Rob Shaw and Richard Zussman’s book A Matter of Confidence is proving a provincial, and even national, sensation, and it’s not hard to see why. Funny, well-written and unfailingly even-handed, it offers glimpses into a closed world.
Moments before a crucial joint announcement, a staredown between a premier and federal minister worthy of World Series of Poker, with stakes in the billions of dollars. A lingering, unresolved personal feud that led to an unrelated scandal that almost brought down a government. The contrast between the victory parties of 2013 and 2017, respectively: one premier standing on a chair, shotgunning a bottle of champagne in a scene out of VE Day; the other cheerfully debating the merits of different Star Trek series with a stranger.
(For the record, I was only at one, but honestly, both sound fun.)
These are the moments only seen by people who had a hand in shaping current events, or at least a front-row seat — and yes, there was plenty I learned about only in the book, even things I probably should have known.
You’d be forgiven for thinking the past few years have been unique, but they’re not. Politics has a way of creating great stories.
Why?
First, politics is like the army. The people you work with aren’t just co-workers or fellow travellers, but share the same commitment to a cause, enough to work punishingly long hours for mediocre pay. This creates strong, even intense bonds.
Second, politics is like a seasonal resort — mostly young people, away from their friends and family, who end up socializing together, often exclusively.
In other words, you’re isolated. That sounds odd, given that most (though not all or even enough) staffers live in Victoria. But most come from elsewhere, don’t intend to set down permanent roots here, and even if they wanted to, their jobs aren’t permanent — most mortgage brokers look dimly on “probably eventually losing job.” If you’ve worked in a resort, you’d recognize a similar not-here-for-a-long-time, make-the-most-of-it atmosphere.
Third, politics is like professional sports. You’re never, ever unaware of the other teams working every day to get you fired. They’re not faceless; you see them every day. This doesn’t mean they’re bad people. No, they’re not “the enemy,” and no, they don’t want to “ruin the province.” But make no mistake: they want your job. It’s their explicit job to take it from you.
No matter how you feel about politics or the people involved, consider what that’s like. I’m not suggesting things should be any different, but it’s not as if accountants share an office with another accountant whose sole focus is poking holes in their work. What do those water-cooler encounters look like?
People deal with it in different ways. Some treat the other camps as The Enemy, never to make eye contact with, much less have a friendly chat. Others treat it like a Stanley Cup playoff series — skate hard, take a few non-egregious liberties, but shake hands at the end of the day. Others become paranoid, looking for bugs and wiretaps.
Fourth, politics is like a bad spy comedy. In a city as small as Victoria, you have to constantly watch what you say in public. It’s not rare to overhear an adjacent table go into deep, damaging detail about a bitter nomination battle, or discuss a not-yet-public big announcement — two real examples among many.
Finally, politics is like Game of Thrones. No, not the dragons, zombies or constant nudity — well, definitely not the dragons — but the gamesmanship and shifting factions. It might come as no surprise to learn there are politics in Politics, but they can be harder to discern.
The different factions don’t have their own sigils or crests, but yes, there are official and unofficial power couples, alliances of convenience, favours to curry and people whose bad sides you avoid on pain of career suicide. Many a promising career has been hamstrung by bad luck, bad timing or bad friends.
Dedicated, focused young people who work and socialize together, in an exciting, visible, and high-stress job, away from their support base — and if that weren’t enough, it’s a competition, with a big season finale every four years-ish.
I’d totally watch.
Maclean Kay was premier Christy Clark’s speechwriter for five years.
