Now that the plague that is Rob Anders has ended – fittingly, and Biblically, just as Holy Week and Passover commenced – let us give thanks and praise to God. And analyze what it means.
Anders, as a long-mortified Canada will know, has represented Northwest Calgary and environs for nearly two decades. As a Reform MP, an Alliance MP and now a Conservative MP, Anders has been a pestilential blight on Canadian public life, more horrible than a week-long Justin Bieber retrospective.
He called Nelson Mandela a “terrorist,” quote unquote. He fell asleep in the House of Commons. He attacked veterans, who had objected to the fact that he fell asleep in a meeting with them.
He implied Thomas Mulcair somehow responsible for Jack Layton’s passing – saying that Mulcair “arm-twisted” the former NDP leader into campaigning in 2011. He was hired as a “professional heckler” by a Republican candidate. He authored a private member’s bill, indelicately referred to as “The Bathroom Bill,” which was aimed at eliminating the threat to children by transgendered people in public washrooms. (He had an unusual degree of interest in what people do in their bedrooms, too.)
He was a fool, in other words. He was the worst Member of Parliament in a singularly undistinguished House of Commons.
Anders’ blessed departure from the national stage – he will probably now take up residence in the Wildrose Party, where he belongs – is welcome news. But what does the news portend for his enablers, like Stephen Harper, Jason Kenney and John Baird?
For years, Messrs. Harper, Kenney, Baird et al. had looked the other way while Anders rolled around in the gutter. Harper quietly endorsed Anders in the Signal Hill Conservative nomination battle. Kenney, meanwhile, was far less subtle, and openly called on local Conservatives to rally around Anders.
And Baird – in between partying with friends at the fancy taxpayer-supported digs of the Canadian High Commissioner in London, and the Consul-General in New York – has professed to be a progressive Conservative. While doing precisely nothing about the toxic presence of Anders in the Conservative caucus for year after year.
Anders’ defeat in Signal Hill is not the first of such defeats for Harper, Kenney, Baird et al. In recent months, the number of Harper acolytes who have ended up under the proverbial bus – from Nigel Wright to Mike Duffy to Marc Nadon – has grown exponentially. (They may soon require a new bus to toss people under, in fact.)
Part of the reason for all of this Conservative unhappiness, to be fair, is a natural consequence of being in power for a long time. When you have been in power for nearly a decade, you become sloppy. Thus, Baird and his unnamed pals partying it up in the High Commissioners’ apartment – or Kenney and Harper endorsing a troglodyte like Anders, who is going down to certain defeat.
With the passage of time, governing parties lose touch. They spend too much time with bureaucrats and each other, and not enough with real folks. They start representing Ottawa to home – instead of representing home to Ottawa.
Rob Anders’ defeat isn’t just his. It’s the defeat of his party’s leaders, too – and it matters.
And just think! There’s only about 200 more bad days to go!
I was also thinking that, on days like today, John probably wishes he’d stayed on as a highly-paid Rogers mouthpiece.
And then I remember: he did!
2. Jason Kenney will never be the leader of the Conservative Party.
Imagine you’re a dad with four young kids, and a wife who is a school principal. Imagine you’re an engineering graduate of a Canadian university, and you do a lot of charity work.
Imagine you get the political bug, and get involved in a campaign, and you win and you get to write memos for the boss about helping minorities, and you even get to meet Hillary Clinton.
Then, imagine you kiss your wife and kids one morning, head off to work, and a bunch of big guys storm into your office. They’re shouting and waving weapons and they hustle you and your co-workers off to the worst prison in the country.
Imagine they toss you in a concrete cell slightly bigger than a broom closet. Imagine you get a blanket, but nothing else. None of your medication, no clean underwear, no visits by your wife or kids.
Now, imagine that’s been going on for nine months. And imagine that your MPP, Ontario Finance Minister Charles Sousa, doesn’t even return the calls of your family. And imagine that the federal minister who is supposed to do something about this, John Baird, hasn’t done a damned thing to help you.
Khaled al-Qazzaz doesn’t have to imagine any of that stuff. It’s what has happened to him.
Full disclosure: I met his wife, Sarah, last week. Some of her classmates at U of T thought I could help her out. I brought along some colleagues and family to meet Sarah – and, afterwards, all of us decided to help.
Sarah is tiny. It looks like a strong wind could blow her away, she seems so fragile. But she’s tough, tough as steel – and she’s kept the family going, and she’s kept her kids safe, while her husband remains captive in the worst part of one of the worst places on Earth.
She’s going back to Egypt, and God knows what fate, in three weeks. She decided to come back home to Canada, with the kids, to raise awareness of Khaled’s plight, and to seek – to beg – for the help of the likes of Baird and Sousa. Sarah is Canadian, and so are the kids. Khaled is a permanent resident, but was born in Egypt. Which could be why the government is not intervening. (Who knows.)
He and Sarah met while they were both chemical engineering students, in front of the Second Cup on University Ave. in Toronto. She fell in love with him – with his passion and his intelligence and his desire to help people. He started up a campus group called Students for World Justice, and it’s still going. He raised money for an orphanage.
He told Sarah he wanted to go home to set up a school, and give Egyptian kids – kindergarten to Grade 12 – the sort of education he was privileged to get in Canada. Sarah became the school’s principal.
The Arab Spring happened. Khaled was swept up in it. He saw a chance to bring democracy to Egypt, for the first time in its centuries of history. He joined the Freedom and Justice Party, and caught the attention of its leader, Mohammed Morsi. He wasn’t a member of the Muslim Brotherhood or anything like that. The party won the 2012 election, fair and square, and Khaled got hired as staffer.
He wrote memos for the boss about human rights. He agitated for minority rights, for Jews and Christians. Then, on July 3 of last year, he sent Sarah a text message that chilled her blood: “Forgive me.”
He had decided to stay at work, on the day Morsi and others were seized by men dressed in black. He was thrown into Cairo’s sprawling al-Aqrab pison, where he has remained ever since.
Sarah and her four kids need help to get Khaled back to Canada – or, at the very least, to get him better living conditions.
And imagine this: Baird and Sousa won’t give it.
There’s another YouTube Rob Ford thing out this morning and I hate it: it evinces too much sympathy, or likeability, for Mayor Crackhead. It misses the mark.
This video, meanwhile, naturally doesn’t. You can see this band, considered Canada’s finest and most-wonderful geriatric punk combo, at the Tranzac Club next Wednesday, and at the Bovine at the end of the month. Be there or be square, etc.
So I go over to George Brown College at noon to give a speech thing to their board. It went well. Felt good. Went for lunch at the Patrician. Talked to Terry and Chris.
Later, driving on Lakeshore with my little guy – and the front left wheel cover comes flying off my truck. Flies off. Throw on the emergencies and get off the road.
Guess what? When I was at the speech or the diner – parked in broad daylight on one of the busiest streets in Toronto – someone hit the front left and just kept on going. Left no note, nothing. Nobody else did, either.
Just finished with the parts guy. It’s going to cost me a few bucks under my $500 deductible. Asked the guys there if I should call the cops, they laugh. “They won’t do anything,” guy says.
I therefore hate everything tonight. Stay away from me.