So what are we to make of last week’s deal between the NDP and Greens? Judging by some letters to the editor, it was the Green Party’s death warrant.
Green Party Leader Andrew Weaver had been careful to say, in advance, that he wanted no part of a formal coalition, because he wished to retain his capacity for independent action.
That certainly makes sense. Small parties that get in bed with much larger ones are often smothered in the process. They become identified with everything that happens, good or bad, and in the process, lose their separate identity.
Yet the agreement Weaver signed amounts, in many respects, to just that — a coalition by another name. He and NDP Leader John Horgan agreed to pursue a list of policies and procedures that cover nearly the entire waterfront. Their wedding contract is longer than the Magna Carta.
Moreover, the Greens were also promised access to all relevant government papers, and to consultation on everything of consequence. Does that free their hands, or tie them?
On this reading, Weaver owns pretty much everything that happens over the term of the new administration. Yet the Green appeal was built, in large part, on keeping a safe distance from the sometimes unaccommodating facts of life. The party could offer seemingly seductive options secure in the knowledge it would never have to deliver them.
We’re seeing a version of this collision with reality in Alberta, where an NDP government, once the foe of all things oily, has become a champion of the Kinder Morgan pipeline.
In one sense, an arrangement of this sort was unavoidable. For Horgan to convince Lt.-Gov. Judith Guichon he could form a government, he needed proof of ongoing Green support. A mere passing assurance that Weaver might help out when and if he felt like it would probably not have sufficed.
So has Weaver really traded his independence for a mess of pottage?
He definitely tried to avoid it. Consider this clever little “out” clause buried in the agreement: “B.C. Green support for policy and legislation which does not relate to confidence or supply [i.e. the budget] is not subject to this agreement and will be decided on an issue-by-issue basis.”
In theory, then, the Greens are free to support whatever options they choose from a cornucopia of policies, while retaining the right to opt out when it suits them. This is certainly a first-class piece of legerdemain. But is it anything more?
There are two formidable obstacles to wielding this dissenting power.
First, as noted, it can’t be used in circumstances that would bring down the government. These include the throne speech and, more importantly, the budget.
But the latter covers almost everything of substance the government has in mind. Certainly, it includes anything that has a dollar figure attached, and there is very little that doesn’t.
Second, if the Greens do manage to dissent without triggering an election, Horgan and his colleagues will still be voted down on that issue unless the Liberals rescue them — an unlikely prospect at best.
But how often can a loyal partner play that game? For there is a larger issue at stake here, namely whether a minority administration can govern.
We have been promised yet another referendum next year on the subject of electoral reform. But any variety of proportional representation almost ensures permanent minority rule.
If NDP legislation is repeatedly struck down by a party that pledged its support, voters will draw their own conclusions about the desirability of rep by pop.
In summary, weaselly drafting notwithstanding, Weaver’s freedom of action appears largely an illusion. And with its loss goes his party’s greatest asset — the ability to remain above the fray.
