As I sit here watching the evidence mount that your party engaged in a massive campaign of voter deception in the last election, evidence of like behaviour in the previous election, I find myself wonder how you might feel about all of this?
You're a politician, it's all you've ever really been. You seem to have gone into politics angry. Angry at the East. Angry at the liberal-minded national mythology. Canada the peacekeeper, Canada of universal healthcare. Canada of market regulation and the advancement of women and minorities. Canada, helper of the world's less fortunate. Canada, where consenting adults were free to fuck whomever they pleased however they pleased, and if so desired and consented, marry the person of their affections.
I'm not sure whether you really ever stood back and considered that all this freedom meant that you could also live your life as you wished without much bother from anyone else. Did you ever ask yourself why? Why am I so upset with this imagined community called Canada? Why am I so angry at eastern Canada and Quebec and so enamoured with the Alberta? Why can't I sleep at night knowing that someone, somewhere was thinking fondly of Trudeau? Or of ways to enhance universal health care? Or that some creative mind at CBC was making more good radio on the public dime? Was it some idealist notion of how life ought to be that you saw early on? One where men were [white] men, women obeyed, and the Mohammedans confined to the deserts? Did the magic of economic math seduce you into thinking that sort of perfect and formulaic elegance could be imposed on society? Did the simple-minded assumptions about human rationality resonate, make you feel warm and comfortable against the uncertainty and diversity of simply being alive?
Did you think that if you were in charge, you'd show that Canada, you'd make it conform? You'd punish it, control it, until it warped to your will. Did you think you might be able to sleep then?
Well, whatever your reasons, you've had your crack at it. You took advantage of a sleepy electorate, and like a kid whose parents went out for the day and left him sulking at home, you called your mates over and smashed up the place. Dishes in pieces, curtains a shredded heap, giant gouges in the hardwood floors. Windows broken and puddles of urine. Did it feel good?
Now the adults have come home and we're moving from room to room, surveying the damage. We've moved the furniture and opened your closet, and there's the missing jewellery and bills under the old laundry.
You've had your moment Stephen. We're mighty mad and it looks like you're going to be grounded and maybe even sent to see a psychologist. We've seen you here before. We saw the tears well-up when you got caught. We're watching you because we know what you do when you're caught.
You go looking for matches and gasoline.
Prorogue is not really an option here, so what is it you've got in mind? What's your nuclear option, Stephen?