For Michael Ignatieff, things began coming apart at a party conclave in Sudbury, Ont., on Sept. 1, 2009.
There he was, on the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Second World War, declaring a war of his own on Stephen Harper’s Conservatives. With this enemy, from this general, there would no more appeasement. To the partisans ready to march, he thundered: “Your time is up, Mr. Harper!”
Nine months earlier, in a bloodless succession, Ignatieff had become leader of the Liberal Party of Canada. Now he decided “to become a real opposition.”
That there had been an election less than a year before, that Canada was in recession, that neither he nor his party was ready – none mattered. Am I not Michael Ignatieff and is this not the Liberal Party?
Of all the missteps that filled the short, unhappy public life of Michael Ignatieff, this was the worst. As the winking, nodding chieftain smiled and repeated his threat to defeat the government, Peter C. Newman wondered if “the former Harvard prof [had] flipped his lid.” Newman was almost as incredulous of this sabre-rattling as was Ian Davey, Ignatieff’s loyal chief of staff, who would become its first casualty.
Ignatieff’s political season ended on May 2, 2011, when the Conservatives won a majority government and he lost his seat. For the Liberals, it was a calamity. Canada’s Natural Governing Party – one of the world’s most enduring political organizations, a conciliator between French and English Canada, a centrist champion of compassionate capitalism, open immigration, social welfare, and spirited internationalism – became Canada’s Third Party.
The end of the Liberals animates When the Gods Changed: The Death of Liberal Canada. As a meditation on the party that created modern Canada, it is a story the octogenarian Newman has been writing his whole career, though never with this ending. Newman’s argument: The Liberal Party is finished, and so is a progressive Canada. “Harper’s victory meant that the country will never be the same – might even have to change its name since it will no longer be recognizable,” he laments.
This alarmism is easy to challenge, but remember that it comes from the pen of Peter C. Newman, the finest journalist of his generation, without equal here as a writer, editor and reporter. He has been the acclaimed chronicler of this country since the 1950s, beginning with his examination of the national soul in Louis St. Laurent’s Ottawa. Through 26 books and hundreds of articles, he has prayed in the cathedral of curiosity called Canada.
When the Gods Changed is an important, timely and engaging book, the first to look at the 2011 election, probably a watershed in our history. Few do substantive, long-form journalism like this any more, and no one does it with Newman’s eye, ear and ego.
This is actually two books for two purposes. One is a pocket history of the modern Liberal Party, exploring the politicians and the power brokers who perpetuated the dynasty. Newman draws fruitfully here on a half-century of reportage. However, if you have read Newman’s magisterial memoir (Here Be Dragons) or his 1960s classics (Renegade in Power and The Distemper of Our Times), this may sound familiar. Intellectual environmentalist that he is, Newman occasionally recycles some of his or others’ lines (“from erection to resurrection,” “Liberalism is the country’s state religion”). Even so, he is worth reading again.
The other, better book here is the saga of Michael Ignatieff. To this, Newman brings confidence and quirkiness. Originally, this book was to follow Ignatieff’s ascent, the making of the prime minister, 2011. It sowed a harvest of interviews. Here, Ignatieff’s reflections are wistful, even sad, for we see his intelligence and decency, a good man trapped by vanity and history in a game for which he had no instinct, ability or allies.
On the other hand, Ignatieff’s reflections on his search for self sound stale today. Who cares what the loser feels or thinks? Fortunately, Newman brings levity to his office as self-appointed inquisitor; one day the mischievous author presents Ignatieff with a sweatshirt emblazoned with “Screw Guilt.” Ignatieff winces and handles it like a live grenade.
Spoiler alert: Newman doesn’t blame Ignatieff for killing the party. He argues that its demise began with the loss of its base, first in the West and then Quebec, accelerated by fratricide between Paul Martin and Jean Chrétien, an ossified medieval hierarchy, a dearth of ideas and advocates, and a culture of arrogance.
True, Ignatieff inherited a poisoned chalice. Newman claims “the untold story of the campaign” was Ignatieff’s failure to respond to the devastating Conservative attack ads because he couldn’t get at the millions the party had raised.
Yet for all that, Ignatieff gets off lightly. He forced the election. He blew the debate. Inexperienced and vulnerable, he assembled a cast of amateurs, including one blue-eyed naïf who joined Ignatieff, declaring: “We’re going to make history!”
They certainly did. Yet it’s premature to pronounce “Liberal Armageddon.” Our political landscape is still shifting; the New Democrats are leaderless and Quebec is in play again. The only certainty of Canada, now and forever, is that the tireless Peter C. Newman will be there to tell our story.
Andrew Cohen, a columnist, author and founding president of The Historica-Dominion Institute, is writing a book on the administration of John F. Kennedy.
