Politics in Ottawa has gotten so ugly over the past decade or more that it’s hard to remember it being any different.
Well, it was.
During the 1980s, the leaders of the three major political parties took one another on in the House of Commons and during two memorable election campaigns in 1984 and 1988. But it turns out that, away from the Sturm and Drang of politics, they actually liked and respected each other a lot and understood the roles they had to play in the unfolding political drama of the day.
And now they’re all gone.
The first to leave us was former Liberal leader John Turner, whose comparatively brief prime ministership — just 79 days in 1984 — might make you forget that he had a successful run as both justice and finance minister in the 1960s and ’70s before being resurrected as a champion of democracy in the 21st century. Turner died September 19, 2020, at age 91, during the throes of COVID-19, which sadly limited attendance at his funeral to about 150 people. Had times been normal, Turner surely would have had a crowd 20 times as big offering an unforgettable send-off.
Then, earlier this year, on January 11, Ed Broadbent died. The former leader of the New Democratic Party was 87 and led his party into four general elections in 1979, 1980, 1984, and 1988.
And then, last week, the final member of that memorable trio, Progressive Conservative leader Brian Mulroney, died at age 84. A state funeral will be held later this month for the country’s 18th prime minister.
Today, it’s well known that Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre personally can’t stand Justin Trudeau. And the feeling is no doubt mutual.
But it wasn’t that way six decades ago. For example, in the early 1960s, both Turner and Mulroney were becoming fixtures on Parliament Hill. Turner won his first election as a 33-year-old MP in 1962, at a time when Mulroney, 10 years his junior, was making a name for himself as an ambitious PC party backroom adviser. One day, Mulroney was having lunch in the parliamentary dining room with a friend. He spotted Turner across the room and said, “Let’s go over and meet John Turner.”
“What for?” the friend said. “He’s a Liberal?”
“I don’t care,” Mulroney shot back. “He’s going to be prime minister someday.”
Thus began what Mulroney once described to me as a nearly 60-year-long relationship of “friendly acquaintances.” Both were fluently bilingual Montreal-based lawyers who had an ambition to succeed in politics. A few years later, when Mulroney was practising law, the Gerda Munsinger affair became a huge Ottawa scandal. (She was a German national who, it turns out, had an affair with a senior cabinet minister in the previous Diefenbaker government.) When Parliament was abuzz with debate and investigations into whether national security had been breached, Mulroney was desperate to get into the House to watch the fireworks. Whom did he call to gain access? His friend Turner, who helped him out — the two had drinks afterwards as well. A few years later, when Turner was in Pierre Trudeau’s cabinet and Mulroney was a businessman, the two discovered they were both in Vancouver at the same time. After their scheduled events were over, the two repaired to Turner’s hotel room and had drinks late into the night.
Both men suffered political setbacks in the 1970s. Turner shocked the nation by resigning as Trudeau’s finance minister in 1975. Mulroney ran in the 1976 PC leadership convention but lost to Joe Clark.
But the 1980s had far more interesting plans for both men. The Tories had another leadership contest in June 1983, and Mulroney won that one. And a year later, in June 1984, Turner succeeded Trudeau as Liberal leader, setting the stage for two of the most memorable elections in Canadian history.
After Turner won his convention, he received a hand-written note from Mulroney congratulating him and welcoming him back to the national stage. Yes, leaders did that kind of thing back then.
Despite their nearly two-decade-long friendship, Mulroney and Turner had a brutal 1984 election campaign against each other. Both, though, seemed to understand that it was part of the game. Mulroney put on an impressive performance in the leaders’ debate, check-mating Turner on the patronage appointments the new PM had made on Trudeau’s behalf. (“You had an option, sir. You could have said, I am not going to do it. This is wrong for Canada!”)
The result was a 211-seat PC government, the biggest seat count of all time. But it didn’t stop Mulroney’s wife, Mila, from inviting Turner to a gala she chaired to raise money for cystic-fibrosis research. And it didn’t stop Turner from sending Mila a hand-written thank you note, congratulating her on mounting a successful event.
Four years later, Turner looked as if he might get a modicum of revenge. He bested Mulroney at the leaders’ debate, insisting the PM had signed away Canada’s sovereignty in a free-trade deal with the United States (“I happen to believe that you sold us out!”). But the momentum didn’t last: Mulroney came back and won a second consecutive majority government.
Before Mulroney retired from politics in 1993, he did two highly unusual things for his two chief rivals. In 1990, he appointed Broadbent to head up the International Centre for Human Rights and Democratic Development, a Canadian institution his government had just created. It gave Broadbent a smooth transition from NDP leader to his next career. (Mulroney had also, six years earlier, appointed former Ontario NDP leader Stephen Lewis to be Canada’s ambassador to the United Nations.)
When Turner resigned as Liberal leader (also in 1990), Mulroney sent word through their mutual friend Conrad Black that he’d be happy to appoint his friend to become Canada’s ambassador to Italy. Turner was grateful but turned it down. Mulroney tried again. He then offered Turner simultaneous Italian and Vatican ambassadorships, which would have been incredibly meaningful to the staunchly Catholic Turner, who read the Bible every day.
Turner expressed his gratitude again but made the same decision. Turner was now in his early 60s, with four kids, and felt he had limited time to earn some bigger bucks on Bay Street, which is where he returned to practise law. Mulroney understood and simply didn’t want his friend, a former prime minister, to be embarrassed by a lack of career options.
Later in life, if you really wanted to see steam come out of Mulroney’s ears, all you had to do was ask him how well Canada treats its former prime ministers. While American presidents receive a quarter-million-dollar annual pension, Secret Service protection, a car and a driver, and an executive assistant for life, Canadian PMs get nothing other than their MPs’ pensions, even though, to a real extent, they’re still expected to perform duties as ex-prime ministers.
While some of that wrath was no doubt self-interested, Mulroney would get especially irate when talking about Turner, who, into his 80s and 90s was not particularly wealthy, living in an apartment in midtown Toronto. Turner loved going to Toronto Symphony Orchestra concerts at Roy Thomson Hall, often by himself. But it was always a challenge for him to get himself home. On one occasion, I saw Turner after a concert using a walker to get around and having no luck securing transportation. So I helped him hail a cab to send him home.
On another occasion, Turner was at the York Club, one of his favorite places to hang out in downtown Toronto, attending a speech being given by Mulroney. At the end of the evening, the same thing happened — a frail Turner couldn’t secure a lift. It was left to Mulroney’s son Nicholas to help Turner secure a taxi home.
“When I heard about that, I was angry,” Mulroney told me for a book I wrote on Turner. “This is the way Canada treats its ex-prime ministers. We’re a country heading to 40 million people, and we throw our prime ministers out on the snowbank.”
Meanwhile, when Broadbent died earlier this year, Mulroney himself was in hospital dealing with several serious health issues. But he gathered up enough strength to call CBC News so he could do a telephone interview praising his former antagonist from the ’84 and ’88 elections.
These three men went after one another hammer and tong for decades. But they all understood it wasn’t personal. Now, go back, read this column again, and replace the names John, Brian, and Ed with Justin, Pierre, and Jagmeet. Can anyone imagine these three treating one another with a similar civility?
I’d like to think so. But I kind of doubt it.
All three titans of the ’80s are now gone. And with them, apparently, a better kind of politics — one distinguished by respect and friendship.