Proof there are no more rules
They were careless people, Tom and Daisy -- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.
-- The Great Gatsby
The people I feel sorry for are Belinda's placemen: all those Mulroneyites and main-chancers gathered around her, taking her pay and filling her head in the honest belief that she was going to buy the Conservative party for them. Now what do they do?
Because Belinda can't buy the Liberal party for them, not even with her billions. The Liberal party has more money than she does. It has government money, among other sources, and if it has to use it, it will. So rather than buy the party, the party bought her. Or perhaps we should say it was a merger, an asset swap between Magna International and the government of Canada, on terms to be disclosed later.
I had thought the feeling of nausea that washed over me at the news was one of disgust. I now realize it was vertigo. The bottom has fallen out of Canadian politics. There are, quite literally, no rules any more, no boundaries, no limits. We are staring into an abyss, where everything is permissible.
Those exquisites in the press gallery who were so scandalized at the suggestion that the Liberals would stoop to scheduling the budget vote around Darrel Stinson's cancer surgery might now have the decency to admit: of course they would. It should be clear to everyone by now that this government -- this prime minister -- will go to any length to assure their survival in power. And I do mean any. All governments are loathe to leave, all think themselves indispensible, but I cannot recall another that clung to office so desperately, so ... hysterically.
They may yet succeed. We can see now what the nine days were for: why the government refused to resign, or call an immediate confidence vote, after it was defeated in the House last Tuesday, but instead insisted, against all precedent, that it was entitled to remain in office until a week Thursday. The loss of a confidence vote is no longer to be taken as a fundamental loss of democratic legitimacy, but rather as a signal to spend more, threaten louder, and otherwise trawl for votes on the opposite benches, for as long as proves necessary. It took only a few days this time, but after all nine days can stretch into two weeks, and two weeks could as easily be three, and then we're into a month, and then it's recess. Indeed it is an open question whether the Liberals would have even held the budget vote if they hadn't made this deal, or whether they would have promised one if it were not already in the works.
Impossible? Outrageous? But outrage depends upon a sense of where the boundary lines are, and a willingness to call people out when they cross them. But the Liberals have been crossing these lines, one after another, for years, and their own conspicuous lack of shame has educated the rest of us into shrugging complicity. It's only outrageous until it happens -- then we forget we had ever felt otherwise.
For example: Last Wednesday, The Globe and Mail published a stinging editorial calling upon the Liberals to seek an â Å“immediateâ ? vote of confidence, to call an election â Å“nowâ ? or to put its budget bill to a â Å“quickâ ? vote. â Å“With each moment they linger,â ? the Globe wrote, â Å“they will expose themselves as so desperate to hang onto power that they spit in the face of the Commons and call it respect.â ?
By Friday the Liberals were still there, the government had been defeated two more times, the budget vote had not been held -- and the Globe wondered what all the commotion was about. â Å“To say the government has lost all legitimacy,â ? it lectured the opposition, is â Å“a wildly disproportionate response.â ? Poof: all that outrage, down the memory hole. In two days.
Is it a constitutional crisis if no one understands it is? A government without the support of a majority of Parliament has spent billions it has no legal authority to spend and dangled offices that are not in its power to bestow, in hopes of recovering that majority. It was a mistake, in hindsight, for the Tories to have relaxed their grip; to have allowed the business of the House to resume; to have taken the Liberals at their word. But now that it is known to all that the government acted in bad faith, the Tories would be well advised to boycott the vote, and all subsequent parliamentary business. They won't of course -- they're too spooked. But I liked the suggestion I heard in one quarter: that when Parliament resumes, every question to the new minister of Human Resources should be put in French.
Oh, Belinda, when you stared into the mirror in the morning, wondering if you could go through with it -- knowing that you would, but liking yourself a little better for the struggle -- you must have felt a certain thrill. I've grown up, you thought. This is what grown-ups do; it's what players do. You put away childish notions of honour and loyalty, and you do what you have to do, and that's all there is to it. It's nothing personal. It's just business.
But Belinda, you do not know the people you are dealing with. You think your soul is black but you have no idea. You will hold your office for a couple of days, or perhaps a few months, but only for as long as you are useful to them. And then they will discard you.
Daisy Buchanan drove away from the wreckage she had made. You will not.