by Denis Smith
While the Montreal Gazette lamented editorially that the public in 1965 were sheep without a shepherd, it praised their mature scepticism in demanding “what they are not being given – competent leadership for the balanced reconciliation of a diverse country.” The Globe and Mail came cautiously back to the Tories through a process of elimination. By 1965, it judged, the Liberals had lost popular respect and the Conservatives had learned from their errors. “The party admitted it needs a leader. The leader has admitted he needs a party. There is, at least, ground for hope.” But not too much. In Saskatchewan, Diefenbaker had the satisfaction of seeing both the Leader Post and the Star-Phoenix abandon their Liberal traditions to support the Conservatives. Elsewhere, there were editorial calls for a Liberal minority government and the departure of both party leaders. Nothing in the campaign pointed to any breakthroughs.128 On November 8 the electorate chose the status quo. The cities remained Liberal, the English-speaking countryside remained Conservative. Few ridings changed hands. Pearson picked up only two seats for a total of 131 – still two short of an absolute majority. Diefenbaker held what seemed to be his core support with ninety-seven seats. Excluding Quebec, Diefenbaker held a lead of fourteen seats over Pearson. The voters had delivered their conditioned verdict on both party leaders. Neither one of them could achieve a majority.
WHEN THE NEW PARLIAMENT MET IN JANUARY 1966 THERE WERE FRESH – OR resurrected – faces on both sides of the aisle. The Liberal caucus was bolstered by the presence of the “three wise men” from Quebec – Jean Marchand, Gérard Pelletier, and Pierre Elliott Trudeau – and by the return of Robert Winters. The Diefenbaker front bench was reinforced by Davie Fulton, George Hees, and Richard Bell. Dalton Camp, Richard Thrasher, and George Hogan had all lost their contests. Pearson was demoralized by his failure to achieve a majority, and soon after the election he accepted the resignation of Walter Gordon as minister of finance in penance for the stalemate. Mitchell Sharp replaced Gordon at Finance, and Robert Winters became minister of trade and commerce. The government lost much of its reformist energy. Lamontagne and Tremblay departed to the back benches, and Lucien Cardin, who had replaced Favreau as justice minister the previous July, emerged as the senior Québécois minister. He was the most bitter antagonist of Diefenbaker in Liberal ranks – and thus a primary target of the Chief’s own poisoned barbs.
Soon after the election Cardin made himself vulnerable by admitting on television that a Vancouver postal clerk, George Victor Spencer, had been dismissed from his job on suspicion of spying for the Soviet Union. He had not been charged with any offence, but had lost his pension, had no means of appeal, and would be under RCMP surveillance for the rest of his life. (He was then dying of cancer.) When the new House met, Diefenbaker and the New Democratic Party pressed the government for a public inquiry into what seemed a fundamental abuse of Spencer’s rights. Cardin refused, and the intensity of the opposition’s attacks increased. Pearson, who was both uneasy about the apparent invasion of rights and nervous about his political weakness, agreed to consider an inquiry. But he told the House in February that he had examined the file and decided it was unnecessary. Twice during parliamentary exchanges on the case in January and February, Pearson made veiled allusions to “other security cases” in the past that “might throw light on our security methods generally.” Cardin, too, warned Diefenbaker about neglected security cases during his prime ministership.129
On March 4, 1966, the opposition’s demands for an inquiry sharpened, and Diefenbaker extended the range of innuendo. He accused Pearson of creating “a labyrinth of deception” in the Spencer case, and suggested a pattern of impropriety on security matters stretching back to 1944.
Mr. Diefenbaker: Yes, I want to cover that period. I want to see it fully investigated. The Prime Minister laughs, but I want to see as well that we make available to the commission meeting behind closed doors the revelations that have found their way to Washington and have there been placed in evidence that was taken in that body on security. We are not getting the facts.130
This was a reference to the old charge that Pearson had been a Soviet agent. By reviving it, Diefenbaker threw Pearson a defiant challenge and recalled their angry interview of December 1964. Each of the leaders felt secure in his own righteousness; each believed the other vulnerable. The combat was not rational. “I ask the government,” Diefenbaker railed, “what are you going to do in this connection? What action are you going to take? Why will you not set up a royal commission now behind closed doors?…The assumption put forward that these things have happened over the years is of primary importance as a basis upon which to demand that there be such a commission.”131 The minister of justice faced the same withering contempt.
Mr. Diefenbaker: I again impress on the government the need of action. I know the Minister of Justice is not acquainted with these things. He is seldom before the courts at any time, according to what I am told. Yet he is able to tell us that he knows everything has been well done. It is not enough, sir. There has been too much concealment and deception practised on this house in the last few weeks in this connection.132
Lucien Cardin responded in kind. He had “dared to criticize the untouchable one because of his attitude as prime minister” in 1962; and he believed “that every word I said at that time was right.” Today Diefenbaker, “with his vicious attacks on individuals, his irresponsible accusations and insinuations in this house, is proving me to be right day by day.” The leader of the opposition had learned nothing. “He is still blasting his way through paper walls and open doorways. He is blasting himself out of the leadership of his party and out of parliament and maybe, Mr. Chairman, when that is done we will be able to do some work in this chamber.” Cardin asked Diefenbaker whether he believed “that the performance he has put on this afternoon is going to add any dignity or prestige to parliament? This is stirring up hostility in the house far beyond what is normal and necessary in debates.”
I am willing to listen to hon. members on all sides of the house who bring forward criticisms and constructive advice on the difficult problems concerning the administration of security matters. But a while ago the right hon. gentleman was accusing us of hiding the truth, of hiding evidence … Well, I can tell the right hon. gentleman that of all the members of the House of Commons he – I repeat, he – is the very last person in the house who can afford to give advice on the handling of security cases in Canada.
Some hon. Members: Hear, hear.
Mr. Cardin: And I am not kidding.
Some hon. Members: Hear, hear.
Mr. Diefenbaker: And again applause from the Prime Minister. I want that on the record.
Mr. Cardin: I understand the right hon. gentleman said he wants that on the record. Would he want me to go on and give more?
Some hon. Members: Go on. He wants it.
Mr. Cardin: Very well.
Some hon. Members: Hear, hear.
Mr. Cardin: I want the right hon. gentleman to tell the house about his participation in the Monseignor case when he was prime minister of this country.
Some hon. Members: Hear, hear.
Mr. Diefenbaker: I am not worried. Have your commission look into it. Put it on the agenda.133
The incident passed, and Cardin moved on to other matters. But he had set the bait for the public and the press. What was “the Monseignor case”? What was Diefenbaker’s involvement? Cardin stuck to his position that an inquiry in the Spencer case was unacceptable and unnecessary.
Later in the day his defences collapsed. David Lewis of the NDP told the House that he had spoken with Spencer’s solicitor and learned that Spencer wanted an inquiry into “the nature of his dismissal and the unfair deprivation of his benefits.” He closed his remarks with a motion to reduce the ministry’s estimates by $17,000, the same amount as Cardin’s salary, as an indication of lack of confidence in the minister.134 Under sudden threat of defeat in the House, Prime Minister Pearson replied that this was the first indication he h
ad had that Spencer was dissatisfied with his treatment, and offered – if he could confirm that claim in a telephone conversation with Spencer – to establish an inquiry into the fairness of the civil servant’s dismissal. Three days later the inquiry was established.135
The leader of the opposition could not resist the temptation to taunt the minister. Lucien Cardin had vowed that there would be no inquiry, and had tried to blackmail the opposition. Now “common sense has taken the place of stubborness and absolute stupidity.” The minister had inevitably been embarrassed: “There he stands, naked and unashamed, deprived of every argument he brought before this house.” Diefenbaker assured members, in response to Cardin’s accusation, that there had been no breach of security or danger to national security in any case under his administration.136
Pearson’s unexpected reversal in the Spencer case prompted a cabinet crisis and a caucus revolt. Cardin threatened resignation, and Jean Marchand, Léo Cadieux, and J.-J. Côté, fed up with the humiliation of French-speaking ministers, warned Pearson that they would join him if he departed. Desperate manoeuvres went on in caucus to save the government, and at last Cardin agreed to stay. On March 10, acting on his own initiative, he called a press conference to elaborate on his charges against Diefenbaker. The old affair, he suggested, was “in some ways” worse than the Profumo case, which had brought down Prime Minister Macmillan in 1963. Cardin said that “Olga” Munsinger had been a spy before coming to Canada in 1951; that she had created security risks by associating with Conservative ministers; that Diefenbaker and Fulton knew of the case but had not referred it to their legal officers; and that she had left the country and died in East Berlin in 1961. Cardin explained that he was engaged in a dirty war: “There is a working arrangement,” he claimed, “not only between the Prime Minister, myself and the members of the cabinet, but also all the MPs, and what we’re going to do is to fight and fight hard, and, if we have to, use the same methods that are being used and have been used against us for the past three years.”137
This outburst brought parliament to the point of breakdown. When the government proposed another judicial inquiry into the minister’s accusations, the Conservatives promised to paralyse House business unless Cardin made specific charges and named the suspect ministers. Otherwise, all of Diefenbaker’s ministers came under suspicion. Within days, Robert Reguly of the Toronto Star had located the mystery woman, alive, in Munich; and she named Pierre Sévigny and George Hees as her former ministerial acquaintances. Press, public, and back-benchers angrily denounced the excesses of political vengefulness in Ottawa, and the leaders themselves drew back with alarmed appeals for restraint and sanity. On March 14 the government proposed a judicial inquiry into all the statements made by the minister of justice regarding the Munsinger affair, the security implications of the case, the actions of ministers, and any other relevant matters, to be conducted by Mr Justice Wishart Spence of the Supreme Court of Canada. A public inquiry now seemed to be the only way of removing the conflict from the House; and by framing it in terms of Cardin’s statements, the cabinet seemed to be partially restoring the balance and putting the minister’s acts under independent scrutiny along with those of the previous government. Reluctantly, all parties agreed to the proposal. But in principle – as Diefenbaker, Fulton, Nielsen, and Douglas made clear in their remarks – a judicial inquiry into the political decisions of ministers undermined the principles of parliamentary government. An investigation arising from a sweep through the confidential records of previous governments was even less tolerable. The political discretion of John Diefenbaker and Davie Fulton was not a proper subject of scrutiny by a justice of the Supreme Court. The fate of politicians lay, properly, in the hands of the voters (and eventually, the historians) – but not the judges. The Globe and Mail commented that the terms of reference of the inquiry were “vague, vengeful, prosecutory … setting a precedent for endless witch-hunts as government succeeds government in Canada. The high office of the Prime Minister itself – that office which Mr. Pearson himself holds – is in the dock.”138
As prime minister, Mike Pearson was primarily responsible for this collapse of civility. He had called for the RCMP files, kept them in his possession, informed his justice ministers of their contents, allowed his ministers to use their knowledge to threaten the opposition leader with exposure, made the same threats himself, encouraged Cardin to make his careless charges, kept him in the cabinet after he had done so, and created a Star Chamber inquiry intended to convict and destroy the career of an ex–prime minister. But Pearson had been sorely provoked, over the years since 1958, by an opponent zealous to crush his arch-competitor. The two leaders had jointly poisoned the political atmosphere. After Munsinger, there was not just a political standoff: Diefenbaker and Pearson, in destructive symbiosis, had forever discredited themselves. There were widespread calls for their retirement from public life; and within the parties, there were fresh and more profound tremors of discontent.139
After receiving evidence from the RCMP commissioner in a secret hearing without the presence of counsel for any of the Conservatives who were, in effect, on trial by public inquiry, Mr Justice Spence presided over three months of reckless political inquisition. Early in the inquiry he released a “handy document” summarizing the secret RCMP report on Gerda Munsinger, while admitting it was not evidence before the hearing. After two months of hearings, Diefenbaker, Fulton, and their lawyers withdrew from further participation in protest over their restricted access to evidence and over the content of the judge’s warning about what he intended to deal with in his findings. On September 23 the Spence report was published. It pronounced Gerda Munsinger a serious security risk; held that Pierre Sévigny had made himself a security risk by his affair with her, although the judge found “no scintilla of evidence” of disloyalty in his actions; censured Diefenbaker for his failure to dismiss Sévigny and for other lesser offences; and chastised Fulton and Hees for separate indiscretions. The judgments were political rather than legal. Spence found all the actions of Pearson and Cardin affecting the case to be normal and justified. Conservatives and fair-minded observers of all political colours responded in anger that the inquiry had been a politically inspired vendetta designed to bring down the Tory leader. The inquisitor had fulfilled his tainted mandate. The mud was bound to stick. The Globe and Mail judged that – despite general recognition of the commission’s impropriety – Canadians would be left with the belief “that they have, in the handling of the Munsinger affair, been wretchedly served by Mr. Diefenbaker, Mr. Fulton and Mr. Sévigny.”140
THE CHIEF KNEW THAT THE CHALLENGE TO HIS LEADERSHIP WOULD BE RENEWED before the party’s annual meeting of 1966. In the immediate aftermath of the 1965 election, the meeting of the national executive in January offered him no embarrassments. Diefenbaker favoured an early annual meeting, before his opponents could gather strength; but his supporters in Saskatchewan planned a celebratory dinner in Saskatoon on the March date that was proposed, and refused to yield. The possibility of a spring meeting slipped away.141 Next there was talk of a date in June, but Diefenbaker vetoed that when he found himself embroiled in the Spence inquiry. Eventually a date in mid-November was agreed upon.
Meanwhile the Chief was consolidating his strength in the national office. Richard Thrasher had departed for his losing election bid, and Eddie Goodman had returned to Toronto after the campaign. James Johnston stayed on, and gradually, on the leader’s urging, took on the duties of national director. By spring he was given the title. Johnston had few personal contacts in the party, except through Diefenbaker.142 In April, as part of his effort to assert full control on behalf of the leader, Johnston dismissed Flora MacDonald from headquarters, where she had assumed more and more general duties since her original appointment as a typist in 1957. In 1966 she was an influential member of the organization, with especially strong ties among progressive, and mostly anti-Diefenbaker, elements across the country. The firing preoccupied the Conservative
caucus meeting the next day. At the end of a heated debate dominated by George Hees and several Maritime and prairie members, caucus appointed a special committee to review the decision. Diefenbaker told them that he had full confidence in Johnston and would not reverse his decision; and the committee – with no means of controlling party headquarters – concurred in the decision. For critics of the leader, Johnston’s appointment and MacDonald’s departure marked another hardening of the lines between Diefenbaker loyalists and rebels.143
The party president, Dalton Camp, had performed his domestic peacekeeping role adroitly for sixteen months. Camp’s ability to sense the moods of the national party was unsurpassed, and in the aftermath of the 1965 election he knew that the “gathering restlessness” would soon bring “conspiracies of Catilinian proportions.” He suggested delicately to Diefenbaker in November that it would be reasonable to consider “at his leisure … the appropriate time for the party to choose a successor” sometime before the next general election. Diefenbaker responded predictably.