It’s A Show about Nothing

There is such a thing as truth.

When I was a graduate student at Queen’s University in Canada, I participated in the Model Parliament. The principal draw of doing so was that this took place in the actual House of Commons. I did so as a member of the Progressive Conservative caucus; one had to pick a side. According to the annual rotation for this year, the New Democrats formed the government, the Tories were the main opposition party, and the Liberals were in third place. For some reason, I was seated up front on the Government side, occupying the place of some low-level Minister, far down the row. Most of the Tories were raucously sitting on the other side, diagonal from me and to the left of the Speaker.

A key member of the Liberal caucus that weekend was a man who is now a well-known celebrity talk-show host on a US cable network. He presented a backbencher’s bill that would amend the Constitution to make violence against homosexuals unconstitutional because violence against homosexuals was bad. I believe that was the extent of his argument, made more risible by the earnestness of his presentation and the enthusiasm of his colleagues on both sides of the aisle for his obliged nobility.

I felt duty-bound to make a speech in opposition, as one does when in opposition. I pointed out that if you really cared about violence against homosexuals, you might want to increase policing of places they frequented. If you really cared about violence against homosexuals, you might want to increase the penalty in the criminal code for such despicable hate crimes. I suggested that any reasonable person would recognize the difficulty of amending the constitution just a few years after l’affaire Meech Lake. I pointed out that a backbencher’s bill that included my alternative remedies might garner almost unanimous support.

This did not go over as well as one might think.

My Tory colleagues were effusive. They jumped to their feet with an appropriate number of juvenile hear-hears until they were shushed by the Speaker.

The Prime Minister, a blonde woman from some nondescript rural oblivion who seemed to exist in a cloud of patchouli and self-sustaining rage, demanded my apology. The leader of the Tories, now a prominent and extremely successful Bay Street lawyer, recognizing that things were going off the rails, tried to intervene as a sort of Canadian blue helmet to calm everyone down. The Speaker saw me signal my intention to respond and let me speak.

Naturally, I refused to kowtow. Well, it was natural for me.

I still remember the opening to my response.

“The Prime Minister wants an apology. She’s not going to get one.”

I then proceeded to lace into her for what we might now call virtue-signaling. I said that there was nothing to apologize for. I reiterated my interest in defending the physical safety of gay Canadians. I recall saying specifically that anyone stupid enough to attack someone because of their sexuality was unlikely to be aware of the contents of the Canadian constitution.

When I was done, there was an instant of astonished, self-conscious silence, punctuated by the Tory caucus erupting in exuberant, foamy mania.

The Member from Indigo Girls moved to censure me. The Speaker shut her down.

At the party in the hotel that evening, the Speaker approached me to tell me that I was the only one he had ever seen not apologize. I was the only one to stand my ground.

It was then that I realized that maybe public office wasn’t for me.