by Denis Smith
When Macmillan decided to send the secretary of state for commonwealth relations, Duncan Sandys, to meet Commonwealth heads of government individually to discuss Britain’s interest in Europe, Diefenbaker protested that Sandys was the wrong person, that a meeting of Commonwealth prime ministers should be convened instead, and that France, in any case, would not agree to Britain’s terms. “I told him that I had seen a report re France to the effect that France was continuing to insist that joining the Common Market must be on the basis of the full acceptance of the Rome Treaty, and that during the discussions that the United Kingdom Government had made it clear that it did not intend by joining to abrogate the trade and industrial products from Canada, nor Agricultural products from Canada, Australia and New Zealand.”3 Diefenbaker insisted that he did not object in principle to British entry, but press reports suggested that his purpose in calling for a full meeting of prime ministers was “to form a common front to protect Commonwealth trade interests in [the] British market.” Failing that, a proposed conference of Commonwealth finance ministers in September 1961 seemed to be the first occasion for a collective response.4
In preparation for Sandys’s visit to Ottawa, Macmillan assured Diefenbaker on July 3 that “the decision we have to take now is not whether to join the Common Market, but whether to open negotiations with a view to finding out what special arrangements would be obtainable. Previously we had hoped to avoid entering negotiations unless there was a high prospect of success. But since it is not possible to clarify the position in advance, we feel that the risk of a breakdown might have to be accepted.” That seemed partly intended as reassurance to other Commonwealth countries that Britain would go into negotiations determined to protect their trading interests, and to accept rejection if it could not do so.5 Macmillan explained that Sandys would discuss “how best to organise a system of close and continuous Commonwealth consultation to cover the period of preparations for negotiations, the negotiations themselves, and the eventual decision… whether or not to join the EEC.”6
Diefenbaker and Drew were convinced that the Macmillan government had already made a decision in favour of entry, and that all this reassurance might be a trick. Open protest was thus a legitimate means of forcing a British retreat. But Norman Robertson and Robert Bryce were disturbed by the signs of public conflict, and argued for a return to quiet diplomacy. Bryce advised Diefenbaker that he should express Canada’s apprehensions “without making any statement either to Sandys or in public that could be used to blame Canada for upsetting a move that is now the evident desire of the UK Parliament and public, as well as the UK government.” Instead, he should argue privately that the United Kingdom had little bargaining strength against the six, and that if Commonwealth trade could not be protected, the association would be seriously damaged “at the very time that it appears likely to prove the most valuable in helping to bridge the widening gap between the white peoples and coloured peoples.” The Commonwealth, then, was worth more to British power and prestige than membership in the community; the United Kingdom should recognize that and draw back.7
The prime minister let Howard Green, George Hees, Donald Fleming, and Alvin Hamilton take the lead in meetings with Duncan Sandys on July 14; but he met with Sandys as well, and added his own gruff message of opposition. He believed that the Commonwealth would be damaged: “that was my feeling and it might be emotional as I had a deep attachment to the Commonwealth.” If the United Kingdom joined the market, Diefenbaker said, “Canada and Australia would be driven into closer relations with the United States.” He suggested that the United States was trying to “push” the United Kingdom into the Common Market (a description of American methods that had particular meaning for Diefenbaker since he had acquired the Rostow memorandum in May), but Sandys denied it. The joint communiqué after the meetings reflected Canada’s “grave concern” over the British initiative. The Canadian press responded coolly, in its turn, to Canada’s obstructiveness.8
Following the Sandys mission, Macmillan told Diefenbaker in late July that his cabinet had decided to enter negotiations with the European Economic Community. He recognized that there were substantial Commonwealth trade interests at risk, but he reiterated that only negotiations could reveal what special arrangements could be secured. On the political side, he asserted Britain’s belief that it could maintain its Commonwealth role more effectively from inside the community than from outside. He spoke of “consultation” and “close contact” with Commonwealth countries throughout the negotiations.9 On August 3 the British parliament gave its support to a British application for entry.
Canada then took its campaign to the meeting of Commonwealth ministers of finance and trade in Accra, Ghana, in mid-September, where Duncan Sandys faced twelve countries opposing British entry to the community. The debate, occupying an entire day, was framed by an opening speech from George Hees and a closing speech by Donald Fleming. Hees argued that Britain would lose, not gain, economic benefits in Europe; that Canadian trade would face “an entirely new and seriously disturbing situation … extensive damage – and in some cases, irreparable damage”; and that Commonwealth ties of “tradition, trust and trade” would suffer. He urged Britain to maintain its Commonwealth trading arrangements unchanged. Fleming made “a pleading speech” dedicated, in his own words, to “the Commonwealth and its glorious contribution to freedom, peace, human government and the progress of mankind.”10 The conference communiqué expressed “grave apprehension” over the British initiative and doubted whether the interests of Commonwealth countries could be protected. The UK delegation, in response, promised “close consultation with all Commonwealth Governments at all stages in the negotiations.”11
Christopher Young reported accurately in the Ottawa Citizen that Canada had led other nations in “ganging up” on Britain at Accra, and that they had offered Britain a choice between the European Economic Community and the Commonwealth. Having done that, Diefenbaker could not admit it. He told the House of Commons that Hees and Fleming had been misreported. A week later the Financial Times of London commented: “The extreme weakness of the New Zealand position is its strength, and the restraint with which its problems are put is far more likely to meet with a sympathetic response and understanding in London, and in the six, than the violence with which the Canadians plead their intrinsically far weaker case.”12
That kind of comment was not helpful. Diefenbaker complained to Macmillan about unfair treatment from the British press, and henceforth, in his public comments, he was careful to emphasize Britain’s right to choose and its promise of continuous consultation. “We are trying to strengthen Britain’s bargaining position in order to assist the Commonwealth,” Diefenbaker noted defensively.13 But the peevish and resentful tone never disappeared.
Britain made its formal application for entry to the community in October 1961, but did not make the text of its presentation available to other Commonwealth governments. When the chief British negotiator, Edward Heath, made arrangements to brief Commonwealth diplomats in London in early November, Drew chose not to attend, in what seemed to be a show of Canadian displeasure. That was reported in the Daily Express as a “snub”; the Observer spoke of “an openly obstructive” Canadian attitude; and the Guardian reported that the Canadians were “simmering with indignation.” The Sunday Times judged that Britain had little remaining patience with what it called “the Diefenbaker-Fleming administration.” Canadian newspapers repeated the refrain.14 All that flack prompted Diefenbaker to cable and telephone Drew instructing him to issue a statement at once “making it clear that no snub was intended”; and Drew immediately did so, declaring that the story was “absolutely false.” Basil Robinson noted that “the incident was minor but, like the Accra affair, it illustrated the difficulty Diefenbaker had in coordinating the public statements of his senior colleagues on matters where his own feelings were mixed and his signal therefore muffled.”15
As the United Kingdom pursued its negotiation
s over the next fifteen months, Diefenbaker kept a jaundiced eye on events, complaining frequently about the lack of consultation and taking pleasure in every sign of French intransigence. His cabinet reported increasing public distaste for Diefenbaker’s running fight with the United Kingdom.16 By the time that Macmillan agreed to a Commonwealth prime ministers’ conference on the issue for September 1962, the British hoped for a quick and successful resolution; but Diefenbaker thought that unlikely. When Charles de Gaulle finally vetoed the British application in January 1963, Diefenbaker gloated. That was a mean ending to an episode that brought him political credit neither at home nor abroad. Macmillan, who saw “all our policies … in ruins” after the French veto, must have indulged himself in a bit of black humour when he asked Diefenbaker, on the same day, whether Canada would accept free trade with the United Kingdom.17
WHILE HE WAS PREMIER OF ONTARIO, LESLIE FROST PLAYED A DUAL ROLE IN HIS relations with John Diefenbaker, as a government leader in the industrial heartland and as a friendly mentor in matters financial and political. As premier he was not always successful, especially in his attempts to alter the fiscal balance between Ottawa and the provinces. As mentor he was a patient source of counsel, whatever his disappointments may have been in his role as premier. When Diefenbaker stumbled into his conflict with James Coyne in the summer of 1961, Frost was glad to see an old difficulty faced, but appalled by the mishandling of Coyne’s departure. He offered Diefenbaker his advice on a successor; and once Coyne had gone, he moved quickly to repair the prime minister’s frayed relations with Oakley Dalgleish of the Globe and Mail This was necessary, Frost believed, as preparation for an election in 1962: “It is important from your standpoint, but also I think … from the country’s standpoint. As a matter of fact, we cannot afford to have divisions among interests whose objectives are in common.” Frost proposed that he and Diefenbaker should make a casual visit to Dalgleish at home, in order to “break the ice in a big way … His support in the business area is very important & the above ‘gesture’ would be overwhelming.”18 The meeting apparently took place, with amicable results that were evident in correspondence and Globe editorials for the next few months.
By that time Frost had decided to retire as premier. When he did so in November, he wrote to Diefenbaker to assure him that “my interest in the grand old party will remain as active as ever … To the Party I have devoted most of the active years of my life. This I propose to do in the future … I am interested in your success and the Party’s success. It will be a pleasure always to give my aid and support.”19 A month earlier, Diefenbaker had offered Frost the Canadian ambassadorship in Washington, but Frost declined because he did not wish to leave Canada – and because he felt unable to adjust to the “social rigidities” of diplomatic life in Washington. He left open the possibility of a senatorship, although he preferred to see that reward go to “others who had given long and good service.” Frost hoped instead that he could carry on with his role as facilitator and guide in relations with business and labour.20
Frost feared that Diefenbaker had lost direction and was heading for defeat in 1962. When the prime minister asked for his advice on policy in February, Frost responded at once in a series of letters suggesting an election manifesto drawing on ideas from persons inside and outside the party. In Ontario, he recalled, he “always bore in mind the fact that there are not enough Tories … to elect a Conservative government. They provide a great nucleus, but one has to go out into the highways and byways and get people, regardless of previous political affiliation and background. Many of my best supporters were people who had voted the other way a few years before.” The other parties, he knew, had impressive “brain trusts” at work. What Diefenbaker needed was “a statement of policy, a manifesto if you will, which is confident, understanding, practical and appealing … Such a thing would be morale boosting and would give our people an objective around which they can rally.” Frost appealed to the spirit of John A. Macdonald, in invocation of Diefenbaker’s great 1958 campaign.
There is a parallel today to John A’s day. In 1877 certainly the winds of change were blowing much as today. The minds of people were perplexed. John A. sensed this and had a series of great picnics and made statements of policy from which evolved the national policy, a political philosophy which pretty much dominated the scene for nearly fifty years … My suggestion is that you prepare such a statement of policy and fit into the same the multitude of worthwhile things this government has done to carry out its purpose. The government in many ways has done a very remarkable job, but I am afraid the effect of these things is going to be lost unless they are part of a composite picture of policy.21
Specifically, Frost suggested tax reductions to spur economic growth, a confident acceptance of British entry into the European community, a generous immigration policy to bring to Canada “fine people from elsewhere, with all of their skills and creative capacity,” and a general review of tax structure to reduce impediments to industry.
A week earlier, after a personal meeting with the prime minister, Oakley Dalgleish had written Diefenbaker with similar proposals to stimulate growth and to show “that your government understands the problems of business.”22 Diefenbaker told Frost that Dalgleish’s letter was “cold,” and Frost, always sensitive to the Chief’s fear of criticism, reassured him. “Please remember it was really a memorandum. In my many associations with him he has criticized me on many occasions. Very often, unfortunately, I found he was right. When the chips were down, however, with due recognition to my frailties, he helped me and he was always prepared to assist me to put my story across, provided it was right. My job was to make sure that it was such and that I could sell it.”23
This piece of counselling – both political and psychological – seemed to work. Diefenbaker met twice with Dalgleish, on one occasion for “about five hours,” to discuss both his and Frost’s proposals. He told Frost that “your ideas are excellent and the suggestions are of such a nature that I will gather together a number of the Ministers tomorrow to discuss the question at length.”24 The result was a request to both Frost and Dalgleish to give him ideas for an election manifesto. Frost responded at the end of March with a five-thousand-word paper prepared with the help of five long-time associates. “Back of this document,” Frost wrote, “I have endeavoured to weave the conception which I followed during my years in office, going back to 1943, that in this country we should create an environment in which there could be expansion and development, and in which business could grow, flourish and provide employment. In my opinion, upon that depends everything.”25 Diefenbaker promised to study the paper in detail.26
Soon afterwards Dalgleish added his own comments, emphasizing that business had to be reassured that government understood its problems and would promote growth, and that Canada’s friends abroad must be given similar reasons for confidence. There was more than implied criticism of Diefenbaker’s record in this appeal: Dalgleish noted that investors looked on Canada with “both doubt and wonderment … I acknowledge that much of this has been created and sustained by the pessimistic talk of our own politicians, and others, about unemployment, etc., over the past two years. As you know I do not believe the pessimism is justified but at the present the proof that it is not must come from us.”27
Frost’s and Dalgleish’s advice was intended to prop up a faltering regime, and above all to salvage some support for it in the business community. Parliament had reassembled in January to hear an uninspiring speech from the throne made up of odds and ends of unfulfilled election promises, plus another list of new spending promises; and the prime minister had delivered a defensive address which, in effect, accused the opposition of misgoverning the country since 1958.28 What followed was a ragged and ill-attended session, as front- and back-benchers alike took to the hustings.
Almost two years had passed since the election of a reformist Liberal government under Jean Lesage in Quebec, and by now the Quiet Revolution was trans
forming the province. As the pressures for fairer treatment of the country’s French-speaking minority mounted, the prime minister rejected suggestions for a royal commission on French-English relations. At the abortive cabinet meeting in Quebec City, Diefenbaker raised the subject of using French in cabinet meetings, but this was empty pretence, since Donald Fleming and Davie Fulton were probably the only two English-speaking ministers who could claim any facility in the language. At the same meeting Fleming proposed that federal government cheques should be bilingual. For six weeks the cabinet wavered inconclusively on the subject, until it agreed in February to the minister’s proposal to introduce the reform as a simple administrative change, without legislation. His announcement to the House, on February 6, 1962, was an anticlimactic response to the awakening of French-speaking Canada.29
Diefenbaker expected an election within months, but he had not decided on a date, and found it painfully difficult to do so. The Gallup Poll, which he claimed to ignore, continued to show his party running behind the Liberals. His cabinet was tired, fretful, discouraged by its public failings, anxious about its division on issues yet to be settled, disenchanted with and yet intimidated by the leader who had brought them to power five years earlier. They knew now – all of them – that he had feet of clay. What held them together was not Diefenbaker’s inspiration but the fear of defeat.
In the press gallery, an adviser told Diefenbaker in January 1962 that he faced “a dangerous degree of personal animosity among most of the members.” He attributed this not to any failings of policy, but to resentment over a loss of “the close personal relationship they had with you some years ago” and sloppy disregard for the press in ministers’ dealings with reporters before and after cabinet meetings. “The many complaints I hear,” his correspondent wrote, “seem to be highly personal, giving the impression that some who recall earlier close relationships have become progressively surprised, hurt, annoyed and finally, vindictive.” He suggested the institution of regular press conferences, which would give the prime minister a platform for his “established skill in reply and repartee” and restore a “more friendly reporting atmosphere.” “Desirable questions” could be arranged, and undesirable ones would receive considered replies that might discourage reporters from “mak[ing] up their own answers as they are doing now.”30 Diefenbaker was not, by the winter of 1962, in a mood to make the disciplined effort that this would require, and he matched the press gallery’s vindictiveness with his own.