More than 20 years ago, I got a call from a guy named Keith Boag, who worked for CBC Television News.
“Steve, I’m going into a meeting with the political parties and the debate consortium of media partners tomorrow,” he began. “I’ve gotta bring them 50 or 60 different options for moderators for the upcoming election leaders’ debate. Can I throw your name into the hat?”
Why not? There was no way I’d be selected.
Keith called me back the next day. “Okay, here’s the story,” he said matter-of-factly. “There are going to be two English-language debates. Trina McQueen will do the first one and you’re doing the second one. Okay?”
I was stunned. “Keith, are you out of your f*****g mind?” I blurted out (I almost never use profanity, except while watching the Leafs in the playoffs). “I’ve never done this before!”
“Well, you can’t say no,” he said. “We went through dozens of names and you and Trina were the only ones everyone could agree on.”
And that’s how I became the moderator for one of the debates in the 2004 federal election, featuring Prime Minister Paul Martin, Opposition Leader Stephen Harper, NDP leader Jack Layton, and Bloc Québécois leader Gilles Duceppe.
I well understood how I got selected. It certainly wasn’t for my experience, of which I had none. True, I had covered elections since 1984. But I had spent every leaders’ debate since then, both federally and provincially, watching it on television like everyone else.
No, I got selected for the 2004 election debate expressly because I didn’t work for one of the big national networks. If the CBC put Peter Mansbridge’s name forward, CTV would have vetoed it. If CTV had put Lloyd Robertson’s name up, CBC would have vetoed it. And both would have nixed anyone from Global.
And so it went. Because I worked for an inoffensive little regional television station (TVO), I didn’t present an unfair advantage to any one national network’s promotional machine.
Mark Bulgutch was the CBC executive in charge of the debate, and he gave me the best advice.
“You’re a hockey fan, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Then you’ll know that the best-refereed games are the ones where you pick up the paper the next day and read the game account and you don’t see the referee’s name in the story.”
Point taken. This was the leaders’ show, not an opportunity for me to peacock how much I knew or ask nasty “gotcha” questions designed only to embarrass the leaders. Mark’s approach was wise, and I was determined to follow it to the best of my ability.
The first thing I learned about doing a leaders’ debate is that you need to prepare a lot — including for the unexpected. Of course I read all the party platforms, but I also tried to watch every campaign announcement. When the leaders came through Toronto, I would attend their events. I went door-to-door with some candidates, just to see what issues came up. And I watched previous debates going back to the first one in 1968, in hopes of picking up any hints.
And yet. None of that prepares you for the moment when you’re live in the studio in Montreal, with the four leaders, reading the introduction knowing several million people are watching… and the teleprompter craps out. That’s right. The screen just went dark. No idea why. Oh well. Start tap dancing, kid. Just keep going.
For reasons I can’t remember anymore, the use of the notwithstanding clause of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms was something of an issue at the time. I had a whole line of questions about the circumstances under which the leaders would use it. Then Prime Minister Martin threw a Hail Mary pass. He said if he won the election, he would forswear the use of the clause: that there was no circumstance under which he’d use it. He said the Charter rights were just too important to be set aside by any government. I looked down at my page and saw that six of my questions were suddenly moot.
Again, keep tap dancing, kid. Come up with another line of questioning. I guess I did.
The evening ended, and I learned something interesting: I didn’t have a great sense about who won. When you’re moderating, you’re so engrossed in your job: keeping an eye on the clock; knowing who gets the next question; considering follow-up questions; ensuring that they don’t all shout at once; and ensuring they all get equitable time (and, if not, listening to a producer in your ear telling you that you have to cut someone off). Your sense of who’s actually winning the thing is fuzzy. It’s also the case that a leaders’ debate is a television experience. But I wasn’t watching it on television. I was in the room, which is a completely different experience.
I guess the debate went fairly well because, in the intervening years, I’ve been asked to moderate eight more federal and provincial debates, including this election’s English debate, which will take place in Montreal on Thursday at 7 p.m. and be available for viewing on pretty much every channel, including TVO.
What am I hoping for? Well, first and foremost, that the teleprompter doesn’t break again; that I don’t accidentally kick the cable out of the back of my monitor so I’m not flying blind (I did that in 2011); that the leaders respect the rules and don’t all shout at each other at once; and that it’s a useful two hours for Canadians as they consider their vote in one of the most important elections in the country’s history.
But most of all: I don’t see or hear my name in the coverage the next day. That would mean I did a fair job. And it would make my friend Mark Bulgutch very happy.