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The master of proving people wrong

DANIEL LEBLANC profiles the new Liberal Leader Stéphane Dion, an academic turned politician who's not afraid to go against the grain

From Monday's Globe and Mail

MONTREAL — He's been taunted on the street, booed and decried as a traitor, cream-pied and dismissed as a political has-been. He has also been applauded for his unwavering federalist beliefs, branded an environmental trendsetter, called a come-from-behind kid, and selected this weekend as the Liberal Party of Canada's prime-minister-in-waiting.

As the new leader of the opposition, Stéphane Dion gets to stand up in the House of Commons this afternoon and launch his bid to defeat the Conservative government and become prime minister. It is the latest twist in the career of the bespectacled former academic who is continuously called upon to exceed expectations.

Once again, a number of Liberals -- not to say Bloquistes and Conservatives -- are convinced he will fail. He wants to prove them wrong, once again.

"I know that in politics we have to take perception into account, but you can't let that stop you. You have to look at your own convictions, and I have the conviction that we will win the next election," he said yesterday.

A number of Liberal delegates ranked Mr. Dion below Bob Rae and Michael Ignatieff in terms of his ability to win the next election, but he still jumped ahead of them on Saturday. Mr. Dion was the candidate with the least negative baggage, the longest posting at the federal cabinet table and the most focused platform. Simply put, he was the second choice of the biggest number of delegates.

Asked about his main political weakness, Mr. Dion said it is being underestimated. "But at the same time, it is my strength, so I don't know what to do with it," he said with his geeky grin.

Mr. Dion, 51, grew up in Quebec City, the son of a French-born real estate agent, Denyse, and a political science professor, Léon Dion. There were books all over the house, and the non-devout household was a few years ahead of the Quiet Revolution. The Dions would go skiing on Sundays while others went to mass.

Tall, skinny and shy, Mr. Dion loved to read and debate, and he earned a doctorate in sociology in Paris. As an academic, he went against the grain, eschewing popular Marxist theories in the 1970s and defending Canada after the 1995 referendum on Quebec sovereignty.

Faced with a dearth of hard-line francophone federalists, former prime minister Jean Chrétien called on him to become the government's unity minister in 1996. Mr. Dion took the separatists head-on.

"Even the most prominent secessionists do not agree that Quebec's borders would be guaranteed if secession were being negotiated," he said in one of his famous 1997 open letters to then-Quebec premier Lucien Bouchard. "It would be too dangerous to attempt such an operation in an atmosphere of division, on the basis of a narrow, 'soft' majority, as it is commonly called, which could evaporate in the face of difficulties."

Mr. Dion and Mr. Chrétien took one of the biggest gambles of their careers in 1999 with the Clarity Act, deciding to spell out the rules under which a province could secede. Quebec commentators were convinced the law would create a groundswell in favour of sovereigntists, but Mr. Dion read the polls and concluded Quebeckers would either like the extra dose of clarity, or learn to live with it. He was right.

Still, Mr. Dion continued to live in the shadow of his late father, who died in his swimming pool in August of 1997, and who had been a professor at Laval University appreciated as a softer federalist in Quebec. One day, the younger Mr. Dion was walking in the street when a stranger came to him and said: "I like your father more than you."

Mr. Dion quickly retorted: "Me too."

Without a politician's typical penchant for compromise, Mr. Dion was seen as a relic from the Chrétien days when former Liberal leader Paul Martin formed his first cabinet in late 2003. There was no room in the new government for the tough federalist, and the popular thinking was that he would quit politics and go back to his tenured position at the University of Montreal.

Mr. Dion dismissed the political obituaries and stayed on, insisting he had more to give in public office. His job had become a passion.

His sense of humour is awkward at times, and he can be derisive of another person's views during debates. Still, he is not so much angry as dry and curt when things go wrong, and he is slowly adjusting to the constant grinning that comes with the world of politics.

Mr. Dion showed he had political acumen during the 2004 election as he called on the Liberals to be prouder of their past achievements and stop the internal warfare. His sortie was seen as having saved a few Liberal seats in Quebec, and Mr. Dion was back in demand. The Liberals returned to power, albeit with a minority, and Mr. Dion re-entered cabinet, in environment.

As a child, Mr. Dion had a pet parakeet that could say "ideology." As the minister of environment, he got himself a husky named Kyoto. It was a signal that he was no longer simply focused on the issue of national unity. Instead, he moved into a more concrete sector of government and joined the many small-l liberals who want to address the population's growing environmental concerns.

That's how sustainability became the major theme of Mr. Dion's leadership campaign, which he entered to sneers from many Liberals. His chairman was another minister who had fallen out of favour within the Martin regime, Don Boudria, who was seen by many as a political lightweight. They did not amass a big war chest or sign on dozens of MPs, but they picked up a handful of key organizers and slowly built a campaign that, by the end of it, was unstoppable.

The victory was handed to Mr. Dion by kingmaker Gerard Kennedy, but it was Mr. Dion who convinced the former Ontario minister of education that they could form a lethal pair in Ottawa one day.

Mr. Dion is married to Janine Krieber, a fellow political scientist who is an expert in counterterrorism issues and teaches at the Saint-Jean campus of the Royal Military College. They have an 18-year-old daughter, Jeanne, adopted from Peru, who followed her parents all around the convention floor this weekend.

The trio tightly clasped hands as they awaited the results of the different ballots, and hugged when Mr. Dion overtook Mr. Ignatieff in the fourth and final round of voting.

The next time they will be as nervous is when the results of the next general election start coming in. At that point, Canadians will know whether the onetime political pariah has once again exceeded expectations.

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