Worthwhile Canadian Candidate
Michael Ignatieff may want to be prime minister too much for Canadians to give it to him.
In 2005, Michael Ignatieff returned home to Canada with a gilded résumé. In the 36 years since he'd left Toronto, he had become one of the world's leading public intellectuals: reporting extensively on human rights issues for the BBC and the New York Times; writing more than a dozen books, one of which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize; and teaching at Harvard, where he'd helped codify the case for humanitarian intervention that President Obama invoked to justify bombing Libya. He seemed eminently qualified for his new chosen field—politics—and his sights were fixed on Canada's top job.
In 2006, Ignatieff was duly elected to Parliament, and three years later he became leader of the Liberal Party. Now he is finishing up his first election campaign at the helm—and he's all but certain to get trounced. Canadians' minds appear to have been made up from the start: The ambitious Mr. Ignatieff needed a comeuppance. In Canada, you can be disqualified from leadership for wanting it too much.
The Liberals are on track to finish third in Monday's vote, a once-unthinkable result for a centrist party that ruled Canada for much of the 20th century. The opposition forced this election despite solid public support for Prime Minister Stephen Harper's minority Conservative government, and Harper has mounted a strong front-runner's campaign, portraying himself as a kind of Prime Minister Dad whose tax cuts and steady hand have brought about Morning in Canada. (Credit belongs more to longstanding financial regulations and Alberta's oil reserves, but dead bankers and plankton don't talk.)
Ignatieff has campaigned well as a rookie. He has been gregarious on the hustings, a passable debater, and a stellar off-the-cuff stump speaker. But his platform of better education and health care has failed to reach moderate voters, and his critique that the Conservatives are an undemocratic lot hasn't snared progressives. Worse, he has consistently polled below 20 percent on leadership measures like trust, competence, and vision.
This humbling was probably inevitable, thanks in part to the Conservatives' Rovesque genius for defining opponents in the public mind. In the first two of the four elections Canada has held since 2004, they successfully framed Liberal Paul Martin, who as finance minister had legendarily slain Canada's deficit, as a corrupt, weak-kneed nincompoop. In the third, their "Not a leader" messaging helped cast a geeky law professor, Stéphane Dion, as a foolhardy eco-radical bent on carbon-taxing the country's economy into oblivion. This time, they've turned Ignatieff's resumé into a liability by exploiting one of Canadians' deepest cultural prejudices: their suspicion of ambition.
The Conservative push to define Ignatieff as an un-Canadian striver hit full stride in 2009, less than a month after he was confirmed as Liberal leader. In one attack ad, he was shown in his talking-head days, saying he wished Canada's U.N. peacekeeping record was "a little better," to which the narrator replied sarcastically: "Yes, if only we could all be a little better, just like Michael."
In another ad, Ignatieff was quoted referring to himself as "horribly arrogant" and a "cosmopolitan." "He's not in it for you," the narrator concluded. "He's just in it for himself. It's the only reason he's back. Michael Ignatieff: just visiting." The ads directed Canadians to the website ignatieff.me—the Montenegrin domain an ironic slap, given his years reporting on the Balkan wars—and set the tone for two years of Ignatieff-as-arriviste frothing from across the political spectrum. Absent a "birther" movement, Canada had itself a " 'broader" movement.
By the time of the current campaign, the Conservatives had only to riff on the theme, ending even ads on taxation policy with the tagline "Ignatieff. He Didn't Come Back for You." Missing the point spectacularly, Liberal supporters parried by calling the tactic a slight against the 2 million to 3 million Canadians who live and work abroad. Esteemed columnists and bitter expats took up the case, accusing the Conservatives of betraying Canada's image as a multicultural, internationally engaged nation.
But the ads weren't really appealing to Canadian parochialism. If that had been the Conservatives' aim, they'd have hammered Ignatieff for being out of touch. They were after his motivations. Ignatieff's sin wasn't that he'd left—it was that he was too big for his sensible denim britches.
It's a truism in Canada that the country's political culture follows from its rural roots. The compromises that forged the country beginning with Confederation in 1867 also led to a parliamentary system that favors sparsely populated provinces like Saskatchewan. Such is the skew that Harper's Conservatives won minority governments in the past three elections without taking a single seat in the country's three largest cities. Their base of support in outlying areas—Western and rural Canada, plus the suburbs—was enough.
Jeremy Keehn is a former senior editor at The Walrus magazine in Toronto. He now works in New York.