But his decision is still a rare and commendable display of sacrifice, wisdom, and maturity in an arena that prizes none of those qualities. Not until politicians are gone, or dead, at least.
It could also be a loss to a party facing an uncertain future. Rae remains the Liberals’ greatest asset, their strongest communicator—a politician with a rare and welcome ability to deflate pomposity, including his own. And, unlike the charismatic Justin Trudeau, Rae speaks with the authority that comes of experience.
Nor does Rae let his passionate disagreement with Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s vision and aggressive tone drive him to respond with the same mean invective. He has elevated the practice of politics. He hates the name-calling, the routine character assassination that have become part of contemporary discourse.
Rae’s preferred response is the sardonic aside, a disbelieving laugh, and, occasionally, righteous anger directed at policies he considers bone-headed, stupidly ideological, or just mean-spirited.
“They always throw for the head,” he often says of his Conservative rivals. By contrast, when embarrassing questions about Conservative MP Dean Del Mastro’s election spending came to light recently, Rae’s first instinct was to give his bombastic rival a chance to explain. He was trying to “model” decent behaviour, Rae told reporters, with a trademark chuckle. (Today, however, Rae went after Del Mastro in Question Period for continuing to dodge incriminating questions.)
Not that Rae is gone. He will stay another year until a permanent leader is chosen—no doubt continuing to routinely outperform everyone on the opposition benches, including Tom Mulcair.
So why is he leaving? Any suggestion that it is his age—he turns 64 in August—is “bullshit,” he said. He is healthy, feeling terrific, happily married, his kids “are great.” He insisted that “my hair is white, but I still have a lot of fire in me.” And he doesn’t act like a spent force (not like Environment Minister Peter Kent, for instance), but like a man enjoying his job.
Still, politics is an increasingly ugly and demanding business. Rae may have the physical, but not the emotional, stamina required. Destructive rumours, past indiscretions, past controversies (in Rae’s case, his term as premier of Ontario)—they all become weapons.
Someday, someone is bound to pounce—as Jack Layton’s enemies did when they unearthed accounts of the former NDP leader’s visit to a massage parlour. Even if smears are untrue, they cause pain and embarrassment to families.
And, no matter how vigorous he may be, Rae does not represent the generational change many believe the party needs. That argument, and the force with which it was put to him, may have contributed to his 11th hour decision to withdraw his name. (It certainly wasn’t his promise, as interim leader, not to pursue the full-time job.)
Despite his disavowals, he conveyed today—with wistfulness tinged with bitterness—that he realizes his time has come and gone. He didn’t win (against Stéphane Dion and Michael Ignatieff) in 2006, he noted; in 2008, when Ignatieff was acclaimed, it was too late.
But growing support for Justin Trudeau, the Liberals’ latest messiah, may have been the deciding factor. Trudeau says he isn’t running, but he is clearly persuadable. He has the hair, the pedigree, the bilingualism, the winning smile. Trudeau is an old-style Liberal in an attractive, youthful package. He is a spell-binding speaker. Its only after he has left the room that you realize you can’t remember anything he said.
As for Rae, he expressed mistrust for the accolades he has received in recent months and is receiving still. He has been in politics long enough to know that leaders fall in and out of favour, polls go up and down, and treachery is endemic. Even today, when he was given a standing ovation in Question Period, he commented wryly: “Now they love me, Mr. Speaker.”
Rae’s wit and displays of good humour have always co-existed with a darker, brooding nature. That was evident in the Shakespearean sonnet he quoted at the end of his remarkable press conference. It talks about the “painful warrior,” erased from “the book of honour” after a thousand victories, because of one failure.
His good work forgotten, the warrior takes refuge with his loved ones, “where I may not remove nor be removed.”
It was an eloquent expression of regret—and not a little reproach.
Susan Riley is a veteran political columnist.
Original Article
Source: hill times
Author: Susan Riley
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