Ah, Canada! One of the things that makes the true north strong and free so great is that when it comes to our leaders, it isn’t necessary for heavily armed men to stand on guard for them.
For the most part, Canada’s premiers and prime ministers — past and present — can walk around the country without security sweeps.
Much fuss is being made about a security breach involving Prime Minister Stephen Harper in Vancouver on Monday. Two environmental protesters impersonating hotel serving staff walked onto the stage Harper was on and unrolled small protest signs.
Sean Devlin, one of the protesters, complained about being thrown down the stairs and being held on the floor before being arrested and then released without charge.
In the U.S., where there is a history of presidents and other lawmakers being assassinated or shot, a similar stunt might have led to Devlin’s untimely demise. But this is Canada. The RCMP has said it “takes this matter very seriously,” but Harper barely turned his head, joking: “It wouldn’t be B.C. without it.”
On CBC’s The National, correspondent Terry Milewski intimated that Devlin — a well-known protester — should have been recognized by the RCMP. Why? It’s not as if Devlin is known for packing firearms and making physical threats to the PM.
What’s next? Metal detectors at all events the PM attends? That happens in the U.S. when the president is involved, but it isn’t needed here.
All of this got me reminiscing about an emotional moment in the history of Canada and for me personally.
A couple of days before the Quebec referendum on sovereignty — that fright night on the eve of Halloween 1995 — an enormous love-in for Quebec called the Unity Rally took place. More than 150,000 people from every corner of the country jammed into Place du Canada to try to convince Quebecers not to break up the best country in the world.
That rally might very well have turned the tide in Canada’s favour in what ended up being a close vote — with 49.4 per cent of Quebecers voting for sovereignty and 50.6 per cent voting against.
One of the most renowned images from that outpouring of affection for Quebec and Canada consists of an aerial shot of the now-famous enormous Canadian flag being moved over the heads of those in attendance by their upstretched helping hands.
I too got caught under that flag for a time in that sea of passionate humanity. The flag was so vast, it actually plunged those of us underneath it into semidarkness, but it certainly worked to lighten most of our spirits.
During most of the time that the flag passed over my head, I was pressed up face to face with Canada’s then-very-controversial federal Liberal justice minister, Allan Rock.
At the time, Rock was not a popular man among a large swath of a heavily armed portion of the Canadian population. He was responsible for bringing in the hated long-gun registry.
I remember getting rather emotional thinking about it all. Where else, I wondered, could such a contentious justice minister wade into an emotional crowd without any security? It made me even more proud of Canada than I already was.
During Ralph Klein’s reign as Alberta premier, it wasn’t unusual to bump into him sans security detail eating chicken and chips at the St. Louis Hotel, or just walking through a mall chatting with Albertans.
While Klein was a popular premier, there were many in Alberta who detested him and his deficit-slashing agenda.
Despite that, the recognizable politician didn’t have anything to fear. That’s a great national characteristic and one I hope doesn’t stop.
What’s perhaps not understood by people like protesters Devlin and Shireen Soofi is that every time such a stunt is pulled, or someone pies a premier or scales the Parliament Buildings to unfurl a banner, access to our leaders and public buildings grows more restrictive and chips away at a characteristic as iconic as beavers and maple syrup.
