What did the Conservative Party's emissaries really say to independent MP Chuck Cadman just hours before he cast a key Parliamentary vote in 2005? A new book alleges that two unidentified Tories offered the ailing MP-- who would die of cancer just two months later -- a million-dollar life insurance policy as a bribe.
Last week, former party chief of staff Tom Flanagan and campaign manager Doug Finley identified themselves as the two men in question, but they categorically denied the book's claim, and disputed other basic facts in the book, including the date of the meeting.
Like the book's author, I wasn't at the meeting, so I don't have first-hand knowledge of what really went on. But I do know a little bit about how the Conservative Party handles political problems like that -- and how Tom Flanagan and even Stephen Harper himself negotiate.
In February of 2002, I was nominated as the Canadian Alliance candidate for a by-election in Calgary Southwest. In March, however, just weeks before that by-election, Stephen Harper was elected as the party's new leader, and he didn't yet have a seat in Parliament. There were several other ridings across Canada scheduled for a by-election on the same day, but none of them were safe Canadian Alliance ridings like mine was. It soon became clear that for Harper to enter Parliament quickly and with no chance of losing, I would have to drop out as the candidate -- even though I had already started putting up my lawn signs.
Stepping aside would be a painful concession for anyone to make, but it was even more so in my situation. I had started campaigning full-time for the nomination nine months earlier, recruited over 1,000 new supporters and had spent more than $250,000 on my campaign. Giving up a sure-fire entry to Parliament was tough enough; writing off nearly a year's work and a fortune was even tougher.
Unlike Cadman's vote in Parliament, which propped up Paul Martin's wobbly minority government for a few more months, whether or not I stepped aside in Calgary Southwest wouldn't tip the balance in the House of Commons, pass a budget or cause a general election. But in other ways, it was just as important to Harper and his campaign manager at the time, Tom Flanagan.
Back in the spring of 2002, the Canadian Alliance was in a civil war. The party was in disarray, with MPs defecting, staff quitting and insider leaking embarrassing tid-bits to the press on a daily basis. Needless to say, the party was low in the polls. Harper's great appeal to party members was his promise to bring discipline and unity back. Not only did that mean Harper needed a speedy entry into Parliament itself, it also meant he couldn't afford an embarrassing turf-war with a 29-year-old candidate. If Harper was to be the harbinger of party discipline and unity, he couldn't be seen to tolerate my defiance in Calgary Southwest. It was his first test as leader, a test that would set a public precedent for his entire leadership. In that sense, it was even more important than winning Cadman's vote some three years later.
It so happens that in university, I had studied under Flanagan, as had my campaign manager. So as it became clear that a conflict over Calgary Southwest was coming, we put out feelers to Flanagan to see what consideration might be offered should I step aside. Would my nomination expenses be covered? Would I receive a paid position with the party? Would my personal debts be paid? Such crass inquiries were all but ignored by Flanagan, even as an embarrassing clash between us loomed in the media. In purely pragmatic terms, Flanagan had every incentive to give me an offer --even an offer he didn't intend to keep -- just to make Harper's entry smoother. But he didn't.
As the by-election drew nearer, and the media's delight at our dilemma grew, I received a personal phone call from Harper himself. He was blunt: For the good of the party, I needed to step aside for him.
I immediately asked: "What would be the reward if I step aside? What would be the punishment if I don't?" I expected that he might offer some basic indemnity for the money I had sunk into the campaign to date, or some token position with the party in recognition for the sacrifice he was asking me to make.
"If you step aside, my esteem for you will rise," he told me. "If you don't, my esteem for you will fall." That's it: no money, no job offers, just his respect and friendship.
I asked him to clarify: Would he still sign my nomination papers as the party's candidate if I chose to stay on in defiance of his request? Or would he exercise his right under the Elections Act to hand-pick the candidate in the riding? Again, to my surprise, Harper said he would sign my papers. In the tunnel vision that comes from nine months of having a single goal, I told him that I would continue as the candidate, and simply work twice as hard as an MP to earn back his lost esteem for me. I hung up the phone, and felt pretty good about myself.
But much of the Canadian Alliance didn't feel good about my decision; it was seen as more bickering in an undisciplined party, and a bad start for the new leader. So after two days of receiving phone calls and e-mails asking me to reconsider, I stepped aside for Harper.
There are plenty of red flags attached to the Cadman story, from Paul Martin's strange involvement with the book, to the near-impossibility of buying life insurance for a dying man, to the Cadman family's reaction to the book's allegations. I can't speak authoritatively to any of those questions.
But I can speak to how Tom Flanagan and Stephen Harper negotiate political problems. From personal experience, offering bribes just isn't how they operate.
