The way Smith and Nenshi each became leader — the party faithful picking them as the star candidate most likely to provide what they want — is becoming all too common in this country
When it came down to it, the NDP’s decision to gamble on Naheed Nenshi wasn’t even close. The vote making him the new head honcho was a landslide.
That’s what the lure of power does to folk. It didn’t matter that the former Calgary mayor wasn’t even a party member this time last year or had shown little interest in being an NDP candidate in the previous provincial election, even though he was essentially out of work then.
No, for a party that rules the political roost up in Edmonton but whose popularity ranks slightly below mad cow disease in Alberta’s rural hinterlands, this was a big money bet on Nenshi turning our city — the make-or-break location in any foreseeable provincial election — a bright shade of orange.
Nenshi doesn’t hold a seat in the legislature, but that’s hardly going to be cause for raucous ridicule by the UCP contingent, considering their own leader took the helm as an outsider and had to wait until a suitably safe-seat byelection came along before the people elected Danielle Smith.
Yes, there are more similarities between Smith and Nenshi than just the pair’s past association as University of Calgary students.
The way each became leader — the party faithful picking them as the star candidate most likely to provide what they want — is becoming all too common in this country. It is a dangerous trend.
Put party affiliations aside for a moment and look at things from the point of view of some smart, young, motivated Canadian, determined to change things for the better by becoming involved in politics. (Smith and Nenshi were once such individuals.)
You work your tail off, doing the grunt work at the constituency level and finally, after years of such toil, you get the shot at a barely winnable seat. But even though you lose, it’s a lot closer than the party brass expected.
So, next time you are given the nod to run in a marginal constituency and, hallelujah, you manage to take the seat. A few years later, you grasp a minor cabinet position until, after a decade or so as an MLA, you finally get one of those plum portfolios — education, health or finance. Meanwhile, the leader’s getting tired of all the daily stress and there are rumours of retirement with the premiership subsequently up for grabs.
Fool. The party isn’t going to want you: you’re old hat. They want the latest star, even if it’s a total outsider who’s never knocked on any door or answered inane questions at some open house for a handful of potential voters on a cold and dreary Tuesday night in January.
Why would anyone bother getting involved with that setup?
And most don’t. Not anymore. That’s why the ranks these days are so often filled with mediocre also-rans; content to nod and scrape for the big boss whose only concern is that they follow orders to the hilt. And once he or she has gone, another rising star will be parachuted in. (Mark Carney as the next leader of the federal Liberal party, perhaps?)
Think of the provincial cabinet, or worse, Justin Trudeau’s team in Ottawa — nonentities for the most part. Those with talent are a threat and these days dissent will not be tolerated; only the sycophants get to stay. Ask former Liberal justice minister Jody Wilson-Raybould how that all works.
It wasn’t always this way. Peter Lougheed has long been acknowledged as this province’s best premier. Yet, he was hardly a one-man show. His various cabinets were packed with real talent: Lou Hyndman, Hugh Horner, Don Getty, Neil Crawford, Connie Osterman, Marv Moore, Jim Horsman, Dave Russell and many others. Where are those of that ilk today?
Power is increasingly concentrated at the top. That’s why Smith vs. Nenshi is all that matters. But it’s not how government should work.
Chris Nelson is a regular columnist.