Category: Chairman’s Desk

This summer, the world watched, sick to its collective stomach, as the United States carried out its final withdrawal of troops from Kabul.

Setting aside both the strategic merits and logistical blunders of the withdrawal, those final visions of chaos and terror served as a stark reminder of all the progress that had been gained and lost over 20 years in Afghanistan.

It was a difficult lesson in regret. A humbling reminder of all that had changed since that fateful day in September two decades ago when thousands of Americans were murdered, and the very axis of the world seemed to tilt.

For all the deeply felt emotions stirred up by the footage from Afghanistan, there was also a sense of confusion. So many questioned how so much ground had been ceded in a matter of days. Many more wondered how on earth the United States, the greatest military force in the history of the world, had failed in its duty to those who had supported its mission. It was a pile-on by those who knew better, those who coulda, woulda, shoulda done things differently.

In those days, it was very easy to deride the Biden administration for what seemed a colossal failure. Just about everyone did — their ranks including many who had orchestrated the war to begin with, or who had supported former president Donald Trump’s disastrous 2020 treaty with the Taliban.

Notably, their ranks did not include the late General Colin Powell. In fact, the former secretary of state and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff cut the administration some slack. Powell told the Washington Post: “I’d say we’ve done all we can do … What are those troops being told they’re there for? It’s time to bring it to an end.”

Going further and with remarkable candour, Powell argued the Soviets had left Afghanistan in the same manner, ultimately with limited impact on their global standing. “They got tired, and they marched out and back home. How long did anybody remember that?”

General Powell’s remarks were surprising at first, especially given the outsize role he played in launching the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. But with his passing this week at the age of 84, I was reminded of his remarks precisely because they were not out of character, but rather part of a larger pattern of candid and public regret.

When people think of Colin Powell’s legacy, there is no doubt that the same visual comes to mind for most of them: the image of a passionate statesman making a compelling case to the UN Security Council, supporting the invasion of Iraq. But for me, the visual that comes to mind is very different. It is of General Powell sitting for an interview with Barbara Walters, and it is that visual that provides a lesson for our time.

It was in that 2005 interview on ABC News that Powell admitted his deep regret at having misconstrued the evidence — regarding WMD and Taliban ties — to support (and sell) the invasion of Iraq. Instead of passing the buck, Powell owned up to his mistake, admitting that he had got it wrong.

That kind of admission, just a few years after the event, is exceedingly rare if not extinct in political life today. Nowadays, public figures are given almost no leeway for forgiveness. It has become the norm to assume that when a political leader screws up, it was intentional; that there is some kind of malfeasance at play. We have forgotten that we are governed by human beings, who like all of us, sometimes simply make mistakes.

That’s what makes Powell’s example a powerful one. He had justified not invading Iraq under one Bush administration and had then done the opposite for a second. By 2005, he had seen enough to know how wrong he was. Rather than retreat quietly into private life, Powell chose to speak up. To share his regrets as a caution to those who followed.

In doing so, he staked his reputation for the sake of the future. And that, above all, makes him worthy of commendation.

Yup, that was me. They guy in the big black car casually blocking southbound traffic on the Allen Expressway last Sunday evening at about 9:30 p.m. The guy who was such a jerk and so inconsiderate that he simply refused to move his car out of a live traffic lane and on to the shoulder. The privileged, entitled guy who just purposely sat 75 metres from Eglinton as traffic backed up for kilometres behind. Just sat there doing — oh, let’s make the story good for the telling — Sudoku puzzles.

Or, put another way, that’s the guy who the people yelling, swearing and honking must have thought I was. As they contorted their faces into replicas of Halloween masks, I observed they wore not masks of anger or annoyance, but of hatred. Absolute hatred.

And in that moment, on that highway, I realized just how profoundly wrong things had gone when it comes to how we treat one another. What I experienced that night was, in every way, the quieting of the coal mine canary’s song.

But, of course, it didn’t have to be — and, in fact, there was a time when it wasn’t. I wonder what it would have taken to have those people consider what really happened.

After a long drive home from a glorious outdoor, physically distanced Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family for the first time in almost two years, we were stopped in the inevitable queue that forms to turn left off the Allen Expressway and onto Eglinton Avenue West. Suddenly, my car put itself into park and turned off the engine. Because it was in park, it was impossible to move it off the road. I immediately called roadside assistance, who advised us to stay in the car and wait for help to arrive.

In short, we had acted entirely reasonably in an unfortunate situation. But that didn’t matter. Just as it doesn’t seem to matter that low-wage workers, abused when checking vaccine passports, are simply doing their job in unusual times. Just as it doesn’t seem to matter that second- or third-generation Canadians (also subject to increased verbal and physical abuse) have every right to the same freedoms and liberties as the rest of us. Or that our politicians — regardless of their stripes — are for the most part respectable individuals, and certainly in no way deserving of the kinds of harm that they face these days.

All these phenomena point to a culture that seems to have forgotten the importance of civil courtesy. That refuses to give strangers the benefit of the doubt or to practice empathy in those quotidian interactions that ultimately make up a lifetime.

This sad reality was on full display throughout our election campaign, as protestors hurled rocks at the prime minister and accused other candidates of the most ludicrous things imaginable. And just this week, it came to its inevitable nadir with the horrific murder of British MP Sir David Amess, slain while visiting with his constituents.

Amess, a Conservative, is the second British politician to be murdered in five years — the last being Labour MP Jo Cox. It sadly proves the point that this is no partisan issue; no political party is immune from the vitriol, or to its impact.

But enough is enough, and the time has come to turn back this pandemic of hate one empathic undertaking at a time. And in doing so, to take back personal responsibility for putting a stop to it all.

So, as I sat there on the Allen last weekend, taking in the gallery of grotesques issuing abuse from their cars — not one of whom offered any help to me at all — I didn’t so much feel sorry for myself that my motives had been so incredibly impugned. Rather, I felt for all the Canadians who have entered public life as candidates, volunteers or in other roles devoted to participation in our society, only to face an increasingly hostile and malignant civil society.

And then, my thoughts went to all of those who will never enter public life, for fear of being targeted, taunted or harassed. What an absolute waste.

Enough is enough. After six years in office, the pattern has become painfully familiar.

First, the prime minister makes a decision so blatantly problematic that the term hubris does not begin to do it justice.

After some initial acrobatics from the PMO (in this case, claiming on his official itinerary that he was in Ottawa), Team Trudeau begins to push back and defend its fearless leader.

Then, evidence. The photos emerge, the flight path is discovered, the receipts are procured.

What follows is a few days’ pause, followed by the ritual Canadians have come to know and despise: the histrionic apology delivered from a well-lit podium. It is rehearsed. It is hard to watch. And it leaves us questioning the prime minister’s sincerity.

Lynne Groulx, chief executive of the Native Women’s Association of Canada, so perfectly spoke for all Canadians when she said after the latest apology, “We recognize that this moment of contrition comes after much public pressure, not necessarily because you have suddenly seen the light.”

Indeed, the prime minister has surely not seen the light. After a long, problematic history that began with the Aga Khan incident and begat three violations of the Ethics Act, Justin Trudeau has been given plenty of opportunity for learning. All of it squandered.

We often hear about the “death of shame,” the notion that our society has transformed such that shamelessness has skyrocketed to become the order of the day. That phenomenon is no doubt very real — look no further than Donald Trump. But with our own prime minister, the most concerning dynamic is the extent to which these wounds are self-inflicted. Avoidable. Sloppy.

It is not so much that Trudeau is willing to squirm through public shaming and endure a slap on the wrist from Mario Dion. The more disturbing thing is that he seems not to realize — or not to care — that his clearly unacceptable behaviour will be called out as such. Again, the man demonstrates hubris of mythic proportions.

Take the prime minister’s latest debacle. It was his own government’s decision to establish this National Day for Truth & Reconciliation on Sept. 30. After a year of painful reckoning with the unfinished work of Indigenous reconciliation, how could he not realize that all eyes would be on him that day? How could he not see the offence inherent in a vacation just hours from the haunted site of a residential school burial site?

It is hard to believe he did not realize this decision would end in deeply hurt feelings and an apology. Much more likely, it seems to me, is the tragic reality that he simply did not care.

After six years of apologies, Justin Trudeau knows he is only as accountable as he decides to be. And after having fought what increasingly appears to be his final election as Liberal leader, perhaps he has decided that his personal life, his own peace of mind, comes before the Trudeau brand.

If that is the case, it’s his voters who will ultimately be disappointed. This electorate did not give Trudeau a majority but rather a command to return to Parliament and work with opposition parties.

For years, the prime minister has threatened to call an election when he doesn’t get what he wants. With that card removed from Trudeau, it will take humility for him to return to the table, speak to his counterparts and deliver for our country. If this debacle is any indication, he may not have it in him.

But to me, the greatest tragedy is all the opportunity that has been wasted. For learning, for reconciliation, for meaningful amends to be made.

In my own world, last Thursday I was lucky enough to join an Indigenous friend — a teacher and mentor to many — for a quiet commemoration of that important morning. It was humbling and in so many ways, I learned so very much.

I only wish the prime minister could have made time for some humility of his own.