When we think of charismatic, visionary Canadian politicians the surname Trudeau usually comes to mind, whether prefaced with a “Pierre”, or most recently, a “Justin”. Most other public elected officials more embody the sensibilities of the nation its citizens affectionately call, “The Great White North” -- values such as hard work, decency, civic-mindedness, tolerance, and a preference for small-c conservative values which emphasize virtuous humility. Canadians tend to be mistrustful of many of the associated trappings inherent in modern politics -- soaring, “hopey-changey” rhetoric, sweeping pronouncements, “change the world” policies soothing to the ear, yet devilishly difficult to implement.
That’s why the Trudeaus, with their easy grace, cultivated manners and fluent propensity for memorably clever language, seem more like an aberration than the norm. Give us prose over poetry, is the typically pragmatic voter response from a people who quietly, unobtrusively, prefer to get on with the job of living in the prosaic world we make (and remake) every day versus pinning hopes on a utopian future that might never come.
In this select category of inspirational leaders, Canadians have had room in their hearts for another person, a man who set an example not only for how he lived, but just as significantly, for how he died. The world at large may not be largely acquainted with Jack Layton, former leader of the left-wing New Democratic Party and official Leader of the Opposition, yet his story is precisely the kind that speaks towards the urgent global need for politicians who can not only truly serve but relate to the average person who pays their taxes on time, plays by the rules, and has dreams not only for themselves, but for their children. In this era of Trump-like men on horseback, or tone-deaf elitists who have never really held a day job more interested in telling people how to live and how to think, men (and women) like Layton are sorely needed --and missed.
He was a modern 21st-century social democrat in an otherwise conservative-dominated era, who realized that the most effective response to his opponents was to employ the politics of relentless optimism and hope, a style which predated Barack Obama’s rhetoric by many years. Unlike the 44th president, Layton would never change, show outward frustration, or be transformed by relentless opposition into a man who sought to win re-election not by the strength of his own ideas but rather by tearing down his opponent’s. In maintaining his positivity throughout his career, Layton paved the way for Justin Trudeau’s successive (and successful) election approach.
Layton’s “politics of joy” style was the natural manifestation of an inherently warm, outgoing and gregarious personality, but also a demeanour he deliberately and sagaciously cultivated in his electoral and parliamentary confrontations with Stephen Harper’s coolly technocratic Conservatives. The government’s image was as distant, technocratic, competent stewards who sought to run the country without overt sentiment, using the cold calculus of appealing to their base voters by employing thinly-veiled hyper-partisanship. Theirs was a rule characterized by the desire to rule by the head, not the heart. They ruled, and won, by exploiting wedge issues, pitting regions, social classes, races and genders against each other, driven by targeting only the minimal percentage of the popular vote needed to return a parliamentary majority. Layton was different: emotional, voluble, compassionate, advocating tolerance and inclusiveness even across the parliamentary aisle with those who would label him naïve and dreaming.
Invariably, his very openness prompted the media to portray Layton as either “Smilin’ Jack” or “Le bon Jack” in French-speaking Quebec, or just “Jack” on his party’s campaign advertisements -- the kind of guy you’d like to have a beer with. In this guise it was all too easy to see him not running for national leadership, but rather as “Best Friend.” When he did talk policy pundits and political scientists were frequently skeptical of his vision of taking his perennially also-ran third- and fourth-place party into government and himself into the rarefied office of prime minister.
Yet underneath the public persona was a steely, highly intelligent political theorist, a doctor of political science and former professor at Toronto’s Ryerson University, who had given careful thought to analyzing the success of the Conservative playbook and how he could make an end-run around it to win over the hearts and minds of Canadian voters.
He was also effective. Prime Minister Stephen Harper startled parliament by publicly lauding Layton for his months of arduous behind-the-scenes work in bringing together disparate parties in the government’s formal apology to thousands of indigenous First Nations students who’d been put through the awful federal-sponsored residential school system and suffered shocking abuse.
John Gilbert (Jack) Layton was born on July 18, 1950, in Montreal, and raised in the affluent suburb of Hudson. His was a pedigree derived from public service: grandfather Gilbert Layton had been a cabinet minister in the conservative Union Nationale government of Quebec Premier Maurice Duplessis; his father, Robert, was a cabinet minister in the Conservative government of Brian Mulroney.
Jack grew up to have an athlete’s swagger and a powerful muscular build from cycling, weight-training and competitive swimming. His mustache was a trademark, along with his habit of stroking it as he talked with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. So too was his avid dedication to biking, and he could often be seen commuting back and forth to work through even inclement weather.
After graduating from McGill University, he moved to Toronto to do a PhD in political science at York. His marriage failed in 1983. Five years later he married Toronto school trustee Olivia Chow, who subsequently joined him as an elected member of city council and then Parliament. The pair would become inseparable fixtures on the socio-activism scene for the rest of his life.
Layton was first enticed into elected politics in 1982 by former Toronto mayor John Sewell, who was looking for a reformist partner to run for city council with him in one of the city’s then two-councillor wards. Sewell was drawn to Layton in part because of the teaching methods he employed in his political science courses on urban affairs. He sent his students out of the classroom to get involved in political causes. He also had close ties with leading figures of the city’s progressive element on council and had written books on urban issues such as homelessness.
Layton brought three gifts into politics: an overwhelming energy, an ability to think of imaginative solutions and a skill -- which became more evident when he got to Ottawa -- at helping people find common ground. Once elected to council, for example, he began a campaign to ban smoking in public places – one small step at a time so as not to ignite insurmountable public and commercial hostility. He started with elevators, and went from there.
He began his campaign to support alternative energy sources by getting the city to establish a single, very visible wind turbine on the Canadian National Exhibition grounds beside the busiest freeway into downtown. He came up with the idea of giving owners of commercial buildings retrofit loans, which created jobs and reduced energy costs. He was an early voice for the support of those afflicted with HIV-AIDS.
He quickly became seen as leader of the progressive group on council, not entirely to his benefit. Some of his allies quietly -- and not-so-quietly -- resented his outstanding talent at garnering media attention and what were described as his “performing flea” flair.
He ran for mayor in 1991, trading in his jeans, long hair and owlish glasses for suits, a trimmed coif and contact lenses. But a substantial chunk of left-leaning voters in the university and professional communities of downtown Toronto -- the so-called Cadillac socialists -- were turned off by his brashness and stayed home. He lost.
It was during this campaign that one day, as a young first-time voter, I opened the front door of my hovel to come face to face with a campaigning Layton. He left me impressed with his warmth, charisma and, while I did not share his political views, he won brownie points for spending close to an hour chatting. That he would walk up three rickety floors above a restaurant to speak to the occupant of a rat-infested apartment so small we could only speak on the stoop made a powerful impression. Though our paths would criss-cross over the next twenty years I would never forget how, during that first meeting, he made a young, naïve nobody feel his views were appreciated. By God, the man cared.
The mayoral loss led to one of the most remarkable public personality re-inventions in Canadian politics. Layton re-crafted himself, muted himself, buried the brassiness. He returned to university teaching and began directing his attention to federal politics. He ran twice unsuccessfully for Parliament . In between he won election to the regional Metropolitan Toronto Council and became a leading national figure at the Federation of Canadian Municipalities.
In 2004, a year after winning the NDP leadership, he ran again for Parliament -- this time successfully -- in the riding of Toronto-Danforth.
Like the reformist Toronto municipal politicians with whom he had such close relationships dating from the 1970s, Layton more probably fit the label of “Red Tory” than anything else, that historic Canadian political culture that envisioned, in philosopher George Grant’s words, “a country which had a strong sense of the common good … that was possible under the individualism of the capitalist dream.”
In the calibration of his political legacy, effectively answering the steely appeal of the conservative playbook will be near the top of the list. Brian Topp, the party’s former federal president, said that at a meeting of Socialist International he attended in Athens, Layton’s electoral success was a central topic of conversation. Everyone wanted to know how he’d done it. Topp called him a once-in-a-generation politician.
He will be remembered for his footprints into Quebec. The NDP is now still a serious player in the province, not a will-o’-the-wisp that will vanish with Layton’s passing.
He will be remembered for successfully re-shaping the party into his own image. He was not out of organized labour’s ranks, or the West’s social gospel movement or the academy’s socialist salons. Jack Layton’s NDP became something new -- broader, less ideological, more inclusive, a party whose next leaders likely will be able to declare, like its last leader, that she or he is in the running to be prime minister.
He revived the party. He gave it profile.
In the 2004 federal election, his first as party leader, he declared that Liberal Prime Minister Paul Martin was responsible for the deaths of homeless people by failing to provide funds for affordable housing.
He advocated talking to the Taliban as part of giving Afghanistan stable government.
He called for the repeal of the Clarity Act, setting out the precise terms for Quebec to separate from the rest of Canada, and promised instead to recognize any declaration of independence by Quebec following a referendum yes-vote.
In 2008, he tried to assemble a Liberal-NDP coalition with the support of the pro-independence Bloc Québécois as a constitutional alternative to the minority Conservative government should it lose the confidence of the House of Commons -- an action that infuriated Western Canada and fractured the Liberals.
He succeeded in the 2011 federal election in winning official opposition status for the NDP -- with 103 seats – -- the first time in its history, and capturing the majority of constituencies in Quebec. In the previous election, in 2008, he’d brought the party to 37 seats, just six short of the previous all-time high.
His message eschewed anger and attack ads, which he knew female voters didn’t like. For the NDP to use those tactics, he said, would merely motivate the Conservatives’ base while turning off its own. Polls showed that Canadians saw in him the image he wanted to project: warmth, approachableness, an absence of cynicism, positivity.
He offered voters an alternative political agenda to the Conservatives that stepped outside the mantra of tax-cutting and balanced budgets and talked about better pensions, education, health care and the wrongs of economic inequality. At the same time, he avoided a divisive culture war with the Conservatives. He repeatedly told his party’s inner circle that he didn’t think the Conservatives were evil, just misguided.
Layton and his team professionalized the NDP and made it a much more research-driven, voter-focused and tactically innovative political organization. He skilfully held his party’s base while expanding its accessible universe -- piece by piece, election over election.
And Layton was determined to demonstrate to Canadians that the NDP was ready to lead the country.
It was not to be.
Instead, the cancer that he thought he was defeating launched a devastating, final assault on his body. He had promised the country in July he would be in his seat in the House of Commons when Parliament resumed on Sept. 19, 2011. On August 22nd, he died, at the age of 61.
The manner of his death, was, in many ways both a continuation of his positive brand of politics and a clarion call to those who have come to be jaded by empty promises. Just hours before he passed, word came that he’d penned an extraordinary document -- a letter to the Canadian people which almost immediately passed into popular culture as an iconic document. He knew his time had come. It is a letter full of hope and purpose, and when historians remember Jack Layton in the years and decades to come, I cannot imagine their prose seeking a wide audience without containing some portion of this piece of inspiration given voice:
“Canada is a great country, one of the hopes of the world. We can be a better one – a country of greater equality, justice, and opportunity. We can build a prosperous economy and a society that shares its benefits more fairly. We can look after our seniors. We can offer better futures for our children. We can do our part to save the world’s environment. We can restore our good name in the world. We can do all of these things because we finally have a party system at the national level where there are real choices; where your vote matters; where working for change can actually bring about change…consider the alternatives; and consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together. Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.
My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”