Parliamentarians discover religion each time they encounter the media. “O Lord, please let me not come across sounding stupid,” we’d pray. Though such silent prayers are almost always delivered in the negative, every MP still thinks he can outsmart the press. He’s usually wrong, of course, but the press and politicians do use each other: the politician needs his name in the paper, and the reporter needs a comment to get a story, or to make one up. An old friend, Craig Oliver, then
Backbenchers, especially, jump with glee when invited to speak somewhere. We become adept at speaking about anything and nothing. Sometimes I couldn’t wait to hear what I had to say. As the first of three MPs to speak on a panel on ethnicity in politics, I was introduced as follows: “We will hear first from Barry Campbell, MP for St. Paul’s, who will get us off.” My presentation went south. Then I was asked to attend a breakfast meeting of the Canadian Automobile Dealers Association. “Don’t worry,” one of my young assistants told me. “You’re just there to show the flag and listen.” As I took my seat, the host asked, “How long will you be speaking for? ” (Must talk to my staff about getting a proper briefing, I thought.) One evening, I was at the US ambassador’s residence for dinner. As dessert was being served, the chargé d’affaires said, “Would you like to lead off our discussion? We are all anxious to hear your views on the matter we are all so concerned about.” I didn’t know what that important matter was or where to begin. I was never invited back. (Must talk to my staff . . . )
The annual Toronto Board of Trade dinner is a huge affair — just the sort of place a freshly minted parliamentary secretary to the finance minister should be. As I walked through the lobby of the Royal York Hotel, I saw lots of men in tuxedos and thought to myself, there must be a black-tie event going on here. There was — the Board of Trade dinner, with yours truly at the head table in a shit-brown suit. Quick on the uptake by now, I told everyone that my down- market attire was appropriate, given the tough budget we had just delivered. No one laughed. I finally had a few words with my staff.
A local community centre invited me to speak. The audience was a serious-looking group of older folks. Every chair was filled. I talked about the Liberal platform, the need for change, and what we had accomplished. The audience listened attentively and applauded as I concluded. There were no questions. As the organizer escorted me out, she said, “Thank you for doing this. This class for new immigrants is very important.” Curious, I asked, “Where are they from? ” “Mostly Russia,” she answered. “How’s their English? ” I asked. “Oh, none of them speak English at all, so it’s good for them to hear people speak the language,” she said.
I was pissed off. I had wasted a morning with an audience that couldn’t vote. They appeared to be listening carefully while not understanding a word I said. Not much different from my cable viewers, or the Opposition, or some of my colleagues, I thought. Ottawa had gotten to me.
Next, in the May issue of The Walrus: Barry goes back to the real world.
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To view letters Barry Campbell received while in office — from the obscene to the devoutly polite — and other memorabilia, click here.
Comments (2 comments)
Russell Thomas: Honest. Disarming. Delightful.
Thanks to Barry Campbell for giving us a realistic lense to see what Canadian political life is all about. March 29, 2008 13:07 EST
Anonymous: Barry Campbell gives a very enlightening and entertaining perspective on what life is really like for politicians. It's a wonder so many talented people choose this seemingly thankless way to serve their country. April 10, 2008 07:21 EST