Apology by Kristin Raworth

— 10.29.2020 01:36 AM

Kristin Raworth is a woman who works for the Alberta government and who used to follow me on Twitter. About two years ago, Raworth publicly tweeted at me that she had been sexually harassed by Kent Hehr, a Liberal member of the federal cabinet who represented a Calgary riding.

I quickly got in touch with Raworth privately, and cautioned her that she was making a serious allegation and that she needed proof. She insisted that she had proof, and would keep tweeting.

As expected, the news media took notice. After she went public, Raworth claimed that she was starting to receive “hundreds” of threats and attacks. She insisted that she was afraid and had PTSD.

I supported her; I believed her. I defended her on the radio, in newspaper columns, in social media, and on this website. I even worked to find her legal representation, pro bono.

There was an investigation into her allegations. Hehr stepped aside from the cabinet while the investigation was underway, but remained a member of the Liberal caucus.

Its results were not made public. Hehr apologized, however, and was later defeated in the 2019 election. Raworth went on to become a micro-celebrity, and commenced advertising herself as a #MeToo survivor.

I did not know her personally. I only met Raworth once, when she came to hear me speak at the University of Alberta’s faculty of law. She said she was a fan.

Raworth would also regularly message me privately, asking me to retweet statements that she had written on Twitter. I’d usually do so.

Last year, around Christmas, Raworth abruptly soured on me. She became very critical online. People choose sides in divorces, and Raworth didn’t choose mine. That’s fine. I wrote to her and said I was sad she felt the way she did, but I wished her the best. I ignored her after that.

Until the last night of March, that is. On that night, some of my readers sent me a screencap of a post Raworth had put on Twitter and addressed to national radio broadcaster Charles Adler and the entire #cdnpoli hashtag.

She told Adler I shouldn’t be allowed on his show because I “abuse” women, plural, and I had “hit my wife.” Those are quotes.

I was astonished; I was literally winded. I felt sick to my stomach that she – or anyone – could willfully publish such a despicable lie about me.

I went online to see if the tweet was still there. There were lots and lots of tweets; I couldn’t see it. I didn’t sleep much that night.

The next morning, I hired a lawyer and sent Kristin Raworth a libel notice. After a month, that has finally resulted in the apology you see above; the payment of my legal fees; and a substantial donation, at my insistence, to Equal Voice.

At the end of this sickening episode, I’ve only got three things to say. One, anyone who falsely alleges that I hit or abuse women, ever, is also going to get sued. And they are going to pay a steep price, as Kristin Raworth did.

Two, I wish I had never, ever supported Kristin Raworth.

Three, to Kent Hehr, wherever you are: I now wonder whether you deserved better.

I wonder that a lot.


Comments (26)

My latest in The Spec: Will voters forget Trump’s sins?

— 10.27.2020 09:16 AM

Two years ago, in a limitless and sunny August when a global pandemic seemed like an impossibility, my daughter and I knocked on doors for the Democrats in Portland, Maine.

We were using a list of registered Democrats living in a tidy West Portland neighbourhood. The houses weren’t terribly big, but nor were they terribly small. They were average. Middle America.

The people behind the mostly-unlocked doors were uniformly nice, and prototypically Democrat: single-Mom nurses, retired male government employees, nervous-looking new American citizens with pronounced accents and little kids swarming around their knees.

My daughter and I loped from door to door, a couple Canadian progressives intent on finding mid-term American progressives who detested Donald Trump, just as we did. What we encountered surprised us. Worried us, even.

We had thought it would be easy. Trump had been in the news two years ago, as he always is, threatening to take away American birthright citizenship. Or scheming to gut the Affordable Care Act. or shrugging off allegations of Russia-Trump electoral fraud, then still a live issue.

But the folks we met on the doorsteps didn’t want to talk about any of that. One elderly fellow, his grown daughter at his elbow, said he was a proud Democrat, “up and down the ticket,” as the Americans like to say.

“We’re Democrats. But don’t keep telling me what Trump has done wrong,” this man said, as his daughter nodded vigorously. “Forget it. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“Forget it.” After a few such encounters, my daughter and I retreated to the sidewalk. She had the best assessment: “It’s not that they don’t dislike Trump,” she said. “It’s like they’ve just forgotten all the millions of bad things that he’s done.”

The Democratic thinker David Shenk had a name for this phenomenon: data smog. Every day, via the Internet, regular folks — like the ones found in that Portland, Maine neighbourhood — get bombarded by hundreds of thousands of words and images. It is overwhelming and relentless, and in the Trump era, it has gotten even worse.

So, Shenk postulates, people — voters, in our case — just tune it out. There’s too much information, too often. It’s data smog. So they turn it off.

And then they forget about it.

On a recent Sunday, the New York Times filled an entire 10-page section of their newspaper with a stirring editorial about Trump’s myriad crimes, political and legal. I scanned it. There were so many of them, I had forgotten about most. There are too many to list here, even partially.

The Times editorial board acknowledged this reality. “The enormity and variety of Mr. Trump’s misdeeds can feel overwhelming,“ they wrote. “Repetition has dulled the sense of outrage, and the accumulation of new outrages leaves little time to dwell on the particulars. This is the moment when Americans must recover that sense of outrage.“

When I ran winning war rooms for Jean Chrétien and Dalton McGuinty, I would always tell the youngsters who worked there the same thing, over and over: “We have a national memory of seven minutes,” I’d tell them. “The job of any good war room is to remind voters about the bad things the other side did. Because they forget.”

It’s not that voters are dumb. In my quarter-Century experience of running political campaigns, my conviction remains that voters are always smart and intuitive and aware. Always.

It’s just that they’re, well, busy: ferrying kids to hockey games and ballet practice, trying to get across town to work or an appointment, catching up on sleep after worrying all day about mortgage or rent payments. They’re busy.

And in the midst of a brutal global pandemic, it’s gotten even worse.

So they don’t scrutinize political parties’ shiny multi-page election platforms. They don’t listen to speeches. They barely watch entire debates. And they forget things.

It’s normal, to forget. It’s human. It’s a survival mechanism.

In the Trump era, we forget things even more. The terrible things he has done, in particular.

Because there have been too, too many.

If Donald Trump somehow squeaks out another victory — thereby throwing America into further chaos and division, hastening it’s end, and further destabilizing a world in disarray — it will be mainly because of one insight about voters, about humans, that he knows better than anyone else alive: We forget.

Warren Kinsella is a Canadian journalist, political adviser and commentator


Comments (27)

Make America America again

— 10.27.2020 07:54 AM


Comments (1)

Trump is a symptom, not the cause

— 10.25.2020 12:03 PM

A friend was recently expressing hope that the political party I work for, the Democrats, will emerge triumphant in November, taking both the White House and the Senate. I said I hoped for the same thing, of course, but I now held out far less hope for America itself.

Why, she asked.

“Because Trump is a symptom, not the cause,” I said. “He’s not the exception. He’s a reflection of what America has become.”

I wish I had remembered Adam Gopnik’s extraordinary essay in the New Yorker four years ago. He foresaw all of it, and said it better than the likes of me ever could.

Here is his full essay, and here is the key part:

“If Trump came to power, there is a decent chance that the American experiment would be over. This is not a hyperbolic prediction; it is not a hysterical prediction; it is simply a candid reading of what history tells us happens in countries with leaders like Trump. Countries don’t really recover from being taken over by unstable authoritarian nationalists of any political bent, left or right—not by Peróns or Castros or Putins or Francos or Lenins or fill in the blanks. The nation may survive, but the wound to hope and order will never fully heal. Ask Argentinians or Chileans or Venezuelans or Russians or Italians—or Germans. The national psyche never gets over learning that its institutions are that fragile and their ability to resist a dictator that weak. If he can rout the Republican Party in a week by having effectively secured the nomination, ask yourself what Trump could do with the American government if he had a mandate.“


Comments (3)

My latest: Donald Trump’s path to victory

— 10.24.2020 03:40 PM

Forget it.

Two years ago, in a limitless and sunny August when a global pandemic seemed like an impossibility, my daughter and I knocked on doors for the Democrats in Portland, Maine.

We were using a list of registered Democrats living in a tidy West Portland neighborhood. The houses weren’t terribly big, but nor were they terribly small. They were average. Middle America.

The people behind the mostly-unlocked doors were uniformly nice, and prototypically Democrat: single-Mom nurses, retired male government employees, nervous-looking new American citizens with pronounced accents and little kids swarming around their knees.

My daughter and I loped from door to door, a couple Canadian progressives intent on finding mid-term American progressives who detested Donald Trump, just as we did. What we encountered surprised us. Worried us, even.

We had thought it would be easy. Trump had been in the news two years ago, as he always is, threatening to take away American birthright citizenship. Or scheming to gut the Affordable Care Act. or shrugging off allegations of Russia-Trump electoral fraud, then still a live issue.

But the folks we met on the doorsteps didn’t want to talk about any of that. One elderly fellow, his grown daughter at his elbow, said he was a proud Democrat, “up and down the ticket,” as the Americans like to say.

“We’re Democrats. But don’t keep telling me what Trump has done wrong,” this man said, as his daughter nodded vigorously. “Forget it. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“Forget it.” After a few such encounters, my daughter and I retreated to the sidewalk. She had the best assessment: “It’s not that they don’t dislike Trump,” she said. “It’s like they’ve just forgotten all the millions of bad things that he’s done.”

The Democratic thinker David Shenk had a name for this phenomenon: data smog. Every day, via the Internet, regular folks – like the ones found in that Portland, Maine neighborhood – get bombarded by hundreds of thousands of words and images.  It is overwhelming and relentless, and in the Trump era, it has gotten even worse.

So, Shenk postulates, people – voters, in our case – just tune it out. There’s too much information, too often. It’s data smog. So they turn it off.

And then they forget about it.

Last Sunday, the New York Times filled an entire ten-page section of their newspaper with a stirring editorial about Trump’s myriad crimes, political and legal. I scanned it. There were so many of them, I had forgotten about most. There are too many to list here, even partially.

The Times editorial board acknowledged this reality. “The enormity and variety of Mr. Trump’s misdeeds can feel overwhelming,“ they wrote. “Repetition has dulled the sense of outrage, and the accumulation of new outrages leaves little time to dwell on the particulars. This is the moment when Americans must recover that sense of outrage.“

When I ran winning war rooms for Jean Chrétien and Dalton McGuinty, I would always tell the youngsters who worked there the same thing, over and over: “We have a national memory of seven minutes,” I’d tell them. “The job of any good war room is to remind voters about the bad things the other side did. Because they forget.”

It’s not that voters are dumb. In my quarter-Century experience of running political campaigns, my conviction remains that voters are always smart and intuitive and aware. Always.

It’s just that they’re, well, busy: ferrying kids to hockey games and ballet practice, trying to get across town to work or an appointment, catching up on sleep after worrying all day about mortgage or rent payments. They’re busy.

And in the midst of a brutal global pandemic, it’s gotten even worse.

So they don’t scrutinize political parties’ shiny multi-page election platforms. They don’t listen to speeches. They barely watch entire debates. And they forget things.

It’s normal, to forget. It’s human. It’s a survival mechanism.

In the Trump era, we forget things even more. The terrible things he has done, in particular.

Because there have been too, too many.

If Donald Trump somehow squeaks out another victory – thereby throwing America into further chaos and division, hastening it’s end, and further destabilizing a world in disarray – it will be mainly because of one insight about voters, about humans, that he knows better than anyone else alive:

We forget.


Comments (32)

The debate in tweets: Trump too late, Biden biding time

— 10.23.2020 07:37 AM


Comments (6)