TLIAF: Case of the Blues
- Thread starter Kermode
- Start date
1. Arthur Meighen
Arthur Meighen
1941–1946
The old man's back again
Arthur Meighen's second time as leader of the Conservative Party did not come naturally. His first could hardly be called anything other than a failure; outfoxed and out-campaigned by William Lyon Mackenzie King's Liberals, he served less than two years as prime minister across two mandates. Upon his resignation in 1927, he found himself cast into the wilderness, as his successor, R. B. Bennett, wanted nothing to do with him. By 1932, however, their relationship had thawed, and Bennett— now prime minister— offered Meighen appointment to the Senate and the position of government leader in said chamber; Meighen readily accepted.
Eager to rehabilitate his image and become one of the party's elder statesmen, Meighen threw himself into his new job. He proved a loyal lieutenant, swiftly shepherding legislation through the chamber— occasionally over his own objections. But he also proved an able senator, carefully scrutinizing legislation and sponsoring dozens of amendments, and delivering powerful and eloquent arguments; he was widely respected, even across the aisle. Meighen had not simply become his party's elder statesman; he had re-emerged as one of its leading figures.
Meighen's second wind coincided with a downturn for the party at large. The 1935 election saw Bennett's government swept from office, falling from 134 seats to a mere 39; Robert Manion fared no better in 1940, failing even to win his own seat. Entering the 19th Parliament leaderless, the party caucus selected Richard Hanson to serve in an interim capacity. Hanson proved competent, but unremarkable; the fiercest opposition came from elsewhere on the Conservative benches. Chief among them was Meighen, as he pilloried the Liberals' handling of the war effort: the lack of preparedness, the insufficient mobilization, and— most frequently— the refusal to introduce conscription. Between performance and principles, Conservatives saw their next leader.
Yet Meighen was resistant to the call— now 67, he thought himself too old to lead— and instead tried to throw his weight behind the Liberal-Progressive premier of Manitoba, John Bracken. But Bracken was uninterested, and so once again eyes were on Meighen. In an attempt to dodge his own conscription to the leadership, Meighen set an impossible condition: bypassing a leadership convention by way of unanimous approval by the party executive; it was to his surprise, then, that he received it. And so Meighen was once more the leader of the Conservative Party.
Having accepted the leadership, Meighen now needed a seat in the House of Commons. York South MP Alan Cockeram dutifully stepped aside, vacating the safest Conservative seat in the country. It should have been an easy victory, but William Lyon Mackenzie King could not tolerate Meighen's comeback. Aside having a personal rivalry that dated back to Meighen's first leadership, Mackenzie King feared that Meighen's full-throated call for conscription would divide the country even worse than during the First World War. Thus, while the Liberals obeyed tradition and didn't stand a candidate, they provided resources to the CCF campaign, who did stand: Joseph Noseworthy. Noseworthy ran an aggressive campaign, blasting Meighen's insufficient call for total war (as he only promised "conscription of men", and not, as Noseworthy proposed, "conscription of wealth"), claiming he was under the influence of various business magnates, and deriding him as a relic of the past. Noseworthy's campaign proved shockingly effective, as the race tightened to a dead heat— but Meighen managed to squeak through.
Once more in the House of Commons, Meighen continued his assault on Mackenzie King's war effort with renewed fervour. While Mackenzie King remained opposed to introducing conscription, he could not ignore that many in English Canada agreed with Meighen's lobbying; so, in response, he announced a plebiscite asking if voters would release him from his promise not to introduce it. Meighen harshly condemned Mackenzie King for the manoeuvre, claiming it not only further delayed a full commitment to war, but that his indecision showed an unfitness to lead. But Meighen's attacks missed the mark; voters appreciated Mackenzie King's flexibility and pragmatism— he summed up his position as "conscription if necessary, but not necessarily conscription"— and his willingness to consult the public. Mackenzie King had outfoxed Meighen once more.
As the Second World War wore on, it was Mackenzie King, not Meighen, who won public opinion. As the tides turned in the Allies' favour, Mackenzie King's cautious approach was vindicated as sensible in the eyes of the public, while Meighen's calls for full conscription and total war increasingly came across not as principled but merely ideological. Worse still, by the time 1945 rolled around, the Second World War was clearly winding down, and parties began to present platforms for a post-war world; and Meighen, who had positioned himself as a wartime leader, seemed unfit to lead a post-war government.
Conservative morale was low heading into the 1945 election, and none expected to seriously challenge Liberal domination. Their hope was merely that they could crack it, perhaps reduce them to a minority government. But the surprise victory of their Ontario cousins in an election of their own a mere week before the federal vote buoyed hopes. Soon, the party's ads screamed "ONTARIO SHOWS! ONLY MEIGHEN CAN WIN!"
But it was not to be. The Conservatives shed a further four seats, reducing their seat count to 35— only a handful ahead of the CCF— and Meighen, now running in his old riding of Portage la Prairie, failed to win his seat.
Meighen's first instinct was to resign, but didn't feel comfortable leaving his party directionless once more. After appointing Hanson the leader in the House of Commons once more, he quietly began to search for his successor. Meighen met with the few non-Liberal provincial leaders there were— Bracken, as before; George Drew, premier of Ontario; and Royal Maitland, deputy premier of British Columbia— but found that none of them were interested in leaving their safe perch in provincial politics to lead a distant-second party through a full term of parliament. With his caucus growing restless, he finally conceded, and resigned in 1946. The party, it seemed, would dodder on without him.
Meanwhile, the Liberal Party's hegemony remained unchallenged. Mackenzie King had out-campaigned Meighen one final time.
2. Richard Hanson
Richard Burpee Hanson
1946–1948 (interim)
Nothing left to give
Following Meighen's resignation, Richard Hanson once more found himself thrust into the leadership. With his history of leading the caucus in trying times— indeed, he was already their parliamentary leader, having been named as such by Meighen before the latter's departure— he was the obvious choice to assume the mantle again. Hanson had even less desire to lead the party than before, but felt duty-bound to provide some semblance of opposition while the party struggled to find its way; accordingly, Hanson agreed to stay on as interim leader for up to two years, giving ample time for the party to rejuvenate itself.
However, with the party apparatus disorganized and dispirited, the task of renewal seemingly fell to the membership. To that end, a group of Conservative activists organized a convention in Port Hope, Ontario, to "discuss Canada's post-war problems." Although unofficial and unsanctioned, the "Port Hopefuls"— as they would later be known— were sure that such a roundtable would capture attention and shape the party's future.
The convention itself was part post-mortem, part strategy and part policy. When it came to assessing the root of the party's decline, the attendees were unanimous: the party's decline could be directly attributed to the tenor of Meighen's leadership— his focus on the war effort had come at the exclusion of developing a clear social policy, which put the party out-of-touch with the public mood. Conservative inaction had left a void in the political spectrum, one that their opponents eagerly filled: the Liberals consolidated their grip on the centre ground, while radical upstarts Co-operative Commonwealth Federation and Social Credit jostled to snatch the mantle of opposition from them.
Thus, it was resolved that the Conservative Party would need to adopt a comprehensive social policy as part of articulating a broader vision for the country. But attendees were likewise keenly aware of their disadvantageous position, starting from behind the rest of the pack. To regain relevance, they believed, the Conservative Party needed to be bold; it needed to be… radical.
Conservatives had long feared the CCF, but it was undeniable that the CCF's utopian message appealed to the public— as indicated not just by the party's rise, but the Liberals' ability to poach their ideas with great success. With that in mind, the Port Hopefuls devised a bold new strategy: the Conservative Party would not position themselves to the Liberals' right, nor seek to knock them off their perch and claim their territory; instead, it would position itself between the Liberals and the CCF. Their new platform would combine a progressive social and economic policy with a moderate image; the message would be that message would be that the Conservative Party would enact reform that was radical, yet responsible.
By the convention's end, delegates had drafted their manifesto. On one hand, it reaffirmed support for free enterprise, free association and preservation of British institutions; on the other, it called for full employment, enshrined collective bargaining and union rights, an increase in social security measures and a government-funded medical system.
As expected, the Port Hope conference ignited fierce debate within the party. Some, such as the campus clubs, enthusiastically embraced the Port Hope Manifesto, and praised it as a "Modern" or "Humane Toryism". Others, such as the media pundits and business leaders, were aghast, and denounced the platform as "Red Toryism" ("red" in reference to socialism). The party's grandees took a cautious approach: they were cognizant a new direction was needed, and intrigued by a method that would blunt the CCF, but still very skeptical of the radical populism espoused. With the factions drawn, it was clear that the Port Hope Manifesto would shape the next leadership convention— and with that, the future of the party.
Hanson, however, was playing no role in it. Although personally sympathetic to the Port Hopefuls, his position as a mere interim leader left him reluctant to advance any major policy positions; his duty, as he saw it, was to merely keep the party together before handing it off to the permanent leader. Accordingly, he limited his role to simply holding the government to account— although his advanced age made his opposition more tepid than before.
Unfortunately, Hanson's age caught up with him sooner than he anticipated. He passed away on July 14, 1948, three months before the selection of his successor. He was succeeded as interim leader by Gordon Graydon.
3. George Alexander Drew
George Alexander Drew
1948–1954
The patrician
In 1948, George Drew was already the most prominent Conservative voice in Canada. Heading the only Conservative government in the country, he had become his party's leading voice; his clashes with Mackenzie King's government had won him national attention, with some even calling him "the real leader of the opposition". Federal organizers had long hoped to draft him into the leadership— but Drew declined an offer in 1945 from outgoing-leader Arthur Meighen, preferring provincial government to federal opposition.
By 1948, however, the situation had changed. Ontario's election returned a shocking result: while his government was re-elected with a majority, a strong local challenge had unseated Drew himself. Though he legally remained premier, Drew was incensed by his loss, and privately blamed it on a supposed communist plot. Instead of re-entering the legislature via a by-election, as customary, and he instead decided to change careers: he resigned as premier and announced he would stand for the vacant federal leadership.
Drew's candidacy was met with enthusiasm; he was, in many ways, the ideal choice to lead the party. As a former premier, he had a degree of recognition, experience and credibility that was otherwise lacking among Conservatives. From an ideological perspective, he combined moderate, Port Hope-esque policy with a fiercely conservative rhetoric, allowing him to mend the divide gripping the party. But most importantly all, Drew was a proven winner. Under his leadership, Ontario Conservatives went from languishing in opposition to becoming the dominant force in Ontario politics, first by supplanting a tired Liberal Party and then by sidelining an insurgent CCF. It was tempting to draw parallels between the Ontario Tories in the 30s and the federal Tories in the 40s, and likewise it was tempting to see Drew as the road to success once more.
The party swiftly lined up behind him– previously declared candidates Donald Fleming and Garfield Case both dropped out to endorse him— and he defeated Diefenbaker on the first ballot by an overwhelming margin, 83% to 17%. For the first time in years, the party was in high spirits, picturing a quick trek out of the wilderness and back into government– after all, hadn't he done that in Ontario? But some were not so sure; as one cynical party member commented, "ghost delegates with ghost ballots, marked by the ghostly hidden hand of Bay Street, are going to pick George Drew, and he'll deliver a ghost-written speech that'll cheer us all up, as we march briskly into a political graveyard."
Entering the Commons via Hanson's old seat, Drew hit the ground running. In his his maiden speech, Drew launched into a blistering, two-hour assault on the government for disregarding provincial rights in a drive to centralization. It was the strongest condemnation to come from the Leader of the Opposition in years, and the most relevant in longer still. Newly-christened Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent gave an eloquent rebuttal, but it was clear that the Conservative Party was once more a force to be reckoned with.
Fortunes had reversed, and polling now put the Conservatives solidly in second place— still not within striking distance of the government, but pulling away from the CCF. Heading into the 1949 election, the party envisioned a two-election strategy: a substantial gain of seats in '49 to cement their status as the leading opposition, and using their stronger position to win outright in '53.
But none had expected Drew's struggle on the campaign trail. Drew was the quintessential patrician, down to his preferred address— "Colonel Drew", in reference to his service during the First World War. Stiff, aloof and awkward, he did not have a "common touch" to relate to voters. This had not been a problem before, but now Drew was against someone who could not be more different: St. Laurent, who had developed an image as a kindly, genial patriarch, affectionately called "Uncle Louis". Drew may have been a decade younger than St. Laurent, but it was Drew who looked like a man from another era.
When the results came in, the Tories netted only modest gains— 10 seats, putting them at 45— although the CCF had fallen back to 15, securing the Tories in the Opposition (the Liberals, of course, towered over them both at 185). It was a mild reprieve but it signified that Drew would need to do more.
Drew doubted he could re-invent himself as a "man of the people", and so stepped up his previous approach: criticize the government from all angles, in hopes of casting the Liberals as incompetent while portraying his Tories as having a robust platform. Yet Drew did not seem to hold all the answers, as he struggled to uphold his attacks in the face of rebuttals. Drew proposed a massive, $500 million reduction in taxes; but when the Liberals pounced and asked what he would cut to reach that figure, Drew had no response. Most famously, Drew alleged that the civil service had been infiltrated by Marxists, and that St. Laurent had failed to take precautions; but when pressed, Drew could not substantiate the claims, and he was left with egg on his face. Attacking on multiple fronts, and unable to back any up, gave the impression not that Drew was providing a coherent, alternate vision but instead that he was flailing, trying to find any avenue of attack. This contrasted starkly with the CCF leader, M.J. Coldwell, who had a simple, straightforward message: that the government ought to be expanding its social programs at a faster rate.
The 1953 election saw the results of their approaches. The Conservatives had slid back to 38 seats, while the CCF had surged to 51— and formed the Official Opposition. It was a devastating blow to the party, and left their future more uncertain than ever before.
Drew was outraged, once more imagining a communist plot behind his failure and the CCF's rise. His instinct was to resign, but his caucus— unhappy but without anyone to turn to on such short notice— persuaded him to stay on for the time being, just until they could organize another convention. Drew acquiesced, reluctantly.
But Drew wouldn't make it to the convention. Only a year later, in the winter of 1954, he was struck by a debilitating meningitis attack. Warned by his doctors that he would not recover unless he retired, Drew took the opportunity to do just that. Drew was perfectly content to retire, and not just because of his own failings: watching the party's slide over the past decade, Drew had begun to doubt the future of conservatism in Canada. Or at least on a federal level; the Ontario Tories continued to win election after election, and Drew immensely regret his decision to leave Queen's Park.
He was not terribly missed by his colleagues. As a parting snub, caucus selected Drew's former rival in Ontario politics, Earl Rowe, to succeed him as interim leader.
Sidney Earle Smith
1955–1959
When it comes to your world, I'm lost
Smith was the star of the academic world. He had served as the President of the University of Toronto since 1945; before that, the President of the University of Manitoba from 1934 to 1944; and before that, the Dean of Dalhousie Law School from 1929 to 1934. Though he had never held, or even stood for, elected office, Smith was a prominent Conservative donor, lobbyist and activist, so there was no guessing where his allegiances lay. And as soon as his name was suggested off-hand, the party could not shake it.
Indeed, Smith was an attractive candidate. Born to working-class parents in Nova Scotia, his success was entirely his own; yet he was humble about it, joking he "knew the smell of the bilge in a fishing boat before [he] could read." His academic career had taken him to three different provinces, laying roots in each. He had achieved much during his university presidencies: restoring the reputation of the struggling and scandal-plagued U of M, and overseeing major expansion at U of T.
Additionally, Smith was a strong enough candidate to once more prevent the radical Diefenbaker's bid. Diefenbaker had not given up his leadership ambitions; he had spent the Drew years burnishing his reputation and building support in preparation for another bid. By 1955, Diefenbaker's network was strong enough to mount a serious campaign, one that the party was unsure if they could block. But Diefenbaker drew his strongest support from Manitoba, Ontario and Nova Scotia— provinces where Smith had lived, and could conceivably usurp him.
The establishment had their sights on Smith, but were worried he would decline the offer. And so, they first laid the groundwork in a sort of public campaign: mentioning his name to reporters, then letting the media run with it. By the time they approached Smith, pundits and public both had warmed to the idea— and Smith, though still hesitant, answered the call.
As expected, Smith's candidacy was enough to upset Diefenbaker's carefully-built network, as star-struck delegates happily pledged for the accomplished academic; Smith drew particularly large support from Ontario and Nova Scotia, both eager to support their native son (adopted, in Ontario's case). Diefenbaker still managed a respectable 28%, a healthy improvement over his showing in '48— but still nowhere near Smith's commanding 72%.
In what was becoming a trend, Smith stood for Drew's old seat of Wellington South. But, upon entering the House, Smith found himself out of his element. Academia had not prepared him for the vicious cut-and-thrust of politics, and immediately assuming a leadership role gave no time to acclimatize. Smith's initial forays into Question Period were hesitant, cautious and maddeningly unassertive, as he often had trouble getting a word in edgewise. Still, Smith displayed an eagerness to learn and a willingness to accept criticism, and with the election still some time out, none thought much of it; he would come into his own.
Smith's first big test came in mid-1956, with the Pipeline Debate. The Liberal government had decided that a west-to-east pipeline would be necessary to meet Ontario and Quebec's growing energy needs, and tapped the American-owned TransCanada PipeLines, LC to construct it. In a rare display of unity, both the CCF and the Tories objected to TCPL's involvement, under the grounds that an American company ought not be in control or ownership of Canadian resources (though they differed in solution: the CCF wanted the pipeline under control of a Crown corporation, while the Conservatives simply preferred a Canadian company). The two parties pledged to filibuster the project, in hopes it would miss its deadline, fall through and the pipeline project would have to be restarted with a their preferred solution instead. But the Liberals were having none of it, attempting to force closure at every stage, and whipping MPs to do it. But most controversial was when the Speaker of the House reversed a decision to allow further debate on a procedural issue under apparent pressure from the government. The pipeline was ultimately approved, but the whole affair had incited public outage. In truth, the public did not much care about the pipeline, but that only made them more confused and appalled at the Liberals' conduct, as they perceived it as running roughshod over parliament for such a minor issue. Public support for the Liberals fell, and the Conservatives were the largest beneficiary.
Months later, the Suez Crisis provided Smith's second big test. As the United Kingdom and France invaded Egypt to reclaim the Suez Canal, Canada— under direction of Lester Pearson, the Secretary of State for External Affairs— objected to the intervention and called for a peaceful resolution. Pearson's diplomatic efforts averted any large-scale war— for which he was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize— but they didn't satisfy everyone at home; many Canadians still viewed Britain as the "Mother Country", and felt inaction was tantamount to betrayal. Certainly, this would have been an avenue of attack for the Tories to exploit in English Canada— so it was to the party's shock that Smith publicly backed Pearson's policy. It was a principled stand, and one that helped sell Canada's non-intervention to the public; but it hardly helped his own party.
Perhaps Smith saw no need to press the issue. In spite of his still-shaky performances, Smith had emerged as a popular and respected figure across the spectrum, and his party was seeing the benefit. Polls placed the Conservatives at 32%, a close second behind the Liberals (34%) and safely ahead of the CCF (24%). With Drew's failures still fresh, though, the Tories tried not to get too excited— but this was looking like the rebirth of a Tory Canada.
But campaigning was rough. For all that the public was tiring of the Liberal government, the party was still an effective electoral machine; and while St. Laurent was looking increasingly tired, he could still put on a show as genial Uncle Louis. The Tories found it tough to compete; their donor base had shrunk and their infrastructure dried up, and Smith struggled on the trail. Once more, his experience in academia was his undoing; dry and staid, his speeches were more suited to a classroom lecture than a campaign rally. And while Smith and the Conservatives hit the Liberals over their arrogance and lack of vision, Smith was unable to articulate much of a vision himself— most damningly, he could not even give a reason for why he entered politics. As the campaign wore on, the Liberal lead grew while the Conservatives entered a battle for second among the CCF.
In the end, for all that the public was tiring of the Liberals, the had not been convinced to give someone else a shot at government. The Liberals hung onto their majority, albeit by the narrowest margins, at 137 seats; the CCF gained slightly to hit 59; the Conservatives rebounded to 50; and Social Credit hopped up to 19. It was an ambivalent result for the Conservatives; it was their best showing since 1930, but they still fell short of early expectations in the campaign and also failed to recapture Official Opposition from the CCF.
But Smith felt he had let his party down, and decided to re-double his efforts on honing his political acumen by regularly touring the country, meeting people and giving speeches. To Smith's benefit was that St. Laurent had retired and was succeeded by Walter Harris. Harris had long been seen as the heir apparent, serving concurrently as finance minister and house leader— but his time as house leader coincided with the Pipeline Debate, and Harris' public image was irrevocably tarnished by it. Polling revealed a dead heat, but seemed to suggest that, for the first time in a long while, the Conservatives were in the lead— and that the Liberals had slipped to third, behind the CCF. Smith was increasingly seen as the "prime minister in waiting".
OF course, he would never get the keys to 24 Sussex. Smith died suddenly of a stroke on March 17, 1959.
His death was keenly felt; in his years in Ottawa, Smith had earned respect from parliamentarians of all stripes for his friendliness, humbleness and candor. Though protocol didn't require it, Harris nonetheless extended the offer for a state funeral.
To this day, Smith is seen as a "what could have been", and often referred to as "the best prime minister Canada never had." In what is perhaps a sign of fate, the resulting by-election for Rosedale— his riding from 1957-1959— would be won by future prime minister Donald Macdonald.