the stakes of Senate reform

In case you missed it yesterday, the Supreme Court just dropped a landmark ruling on Senate reform (tl;dr – the federal executive can’t unilaterally alter the institutional structure of Canada, which is a ruling that should surprise nobody). Now that we have a clear picture of what constitutional reform would require in Canada, I thought it might be interesting to revisit some of the work I did in my Canadian politics comprehensive exam about the functioning of Parliament (i.e. the Commons and the Senate) and some possibilities for reform. I’m not exactly holding my breath here – constitutional reform in Canada has been, historically, nothing short of a nightmare – but I think what I have here at least sets up a discussion of what it is that we’re trying to reform, and why. You’d be surprised how much of this gets lost in the public debate (God knows I never thought/cared about much of this until I was forced to sit down and study it).

For the record, I think something definitely needs to be done with the Senate – the current arrangement is obviously not working for a host of reasons. But I’m uncomfortable with proposals to neuter it or abolish it altogether, because I think it’s the only federal institution capable of giving regions/provinces a productive counterweight against the federal government, and in this sense abolishing the Senate would actually make democracy in Canada, broadly speaking, worse instead of better. I’m including a discussion of the House of Commons here too because I really do think you can only make sense of the Senate as part of the greater representative unit that is ‘Parliament’.

[I left the citations in here because I didn’t feel like going through and editing them out, but I also didn’t feel like going through my bibliography to take out the sources to include them here at the end. On the off chance you’re reading this and you actually care where I’m getting this information, hit me up and I can connect you with the sources.]

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For obvious reasons, institutions of parliamentary government have been the subject of intense study in Canadian political science. Since at least the 1950s, they have also been the centre of (often acrimonious) debates on how best to reform them to function more in line with ‘democracy’, however it is defined. As many scholars have observed, debates about the proper functioning and role of the Commons and Senate are really debates about how best to represent different visions of Canada.

What, exactly, the House of Commons is supposed to do, and whether or not it is any good at doing it, hinges largely on the observer’s conception of democracy and the role of government in society (and society in government). C. E. S. Franks gives the most catholic defence of Parliament, specifically admonishing would-be democratic reformers from tampering with its (necessarily) executive-dominant design (Franks, 1987: 6).1 Franks insists Parliament should remain executive-dominant – and that the reach and power of the cabinet outside of the legislature should be expanded – because it is the best vehicle for Canadian nation-building. An elite-centred “central [parliamentary] government, (…) especially the prime minister and cabinet, are the main institutions and forces holding the country together and asserting a national purpose, national standards, and national concerns over and above those of provinces, regions, and particular groups” (ibid.: 268).

Though less reverent than Franks, David Smith agrees that “the House gives institutional expression to the concept of a national community. (…) The House of Commons symbolizes the unity of the Canadian people achieved through the conversion of individual acts of voting. By incorporating the people, the House creates the Nation” (Smith, 2007: 5-6). This ‘incorporation,’ however, is the site of a contest over the meaning and practice of ‘democratic sovereignty’ by three distinct visions: ‘parliamentary democracy’, ‘electoral democracy’, and ‘constitutional democracy’ (ibid.: 142). The British model of parliamentary supremacy rests on a substantive degree of public trust in their representatives, and as deference to authority waned, so did the institution’s legitimacy with the Canadian public (ibid.: 7). The Canada West Foundation puts it bluntly: “Canadians lack (…) confidence in, and respect for, their institutions of government” (Canada West Foundation, 1994: 2).

As a result, parliamentary democracy has come under fire from two competing conceptions. ‘Constitutional democracy’ is the name Smith gives to the view that the Charter of Rights and Freedoms has “[created] a constitutional state [that] replaces a defective form of governance by depriving legislatures of their general supremacy over the essential features of liberal democracy” (Smith, 2007: 10); conversely, ‘electoral democracy’ sees more direct, populist control over the legislature as superior to either constitutionalism or representative democracy (ibid.). The conflict between these competing visions of “who rules?” came to a head in the 2008 ‘Coalition Crisis’ (see: Russell and Sossin, 2009).

It is also not clear what nation is represented in Parliament. Andrew Sancton has argued that approximately 61% of Canadians are underrepresented in the House of Commons due to “the pressures of regional politics [working] to undermine Canada’s commitment to the principle [of representation by population]” (Sancton, 2010: 1); he suggests this undercuts Canadian democracy and should be remedied by “a provision allowing provinces to lose seats in the House of Commons in accordance with changes in their populations” (ibid.). This is a problematic attitude for a number of reasons. Most immediately, it would obliterate the representation of smaller provinces, already comparatively marginalized in the Commons. David Gussow (2012) suggests the need to strike a balance between fair representation and maintaining representation for smaller provinces and groups, which is a view backed by the Supreme Court of Canada; as it stands, Canada’s institutional commitment to group rights has meant the Supreme Court has “allowed for greater deviations from equality between electoral districts than are tolerated south of the border since (…) the 1960s” (Williams, 2005: 28) in order to secure more effective representation for distinct ‘communities of interest’. The representative capability of the House of Commons is also challenged by high levels of public disenchantment with government institutions, as well as consistently low voter turnout (Docherty and White, 2004).

But the blanket liberal egalitarianism of Sancton’s suggestion is also problematic from the perspective of representing distinct nations within Parliament. Although (until recently) the Québécois nation was represented fairly effectively in Parliament by the Bloc Québécois (Gagnon, 1996), it would do nothing to address the lack of federal representation among indigenous peoples. How to even go about addressing this problem is conceptually complicated; as Melissa Williams notes, “egalitarian inclusion through shared representative institutions [and] political autonomy through separate representative institutions (…) appear to be mutually exclusive political goals” (Williams, 2005: 28). While both the 1991 Lortie Commission and the Charlottetown Accord offered to mandate set representation for indigenous peoples in Parliament without acknowledging this difficulty, RCAP (1996b) suggested the need for a House of First Peoples to join Parliament alongside the Commons and the Senate. This constitutionally-entrenched House of First Peoples would be significantly more powerful than a simple advisory body in the sense that it would be empowered to “initiate legislation [and] to advise on legislation and constitutional affairs relating to Aboriginal peoples, in addition to review and oversight, and fact finding and investigative functions” (Hawke, 2001: 158).

Claudette Tardiff and Chantal Terrien (2009) have suggested that some of these representative impasses might be addressed through Senate reform. But how ‘the Nation’ is to be represented (and how it is to be constituted through that representation) is also contested in the Senate. This conflict is exacerbated by the fact that the Senate’s legitimacy is continually in question. The Senate, as it was established in 1867, was meant to serve a ‘unifying function’; according to David Smith,

because of the nature of its appointments and because it has no constituency base, (…) the Senate is better situated to offer a national outlook. Yet that national perspective must be qualified; the Supreme Court said [in] 1980 (…) that the smaller provinces only consented to Confederation on the understanding that there would be a regional upper house. In this respect the Senate helped define (…) Canada’s all-embracing identity. (Smith, 2003: 20).

Disputes about the Senate’s design and purpose, then, reflect differing visions of how Canadian national identity is best articulated. Writing in 1990, before the final collapse of the Meech Lake Accord, Randall White argues (in a book tellingly titled Voice of Region) that “an elected, effective, and more equal federal Senate for Atlantic and Western Canada,2 will be the at the centre of the most realistic and durable answer to the Canadian question in the twenty-first century” (White, 1990: 20). Pressure for Senate reform has come predominantly from Western and Eastern Canada against the Centre; for reformers, the Senate’s (potential) value lies in giving representation, and political counterweight, to smaller regions and groups who are otherwise marginalized by the legislative clout of Ontario and Quebec. But reform is complicated by the “constitutional indeterminacy of the function of the Senate, which inevitably leads to enormous variety in people’s ideas of reform” (Smith, 2009b: 3).3

A productive articulation and representation of regional perspectives within a national framework, then, has always been the purpose of the Senate; there would have been no Confederation without an upper chamber (Smith, 2009a; Ajzenstat, 2009). In fulfilling this function as a regional representative body, the Senate brings local perspectives to bear on national problems, without necessarily constraining national concerns with local agendas (Ajzenstat, 2009). Although it is nebulous, and tremendously complicated, Senate reform remains an urgent task; it presently lacks public legitimacy, and actively detracts more from a functioning federal government than it meaningfully contributes to it (Kent, 2009; Segal, 2009).

Reform (or outright abolition) is more in the public consciousness than it has been in some time in the wake of the present Senate corruption scandal. But while abolition may seem like an easy way out of the complexities of Senate reform, it would likely simply exacerbate regional problems further by removing even the faintest, formal check from the power of the political executive, and give provincial elites even more power and authority in articulating divergent regional interests. The Senate, theoretically, at least provides a way to articulate regional perspectives in a way that is still bounded within a national framework; abolition would put executive federalism and regional tensions up on bust, and would further marginalize smaller provinces from the seat of political power. Ultimately, “such executive federalism imperils democratic accountability” (Kent, 2009: 168).

1The House of Commons, which Franks seems to believe was bequeathed to us by God (or at least His representatives in Charlottetown), actually works quite marvellously; at least, it would if we would stay faithful to its original design. Democratic reformers’ struggle for consensual democracy against rigid party discipline is counter-productive, because in an elite-dominated institution the adversarial model serves us better. MPs should be given more wealth and prestige (thus attracting higher-calibre candidates); the reach and influence of political parties outside parliament should be expanded; and bureaucrats and provincial governments should be subordinated to the federal cabinet (Franks, 1987: 5-7). Franks is basically a parliamentary reactionary.

2Alberta and Newfoundland and Labrador have historically bookended the drive towards reforming the Senate. In 1989, the provincial government of Newfoundland and Labrador issued a statement to the effect that the province has “little or no hope of ever achieving [its] rightful place in the Canadian federation until Canada has a Triple-E Senate” (ibid.: 268).

3For instance, while the idea of a purely non-partisan, deliberative, consensus-based technocracy has been floated as a model of Senate reform (and seems to be the approach taken by the Liberals under Justin Trudeau), Ron Watts observes that political parties can actually serve to mitigate and harmonize some of the otherwise more antagonistic regional differences that might be expressed in the Senate (Watts, 2009).

 

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A Neurotic Nation – The ‘Canadian Question’ in Canadian Politics (and Political Science)

This is a little different from what I normally post here, but this is the text from my presentation at the University of Alberta Political Science Grad Student Association’s conference this past week on ‘Activism, The Arts, and Academia: Beyond the Ivory Tower’. It’s a substantially condensed summary of my comprehensive exam in the field of Canadian politics, and it was received so well I thought I would post a copy online for those who might be interested but for whatever reason (ie. geography) weren’t able to attend. If any of this interests/outrages you and you’d like to read the longer paper from which it is derived, let me know and I’d be more than happy to hook you up.

One of my colleagues in the audience offered a number of helpful suggestions about how to expand and deepen my discussion of indigenous issues, particularly surrounding issues of sovereignty, etc. I fully admit that I remain, in many ways, regrettably ignorant about much of the history and dynamics of settler-colonialism in Canada – which, in the course of my studies, I have gradually come to understand as the biggest political problem (and gravest injustice) in North America today – but I also want to stress that I’m committed to overcoming this ignorance and doing the subject justice. So, if you have any comments or resources about this area in particular, they would be greatly appreciated.

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We’re here today, as I understand it, to talk about how our work as intellectuals might come to have some bearing in political struggles on the ground. In that spirit, I am here to suggest that public intellectuals might have a very important role to play in Canadian politics, because many (if not most) of our political problems stem from a problem of ideas, of ideological self-understanding as Canadians.

My starting point is fairly simple. In his essay on the legacy of the Canadian Confederation, Newfoundland philosopher F. L. Jackson tells us that “to be Canadian is to be (…) an ambiguity.” And, of course, we know from Freud that neurosis – as a psychic disposition – is characterized by an inability to tolerate ambiguity. It has therefore seemed to me – in both my lived experience negotiating my identity as Newfoundlander, Canadian, and a legatee of colonial oppression, as well as my intensive 10 month study of the academic literature – that Canadian politics is permeated by a profound anxiety that stems out of the need to end this ambiguity and work out some more or less definitive answer to the ‘Canadian question’. Exploring how this anxiety plays out in the literature of Canadian political science is basically the 60 page monstrosity that is my comprehensive exam.

Obviously I don’t have time here to get into this in much detail, so instead I’m giving you a grossly oversimplified (and partly polemical) historical narrative about Canada’s national neuroses. If any of this interests you, or you want some evidence to back up what you feel is a particularly outrageous claim, just hit me up later and we’ll hash it out.

The ‘problem’ with Canada (or, more politely, the ‘Canadian Question’) is that no one can agree on what Canada is and what it’s supposed to be. The Founders, in their infinite drunken wisdom, never managed to work out a conclusive definition of the political nationality they were creating and we’ve been dealing with the fallout ever since. As I see it, there are – very roughly – three overarching ‘answers’ that have variously been proposed for this Canadian Question: an Anglo-centric, essentially reactionary vision of ‘One Canada’; the Trudeauvian vision of a bilingual, multicultural, pan-Canadian individualism; and a vision of Canada as comprising two, three, or more ‘nations’ within a more properly federal system.

Canada, as it was founded in 1867, was intended to be explicitly anti-democratic and conservative – if the intellectual patron saint of the American Founding was John Locke, for Canada it was Edmund Burke. The BNA Act was legislation from the British Parliament, passed on the advice of a small cadre of colonial politicians, and imposed on the mainland British colonies with no democratic input despite deep unpopularity in the Maritimes. The only jurisdiction where Confederation was put to a vote was Newfoundland in 1869, and there the Confederates were obliterated. Canada was never intended to be a democracy, and many of its institutions (such as the Senate and the sovereignty of the Crown) continue to reflect this.

It was also founded, both explicitly and implicitly, as a proudly imperialist project. In contrast to the ‘degenerate mobocracy and its Negro element’ in the south, Canada was to be quite literally the ‘Great White North’, a Kingdom of the Northern Races. The plains were cleared of indigenous peoples (in part by a policy of deliberate starvation) to make way for European settlers and Aboriginal title was extinguished through the numbered treaties. Alberta and Saskatchewan were designed and constructed as fringe tributaries to “the commercial empire of the St. Lawrence” and the industrial lifeblood of the Maritimes was drained into the imperial heartland of Southern Ontario. Confederation built a country; but it did not build a nation.

But while an elitist, anti-democratic, and unabashedly colonial regime might have been palatable in the 19th century, this vision of the Canadian nation began to break down as the 20th century wore on. There are a number of reasons for this, but I’ll keep it short: a liberalizing trend in Canada’s political institutions that provoked increasing distaste for its illiberal foundations, the successful mobilization of sub-national identities (particularly Québécois and indigenous nationalism), and a palpable insecurity over the fact that any distinctive Canadian identity was in danger of being subsumed either into its incestuous closeness to the Mother Country or being sucked into the gravitational pull of the cultural, political, and economic behemoth south of the border.

Out of this generalized national identity crisis flowered Pierre Trudeau’s constitutional revolution. I say ‘Trudeauvian Revolution’ here not because Trudeau is the undisputed Philosopher King of Canadian politics, or even that he was a clear victor in the struggles over the 1982 patriation, but because his tenure as Prime Minister profoundly altered Canada’s institutional and ideological landscape. Trudeau set out to symbolically re-found Canada, and he succeeded; although he arguably created more problems on this front than he solved.

The 1982 patriation is a watershed moment in Canadian political history, but its full impact is as deeply ambiguous as it is momentous. The Charter of Rights and Freedoms in particular has replaced federalism as the central organizing principle of Canadian political life, inaugurating a new regime of individual rights where the Supreme Court, not parliament, is the final political authority. For some, this represents the full consolidation of the rule of law; for others, the full consolidation of the rule of lawyers. In any event, it has had a profound impact on Canadian identity – not only has it substantively altered the way politics are carried out, but the Charter is far and away the most popular national symbol of Canada, particularly among the young.

But I also want to suggest here that the constitutional megapolitics leading up to 1982 served a more direct tactical purpose: to diffuse political movements deemed threatening to the interests of the Canadian state and ruling class (in particular, Québécois and indigenous nationalisms). This was accomplished both by implanting constitutionalism in Canadian soil, and by articulating a national vision that is was profoundly individualistic, where all Canadian citizens are united in a single, if markedly multicultural, political nationality. Many commentators, both conservative and critical, note that this is in many ways “a fulfilment, not a rejection, of British imperialism” and that ‘official multiculturalism’ works to regulate, manage, and subordinate difference in the interests of a white, ‘bilingual’ (though still primarily Anglo) elite which is, in turn, insidiously effaced from view. Leigh [Spanner] earlier today in her presentation cited bell hooks to the effect that in Official Multiculturalism, ‘ethnicity becomes a spice to liven up the mainstream white palate’ and I feel that’s pretty eloquent – I wish I had cited it in my exam!

In any event, it didn’t work. If anything, the ‘national unity’ problem is even worse in the post-Trudeau era, as we know from the failures of Meech Lake, Charlottetown, and the narrowly aborted Quebec secession of 1995. This is because the Trudeauvian vision of ‘One Canada’, however pluralist, is fundamentally a misrecognition of what Canada is supposed to be: many nations united together in a political community structured around principles of federalism – that is, shared sovereignty and divided loyalties.

Indigenous claims to nationhood have been recognized as far back as the 1763 Royal Proclamation, and the 1996 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples affirms that not only are these claims to nationhood valid but that they must be institutionally accommodated. It is also undeniable that the Québécois constitute a nation within Canada – Parliament under Harper has asserted as much – and, for the most part, in fact, the robust federalism that defines the Canadian political community is itself a French-Canadian invention.

Newfoundlanders, too, understand themselves to be a nation – University of Alberta scholar Jennifer Delisle has argued we constitute a ‘diasporic people’ (she’s right) – and recognizing this fact both explains the island’s idiosyncratic politics and casts new light on the history of British and Canadian imperialism, as well as underscoring that what is called ‘English Canada’ is not itself homogenous. It kills me that I can’t get into this here – because, as many of you have discovered, I can literally go on and on and on about Newfoundland for hours – but suffice it to say that recovering Newfoundland’s pre- and post-Confederate history of economic exploitation and political autocracy undercuts a lot of the more flattering national myths that ‘British North America’ likes to tell itself.

But don’t take any of this to mean that I am an Anti-Confederate; far from it. We are all greatly enriched by a multinational understanding of Canada built on the institutional recognition and affirmation of difference in accordance with the federal principle. Confederation and its nations must accommodate and respect the ‘many worlds’ within them (that is, Anglo, French, Indigenous, as well as newcomers to this country); insofar as they do this, they are properly ‘Canadian’. Clearly, the political and moral grounding here must come from the decolonizing aspirations of Canada’s indigenous peoples; First Nations must remain first.

Decolonization is a properly revolutionary movement. As Kiera Ladner puts it, it is a project to rethink and restructure Canada’s political, cultural, and economic foundations to “create a mutually beneficial and mutually agreeable future for Indigenous and settler nations alike.” It is an opportunity that all Canadians must seize if we are to make a better life together in this country.

Now: all this is more than simply armchair theorizing. A multinational articulation of Canada enables an anti-colonial, democratic, and substantively egalitarian politics that can best assure the continued structural integrity of Confederation. But this requires acknowledging that Canada has been (and in many ways remains) at its heart a reactionary, colonial enterprise. And so our task is to reiterate (re-iterate) what Samuel LaSelva calls Canada’s moral foundations – a new political nationality founded on deep diversity, multinationalism, equality, and autonomy – in the context of contemporary conditions.

Canada’s contemporary political history can be read as an attempt to come to terms with its past. Pierre Trudeau attempted to banish it, to break with it completely without confronting it head on; Stephen Harper is returning to it, venerating it, fetishizing it, without really reconciling Canadians to it in all its complexity and all its darkness. Trudeau’s liberal utopia failed because the past is never another country; it persists as the ‘Eternal City’ of our collective unconscious. By closing the door on Canadian history, he could not pull up the roots of white, English privilege which burrowed beneath his new constitutional foundations. Likewise, Conservative efforts to mount a neoliberal restaging of Canada’s imperial Oedipal complex will also come to ruin because images of Imperial Glory have no place in the 21st century, and to reassert them will draw out the drums of the historically dispossessed, which will beat louder and louder until the levee breaks.

Some people reject ‘decolonization’ as something that would “disintegrate the country.” But the country can only avert disintegration, can only truly fulfill the “special role [that] Justice has in sustaining Canada’s existence as a nation,” if the principles of equality and respect for deep diversity are turned against the colonialism in Canada’s heart. This can be the only answer to the Canadian question. Canada can and must survive as a decolonized and truly egalitarian nation, whose identity and citizenship is as expansive and diverse as the peoples it encompasses, or it is not a nation worth preserving.

Thank you.

the big shift is real

 

So I’m in the process of gearing up for my comprehensive exams in Canadian Politics, and my thoughts are drawn towards questions of Canadian nationalism and national identity. I’ve always been interested in questions of nationalism in Canada, and while I’ve read/thought fairly extensively about Newfoundland nationalism, there is a lot of ground elsewhere that remains to be covered. I spent the better part of June and July reading and writing about Aboriginal politics and nationalism in Canada, and on a recent trip to Montreal I made a point of picking up a few books on Québecois nationalism in order to start getting a grip on these other ‘sub-Canadian’ identities (‘national minorities’ and ‘stateless nations’ within Canada, as Will Kymlicka would put it). The Revolutionary Communist Party of Canada also runs a great little bookstore in Montreal, if that’s what you’re into. The Anarchist bookstore was closed.

 

Anyways. I’ve been thinking a lot about Canadian identity lately, and between Eva Mackey’s The House of Difference (1999) and George Grant’s Lament For A Nation (1965), I’ve been thinking a lot about the very neurotic obsession of the Canadian state (and its elite stakeholders) with constructing a functional pan-Canadian identity. Grant is worried his decidedly Red Tory image of Canada is a lost cause because Americanization is doomed to devour all of Anglo North America, while Mackey is worried that this grand, liberal multiculturalist project really boils down to ‘white supremacy with a human face.’ These are both very different arguments, made in very different historical contexts, but both I think lend support to the fundamental argument I’m going to make in my Canadian comp: that the Canadian political science literature reflects this neurotic preoccupation with the lack or weakness of unified Canadian identity.

 

I’m not going to get into too much detail right now, but that’s where my head is at generally. The next 8 months of research and writing (and my oral defense!) will determine whether or not I’m actually on to something here.

 

So it’s here, in the context of these thoughts, that I encountered Darrell Bricker and John Ibbitson’s The Big Shift (2013) this past week. I have a few thoughts about this book, and I will try to sketch out a few here.

 

The premise is pretty straightforward: the centre of economic and political power in Canada has shifted from the Centre (Quebec/Montreal/Ottawa/Toronto – that is, the ‘Laurentian’ area) to the West. Thanks to decades of liberal multiculturalism, a large contingent of Pacific immigrants have settled in Canada (largely in the suburbs), and both of these factors ensure that the basic structures of Canadian political reality have forever shifted post-2011. The Conservatives are the 21st century’s Natural Governing Party. While the ‘Laurentian Elite’ still retains cultural hegemony (through their control of the media, academia, and other cultural institutions), their effective political power has been terminally undercut by Western insurgency.

 

The rest of the book is devoted to unpacking this idea. Among other things, it includes a postmortem of Quebec sovereignty (in it’s contemporary iteration, it is fundamentally backwards and driven by fear), a charge that Official Bilingualism is at best a legal fiction and at worst a giant waste of taxpayer money, and some sharp words about the “universal” Atlantic Canadian mentality of laziness and entitlement. It bears repeating at length here:

 

[Atlantic Canada] is a place where facts go to die, where the laws of economics are miraculously suspended, and where a universal belief system is founded on the universal denial of reality. Only in Atlantic Canada (…) would anybody suggest that it’s perfectly reasonable to work in a ‘seasonal industry’ with the expectation that you get to work part of the year, and then the government takes over from the employer for the rest of the year while you do nothing (…). Only in Atlantic Canada would it be universally accepted that this should never change. (pgs. 73-74)

 

For a book determined to blast apart all the ‘Laurentian’ myths about the country, it uncritically regurgitates the same ‘Newfie Joke’ that has had currency among “Laurentian elites” since Confederation in 1949. There are many valid criticisms you can make about the uses and abuses of EI in Atlantic economies but this is a pretty brutal oversimplification. Maybe they made this passage artificially inflammatory in order to boost book sales! Or maybe the authors assumed we were collectively too lazy to actually read the book.

 

Either way, this attitude towards the East Coast is symptomatic of the book’s militantly neoliberal perspective. Right-to-Work states in the US are hailed as an engine of economic competition, private Charter Schools are presented as a panacea to the education system’s shortcomings (and a good way to circumvent those pesky teachers unions!), and concern about the severity of climate change is openly questioned in a few different parts of the book. All this is well and good, but Ibbitson and Bricker present their arguments not as ideologically motivated and engaged but as extra-ideological ‘common sense.’ Problems with all this aside, it at least suggests that they really and sincerely believe what they’re saying – which is always really refreshing to encounter after so much academic reading.

 

Overall, this is a pretty interesting read and worth looking into for any observers of Canadian politics. If you can stomach the thought of reading what amounts to a 300 page Globe and Mail editorial, it’s worth the couple of hours it takes to breeze through the book.

 

I intuitively agree with a lot of the arguments they make in the book, although rumours of Québec’s death here are greatly exaggerated. One of the major reasons I wanted to do my PhD in Edmonton is because I really do think power – broadly defined! – in Canada has shifted West, which would make this province the best place to study Canadian politics. And, quite frankly, I do think that Stephen Harper has been pretty effective at not only getting the West In, but in actively advancing the cultural hegemony of conservative ideology in Canada – maybe to the point of having it institutionally consolidated. There is always room for contingency and political agency, but I remain a cynic and I think most of these trends will be borne out again in 2015.

 

But what really stood out to me – and is pretty relevant to what I want to explore for my comprehensive exam – is the argument it makes about Canadian nationalism. This mainly boils down to ‘the issue of national pride is settled’ (citing the enthusiasm for the 2010 Olympic Games, etc) and a cool enthusiasm for Harper’s drive to celebrate the British monarchy and the great military victories of Canadian history (1812 and Not-Dieppe). It’s thrown directly in the face of all those ‘Laurentian’ elites who spent the better part of the 20th century worrying about the viability of Canadian identity (Grant! Atwood!), and I think it works as a nice post-script to a lot of Eva Mackey’s arguments about the precariousness of Canadian identity and the ways in which most constructions of Canada hinge on the deployment of this idea of ‘Britishness’.

 

Since reading Mackey’s book I have been thinking a lot about the reassertion of British symbolism under Harper, and the place of this argument in The Big Shift really spoke to me. I think Ibbitson and Bricker are on to something here, but I’m not nearly as excited about its implications as they are. Fleshing out why is one of the projects I’m going to work out this year.