still lies ahead. And yet, they do so for understandable reasons. Here are just two.

First, walking-away runs contrary to the fighting spirit that first delivered them victory. A disposition emboldened by those around them who — needless to say — hold vested interests.

Second, there are existential fears over the family feud their departure might instigate. As they contemplate their withdrawal, leaders watch these rivalries take shape. Rarely do they like what they see. Rarely are they wrong to worry. History reveals that bitter leadership contests can tear the soul of a party apart.

Both reasons are deeply relevant for Trudeau. While Sousa’s victory presented a moment for celebration at the end of a challenging year, it would be a mistake to interpret it as a sign of invincibility. For the good of his party, he cannot afford to ignore the reality that, should he choose to perennially drive on, eventually, he will run out of gas.

This article first appeared in the Toronto Star on December 19, 2022.

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Before the internet, opposition research in the political war room was characterized by a common activity: the frantic search for ammunition. It didn’t matter where the room was, or what the people in it were fighting for — the hunt for that blatant lie, classic “flip-flop,” problematic position or elusive photograph was a common pursuit.

Today, the activity persists, though the method is different. It’s easier, more expansive and deadlier. When accessible search engines first entered campaign headquarters they transformed everything. Suddenly the hunt was only seconds long, while the amount of searchable material and ammunition steadily grew. From that point on, candidates were simply held to a higher standard of accountability for their past statements, positions and deeds. Our politics changed forever.

Fast forward to the arrival of ChatGPT late last month, a dialogue-based artificial intelligence that can write human language and understand complex queries. You might be wondering if this technology will hold similarly revolutionary promise for today’s politics, and you would be right to.

The implications for education, copyright law and job markets are obvious, but for politics its repercussions are murkier. As yet, there is little justification for hyperbole. When it comes to writing, it’s a decidedly uncreative author. Will it generate groundbreaking campaign slogans, effective taunts, steely defences? No time soon. For now, speech writers and political strategists won’t go hungry.

However, that does not mean politics won’t feel this technology’s reverberations. All major leaps forward in information technology cause our engagement with, and expectations of, political messaging to shift. Many vehemently argue that the messages have changed with the mediums, that our rhetoric is in decline, that our political language is growing increasingly ineloquent. To those individuals, I would say: I see where you’re coming from, but I would also say that Marshall McLuhan was right: the medium is the message.

The utter saturation of political messaging on media platforms, its unescapable nature, has meant that our attention spans have diminished. With this reality comes exhaustion, fatigue and an alarming degree of apathy. But political actors should be wary of interpreting this trend as a sign that quality and substance in their communications no longer counts.

Even though banal, scripted political messages flood our airwaves daily, politicians can only get by with sterile rhetoric for so long. When people start to care about what you’re talking about, when they start to listen, words matter. How you write them. How you say them.

“Thoughts and prayers” will simply not do when it’s your sister or brother who has been harmed. Promises of a “better tomorrow” will not suffice when you must tell your children Christmas will be different this year. And when a tired political line reaches a young mother who is wide awake, worried sick about her finances, it simply cannot comfort or inspire.

In politics, there are few things as important as communicating to people that you genuinely care, that what matters to them also matters to you.

Although its true impact will not be felt in the political realm for some time, the latest development in AI technology will contribute to an already growing culture of suspicion underlying our politics: that politicians scarcely, if ever, mean what they say or think for themselves.

The notion of robotic writing or delivery takes on new meaning here. If not already, accusations that a speech sounds robotic will soon be less an uninventive barb than a genuine allegation. Such a charge matters for practical and ethical reasons, and it matters for our expectation of political speech.

When issues emerge that truly matter to people, their expectations for sincere and meaningful communication will be higher. Likewise, the value of the X-factor in politics — that ability to convey sincerity and to craft authentic messaging — will deepen. We humans have our work cut out for us.

Tuesday’s midterms turned in more than a few surprising results, with some races so close they’ve yet to be finalized even as I write this. But one thing is clear: the widely anticipated “red wave” did not materialize.

In U.S. conservative circles, this outcome has already produced a range of impacts for the 2024 presidential race — not least being a divided GOP congressional caucus (replete with MAGA loyalists) and an increasingly toxic showdown between Donald Trump and Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis for the party’s presidential nomination.

For observers here in Canada, however, the lessons for our politics amount to this: not much. What happened in America was, in my view, unique to America. It was the product of a political discourse deemed toxic by essentially everyone. It was the result of politicians caring more about themselves and the messages they wanted to drive than the concerns and the needs of the people they sought to serve.

For a country with its place of power in the world and democratic traditions, it was, to be blunt, a pathetic outing.

And that’s why we have nothing to learn from what happened. It’s also why the results will not impact the course charted by our Canadian political leaders and the parties they lead as they prepare for the next federal election.

In America, the setup for the election was entirely different. Even a cursory glance at CNN or Fox News this past year would reveal that while the economy was certainly an issue, it was far from the dominant theme. Those airwaves (and virtually all others) were saturated not with talk of dollars and cents, but rather a myriad of screeching, headline-grabbing topics: abortion rights, immigration, even the very foundation of democracy itself: the integrity of elections.

But here, things are different. Not for the truism that our people and context are different but for the reason that our opposition politicians — but in particular and most effectively, Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre — are currently focused like lasers on the hardships Canadians are facing in their daily lives and the disappointing support they have received from their government.

It is here where Poilievre’s motherlode of support is found. And let’s be clear: he understands this fact. But he also understands that the growth of this support rests on continuing to make the expression of those hardships the centrepiece of his political messaging.

So this approach is not folly, as many detractors think — it is discipline. It is a series of deliberate choices. Poilievre could sound off on some other affair of state, but he simply will not. He is secure in the knowledge that he has found his ticket, the issue that is motivating Canadian voters. And he is right.

A lot can happen between now and 2025, when the next Canadian federal election is scheduled — a U.S. presidential election, for one thing. But it is now a virtual certainty that today’s economic pain, whether at the individual or macro level, will not abate.

But back to the midterms. Those elections cannot properly be read as a blow to populism. They can, and should, be read as a blow to politicians who focus on the wrong priorities. And this holds true across the political spectrum and across our border.

In the U.S., there is a relatively new term making the rounds amongst political strategists, led by its most prominent advocate, the data scientist and consultant David Shor. It’s that of “popularism” and it essentially holds that, in competitive elections, message discipline is the central ingredient for success — candidates should speak almost exclusively about what’s on voters’ minds, and shut up about what’s not.

The power of this idea rests not simply in its insistence to focus solely on what polls, canvassers and other sources of opinion confirm are the most salient issues, but also in its not-so-polite suggestion to shut up about what people don’t care about. It’s this latter insight, and the ability of the candidate and campaign to execute with flawless precision, that may be the most useful insight.

Poilievre has shown that he can convince Canadians that his priorities are the same as their own. If he can remain expressly on this path — ignoring all the friendly advice to meander or divert — and continue to stay focused on what matters to Canadians, then he will have a better-than-expected chance of winning the next election.

It’s the stuff political dreams are made of.

A resounding mandate born of a strategic and methodical campaign. A headless opposition — divided in allegiance, confused in direction, adrift. A feeling, perhaps even a certainty, that it is the very best of times. And yet, in the political world, it takes precious little for the dream to spoil and the tale to turn cautionary.

For Ontario’s recently re-elected Progressive Conservative government to avoid such a fate and to maintain the confidence of its electorate, they must be wary of the pitfalls that have befallen past governments in similar, seemingly unassailable positions.

Doing so is simple, but not easy. It requires the exercise of an uncommon level of vigilance to combat the tendencies of arrogance and recklessness that so often accompany major political victories. History teaches that large majority governments, particularly those without effective partisan opposition, are prone to the miscalculations that quickly sow the seeds of their eventual defeat.

For evidence, Premier Doug Ford’s government need look no further than the fate of their federal cousins after the infamous 1988 “free-trade election.” With a victory that the New York Times characterized as a “Stunning Reversal” in their front page headline the next day, former prime minister Brian Mulroney’s win could not have been sweeter. With that majority in hand and the two main opposition parties leaderless, the quest to build a free-trade market across the 49th parallel lay open. And yet, only five short years later, the federal Progressive Conservative party was reduced to two seats — in other words, rubble.

The greater the triumph, the greater the fall.

In crises, the deadliest poison is hubris — and along with it, a sense of invincibility, a failure to anticipate adversity and to plan long-term. Second-term majority governments often fall into this trap when they abandon not only the principles but the very political acuity that won them their power.

During its first term, the Ford government proved highly responsive to public opinion, demonstrating a willingness to make concessions and reverse course on several key issues, including its response to the pandemic. This dexterity — some would say humility — surprised many, and in Ford’s view, significantly contributed to his party’s re-election.

But that was then. Today, the premier and his government face the daunting dual challenges of ballooning inflation and a looming recession — circumstances that will require the government to be more politically adept than ever. For example, research by our firm Navigator found that three-quarters of Ontarians are convinced the provincial government can act to tame inflation, ascribing more tools to the government than they actually have.

Into the expanding bag of issues, throw gas prices, an overburdened health-care system and the rising challenge of affordability. Add to it the risk of a media that will be emboldened and increasingly hostile given the lack of an effective opposition, and before you know it a bunker mentality will set in. It happens all the time in second-term governments, and it will take relentless discipline to prevent it.

The best recipe to avoid the worst of times is for the Ford government to ignore the happy circumstance of a weak opposition, instead employing the same political calculus that has been essential to their triumphs thus far. One that has been wedded both to the guidance of public opinion, yet at the same time resilient to strong criticism.

The simple fact is that this government won a larger majority with fewer votes. As history shows, it’s a victory that could turn to a crushing defeat in four short years without restraint, a clear vision and an appetite to solve once-in-a-lifetime challenges.

The opening weeks of a rare summertime sitting of Ontario’s legislature at the “Pink Palace” will provide the first clue as to how much heed they will pay to the cautionary lessons of those majorities past, once seemingly indestructible.

Here is a useful suggestion for a vexing problem of voter engagement and specifically the historically low turnout rate in the Ontario election just finished.

This isn’t just an issue for political science academics. It is a problem for all of us, as it threatens the very legitimacy of our governments.

So here is a suggestion: at every polling station, why don’t we set up a box for children to deposit their votes, right next to the official ballot box? Of course, those “votes” would not contribute to the outcome of the election. Rather, they would allow those below the official voting age to begin to understand the importance of voting, and to build an inculcated habit of doing so.

You wouldn’t be able to walk to the polling station with your child without having discussed the election at the dinner table, or in the car when you were driving them to their dance recital.

By the time election day arrived, children would be well acquainted with the issues and the responsibility of voting in a free and democratic society.

Now, this is an idea that I have advanced for years with a spectacular lack of success.

Several objections have been raised to the idea. For example, my own political tribe, the Conservatives, object to it because they think the kids will be brainwashed by left-leaning teachers.

Others argue it would be much easier to just mandate voting and issue fines for nonparticipation, as Australia and others do. Philosophically, I think this idea is rubbish. Surely, thoughtful education and encouragement should trump punishment wherever possible.

Bureaucratic officials say it will be prohibitively expensive to implement. Simply put, this is nonsense. But after all, these objections come from Elections Canada, who can’t even currently administer accessible voting for communities across the country, especially Indigenous ones. All of which points to the feebleness of the bureaucracy. A feebleness which impedes the ability for creative ideas to solve the important challenges before us — challenges which strike at the very core of our democracy.

Efforts have been made to solve this problem. Taylor Gunn at CIVIX and his Student Vote program are doing remarkable work, getting over 260,000 young students to vote in a recent mock youth provincial election. But it isn’t the same.

For decades, Sweden has made mock youth elections an integral part of its democratic process. The country has a remarkably high level of participation, and has continued to strengthen its youth election program in recent years. The latest Swedish election in 2018 saw the highest turnout in 33 years.

To be fair, it’s still unclear how much of that trend can be attributed to youth ballots. Regardless, what the Swedes realize is that the program is key to educating people about democratic principles and engendering politics with a long-term purpose. The experiences of putting serious consideration into politics from a young age — and of being able to see how those considerations might play out several times over before going to the ballot box for real — are invaluable. What’s more, they specifically focus their program on socio-economically disadvantaged areas known for endemic disenfranchisement, something we have a real problem with in Canada.

As any parent will know, no one is better at inspiring good conduct and shaming bad behaviour than their children. I think a democratic equivalent of the campaign to stop smoking or texting while driving will incentivize adults to do better. Children’s frankness might help stipulate against the shenanigans that have crept into our system and turned Canadians off voting.

No longer would there be room for the civically disengaged parent who can’t adequately respond to their child’s new-found political curiosity. Hopefully, it would also give our democracy a longer-term horizon, and encourage our competing politicians to finally prioritize purpose over pugilism.