I had thought, foolishly, that few in the Conservative caucus could rival the frankly repellent Pierre Poilievre in contorting the truth as the party’s rabidly obedient question period attack mutt. I was wrong.
Calandra has slipped into Poilievre’s soiled spot as Parliament’s propagandist-in-chief with such apparent ease, enthusiasm and droning monotony that he has made his predecessor sound coarsely eloquent. I didn’t think that was even remotely possible.
There Calandra has been, day after day, rising in the House when given his cue from the front benches to deliver his now familiar non-denial denials about the Senate scandal that, drip by inevitable drip, is corroding the moral, legal and ethical core of a government that pledged to restore probity and rectitude to Ottawa.
Beyond his scripted and vacuous responses, Calandra has, like Poilievre before him, predictably dipped into smear — with the tacit approval of a compliant Speaker — in a futile attempt to discredit opponents who have quite properly and relentlessly asked largely rhetoric-free questions that require answers.
On these odious occasions, I find myself feeling a mixture of pity and contempt for Calandra. The pity is triggered by what might be a naïve notion: Surely a Canadian takes on the unforgiving task of becoming a Member of Parliament to make a contribution to the body politic and the public interest.
I’d like to believe that at some juncture in his political career, Calandra may have shared, or was motivated by, that lofty conviction. It’s certainly hard to decipher this from his official website, where Calandra’s only legislative accomplishments include introducing the following private member’s bills: An Act to Change the Name of the Electoral District of Oak Ridges-Markham and An Act Respecting the Establishment of a National Strategy for the Purchase and Sale of Second-Hand Precious Metal Articles.
Whatever Calandra aspired to do in the nation’s capital, he has now permitted himself to be reduced to (as my editor at iPolitics so aptly described him) the prime minister’s stunt double. For some parliamentarians, it seems, the rewards of public service come in parochial places.
Calandra is acutely aware of the fact that the pubescent-looking Poilievre got his political plum — Minister of State for Democratic Reform — for playing the role he now occupies with such ignoble zeal. Calandra will, no doubt, receive a similarly pedestrian and impotent place in cabinet when his turn eventually comes up.
Of course, Poilievre and Calandra are not the first — nor, regrettably, will they be the last — political minions to diminish themselves in the pursuit of status, attention and the illusion of power.
Many MPs (not all of them) fall prey to the irresistible allure of being noticed by the PMO, the reporters and the television cameras in the House and the foyer. It can be intoxicating and destructive. Once tasted, political notoriety, however it is achieved, can distort an MP’s understanding of the people he or she was elected to serve — and why.
Given his clawing and embarrassing servitude, Calandra appears to believe that he serves one man above all others — Prime Minister Stephen Harper. Calandra must know that when his patron is no longer the boss, he likely will return to the back bench and anonymity.
But that could be a blessing — since Calandra could then redeem himself as a parliamentarian.
Many years ago, I worked on the Hill as an executive assistant to two MPs. During my short but invigorating time there I encountered MPs on both sides of the aisle who parroted Calandra’s toxic tone and style. Thankfully, however, I met parliamentarians of various political pedigrees who went about their work on behalf of their constituents with grace and determination, far from the hurly-burly of microphones, tape recorders and television cameras.
Two MPs immediately come to mind. One was the tall, soft-spoken NDP MP Vic Althouse. Born in Wadena, Saskatchewan, Althouse was a farmer before becoming a politician. It’s a cliché to say that a politician never forgot his rural roots; in Althouse’s case it was true. I didn’t work for Althouse, but I admired him for quietly championing the interests and needs of the people he represented. This didn’t get him into the papers or on national TV much, but Althouse didn’t thirst after that kind of evanescent attention.
Like Althouse, the legendary Stanley Knowles was a gentleman and an exemplar of what it truly means to be a parliamentarian. A wisp of a man physically, Knowles was a formidable MP and unrivaled in parliamentary procedure and discourse. A measure of the universal respect Knowles enjoyed was Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s decision to honour him with a permanent place at the clerk’s table.
Despite having suffered two strokes, Knowles sat in his chair as often as he was able to. He was an inspiration and a reminder to neophytes like me of what public service could and should be about.
It’s a lesson Paul Calandra would do well to remember.
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