The next few days went by like a supersonic blur. The debate preparation kept me busy with little time to think about potential traitors and saboteurs.
On top of the debate work, I increased the pace of canvassing. Frank and I spent twelve hours a day knocking on doors. We were on the street from nine in the morning until nine at night. I also spent two hours a day replying to emails, phone calls, and social media. It was all campaign, all the time. I was doing nothing else when I was not sleeping six hours a night. The pace and commitment was monastic. I had lost ten pounds. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks.
Each day’s frantic pace became something I looked forward to. I found a new level of energy and enthusiasm talking to people. Sure, there were were many crazies, wing nuts, and conspiracy theorists, but I became attached to my community and its characters. I had lots of opportunity to connect with people when I turned up at my neigbours’ front doors with my hand out.
As the days went by, I grew more comfortable with old school salesmanship. I had to be sincere, honest, and to the point. I created a simple style woven with plain language and an economy of emotion. The more I delivered it, the more it resonated with folks. I also learned to listen to people more than I did in my early days at the door. This included complex nonverbal cues. Often, people said much without uttering a word.
I started this adventure without a clue how to ask my friends and neighbours for their votes but I had it down pat now. This connectivity with my community, via real flesh and blood social networking, fueled me on. The pedestrian act itself became less of a chore and more ritual, ripe with opportunity. I became addicted to this basic democratic activity like an eager Facebook user collecting friends and likes.
Dot had put Margaret to work on the call lists and had given her a tight script to stick to. Dot gave her a table close to her desk so she could keep an eye on her. While Dot didn’t say it, I think she had warmed up to Margaret. Dot was one of those old people who would never admit she was wrong but she become noticeably friendlier to the suspected spy in our midst.
With Kathleen and Al co-chairs, there was poor karma in the office. They butted heads hard and often. I came in only when needed. Today was one of those days. We were close to the debate and they both wanted me off the streets at noon for final preparation.
Dot gave me her usual smoky hug followed by a wink and a smile when I asked how things were going with Margaret. She said Pastor Perry had called again. My maturity as a door to door retail politician had fortified me for challenging people like Pastor Perry. I felt he deserved a response before election day. I didn’t have to agree with him but I should listen to him even though my view of him was prejudiced by stories I heard. This was wrong. I had never met the man.
I forgot Pastor Perry when the iron lady walked into the room. She didn’t waste time with common courtesies. She got straight to business.
“Okay let’s get this meeting started,” she said as she thumbed her phone.
Her phone vibrated before she finished her sentence. I checked the time. It was twelve o’clock. I watched as the minute hand on her stainless-steel Tag Heuer lined up with the hour hand on the top of the dial as she began to speak. I admired her punctuality; her precision was impressive and rarely seen in Nova Scotia.
Kathleen said our primary objective today was to go over details of the debate. Before we got to it, she asked each of the committee chairs for an update. Following her lead, everyone was quick and to the point. Todd shared with the group the exact number of signs installed to date and how many were going up in the next twenty-four hours. Suzanne followed with a report on our community contact efforts, including exact numbers of the calls completed and how many doors were left to knock on. Kathleen was pleased to hear the door-to-door canvassing was well ahead of schedule.
With the reports completed, Kathleen moved on to preparations for the debate. She started by asking Clive to give a security briefing. He reported his assessment of the risks and concluded the chance of a disruptive event happening during the debate was significant. However, he delivered this news in his usual professional, locked-down, unemotional style which gave everyone the impression he had everything under control. He shared a risk assessment heat map he had created.
People nodded as Clive walked us through the heat map. No one was surprised by the data displayed or the conclusions reached by our campaign security chief. This shocked me. While I had some confidence in Clive and his professionalism, I felt compelled to interrupt his presentation. I was concerned with the section labelled ‘potential for physical harm to candidate’; it was shaded a blend of orange and red. While these hues were pleasant to look at, his message was anything but calming. The colour indicated the risk was moderate to high. I didn’t let him continue until he provided more information.
“Excuse me Clive. Can I ask a question?” I said with as much politeness as I could muster under the circumstances.
Clive looked at me like I just pulled a gun on him. Kathleen gave me a similar stare as she looked up from her phone.
“Sure Troy, shoot,” he replied.
“Can you elaborate on the section labelled physical harm to the candidate?” I said like I was sitting in a seminar class discussing a modern atrocity to which I had no connection.
“Good question. Our assessment is based on a number of factors. To begin with, there is the history of a previous event. This fact is a reliable predictor of risk. The data is clear, if an incident has happened before there is higher chance it will happen again. On top of this science, we are holding the event in a venue which has security challenges. It is an auditorium in a high school. Also, we expect a large turnout. Lastly, social media security experts suggest some threats against you are credible,” Clive explained like he was giving directions to a tourist.
“Credible threats?” I interjected trying to hide my anxiety.
“Yes, there is reason for concern. Frankly, if the decision was up to me I would cancel the event. This said, I am confident in the mitigation measures we have instituted. I can, with great assurance, tell you the chance of any incident escalating to catastrophic consequences is extremely unlikely,” he said.
At this point in the conversation, Kathleen jumped in. As cold and as unemotional as she was, she didn’t need to have the sensitivity of Mother Teresa to realize discussing this subject further wasn’t going to help us prepare for a successful debate.
“Thank you Clive. On behalf of the entire team, I want you to know we have great confidence in your professionalism and we know you will do everything in your power to ensure a successful event. Now, can you go over the measures which are relevant to all of us here? It is not my intention to rush this very important topic but please be as brief as you can. We have a lot on the agenda today and very little time to get to it,” she said with her best impression of a smile.
While Clive briefed the group, I chewed on his previous comment that he would cancel the debate. He didn’t say no one would get hurt. He said, ‘the chance of an incident escalating to catastrophic consequences was extremely unlikely’. What the hell did he mean by that?
Feeling my anxiety rise, I took a few deep breaths to calm down. Was this how post-traumatic stress disorder started? Maybe the stress of being shot had finally caught up to me? Up until this point, I had been happy to be alive and move on. Maybe, this campaign wasn’t the best move after all? Maybe I should have taken more time to recover?
I pulled my attention back to Clive’s briefing just in time to hear him say the candidate should wear a Kevlar vest. I was shocked to see a few nods of agreement.
“Pardon me Clive, did you say a Kevlar vest?” I asked with as calm a voice as I could muster.
Kathleen and Clive glared at me. I glared back. Clive looked at Kathleen. She gave him permission to respond.
“Yes. Given the internet chatter of credible threats, we need to be concerned one of these anti-free speech activists may plan to disrupt the event. In my opinion, you are a more appealing target. In order to mitigate this risk, you should wear a vest. It is a low-profile model. It weighs twenty kilograms and has a thickness of two centimetres. You can wear it under your dress shirt. It will be barely noticeable,” explained Clive.
Again, heads nodded. Only Al showed disagreement. This gave me hope there was some sanity left in the room. I continued.
“Barely noticeable? You want me to wear something which weighs almost fifty pounds under my shirt? Are you serious? I only weigh one hundred and seventy pounds. I won’t look like the same person Clive!, Not to mention, I will be sweating like Donald Trump in church! I am not doing it. Picture it… The other three candidates are dressed normally while the conservative is on the stage wrapped in a flak jacket looking like a hot, sweaty mess. Forget about it! It is not happening!” I said unable to control my raging anger.
Everyone stared at me speechless. I looked at them like I was the last person with a grip on sanity. Before I ran, Al came to my rescue.
“I agree with you. This is asinine. We can’t have you wearing a bullet proof vest in a debate. You will look like an idiot. Can I remind you all that our man is resonating well with voters? If his current popularity trend continues, he will be the guy to beat and everyone will be gunning for him. It makes no sense to put a target on his back. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you all? I am with Troy, I would rather take my chances getting shot at than to look like a fucking moron in a Kevlar vest!”
Al slammed his fist on the table with total disregard for Kathleen’s tablet next to him. The tablet hopped in the air and fell with a thud. He continued while Kathleen picked it off the floor.
“Clive, sit down please. I have heard enough. You can move forward with all your other security measures for Saturday but he will not be wearing a vest. I will personally guarantee his safety. I don’t care if an entire brigade of Al Qaida terrorists armed with AK-47’s and suicide bombs show up I will take care of it. There will be no harm to him or anyone else Saturday night! Do I make myself clear?!” he said, with his voice rising like a cresting wave.
There was stunned silence. With a sense of reason recovered, Al asked for reports from the committee chairs. No more was said about the debate, bullet proof vests or risk chatter on the internet. Al succeeded in getting us back to business. Discussions were focused on: signs, phone calls, door knocking, managing volunteers, press reviews, and polling data. Not as exciting as talk of flak jackets and terrorist attacks. I welcomed the shift and felt my anxiety wane. It would prove to be the calm before the storm.
Kathleen worked on her phone while Al led the discussions and wrapped up the meeting. At the end, he asked her if she had anything to add. She nodded in the affirmative. Her mood was upbeat and verged on genuine excitement, at least as close to genuine excitement as her machine-like artificial intelligence allowed.
“I am very pleased to hear things are progressing well. Please keep up the good work. Head office wants me to pass on a big thank you for all your efforts. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. They have asked me to share some big news with you. Before I get to that, I just received the latest internal polling numbers from national and the data shows our support is growing. We are currently in a dead heat with the Liberals and six points ahead of the NDP! The message from national is simple: please keep doing what you are doing. On behalf of the entire national campaign team, please accept our sincere gratitude for being one of the top campaigns in the country!” she said with almost believable warmth and excitement.
We were pleased to hear Kathleen and her Ottawa colleagues considered us a competent group. This head office validation was appreciated and not expected given Kathleen’s heavy-handed approach to date. Even Al smiled and blushed with enthusiasm.
“The second piece of good news is national is going to give us more help. First, they have agreed to pay for the production and distribution of a mailing card which will be sent to every address in the riding. It will be slick, sharp, and the message will be tailored to issues important to the people of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour. National is working closely with the best social media data harvesting company in the world and will be micro-targeting the messages for maximum impact”, she explained.
“No cost to the local campaign?” asked Al.
“None whatsoever,” replied Kathleen with a broad smile.
“Can you elaborate on what you mean by micro targeting?” asked Dale.
“Sure. There are street level issues which constituents are always concerned about. Things like schools, playgrounds, etc. With the right messaging, we can get campaign traction from these concerns,” said Kathleen.
“Kathleen, schools and playgrounds are provincial and municipal issues. Why are we talking about them? We are going to look like we don’t know what the hell the federal government does. With the debate coming up we could put Troy in an awkward position. Can I help craft the messaging?” asked Todd finding it hard to hide his frustration.
“You will get your chance. National is sensitive to our schedule and will not initiate any piece of it until after Saturday night. As for schools and playgrounds, most people don’t have a clue which level of government is responsible for them,” she responded.
Kathleen’s response did little to quell concern.
“How is national going to know what the local issues even are? Aren’t we better positioned to determine what people in our neighbourhood care about?” asked Todd.
“Don’t worry Todd. Our friends in the national office have been polling extensively. They are also using the best social media data harvesting techniques. They know what people care about better than we do. We can only talk to so many people. With the advanced analytics and algorithms the team is using, they listen to everyone all the time,” she responded.
Her statement was followed by an unsettling moment of silence. I had a difficult time sharing Kathleen’s glee for the power of robots watching our every move. Big Brother wanted to help us get out the vote.
“Look, we have to trust our friends in Ottawa. We should consider ourselves lucky. They believe we can win this riding and they want to help us. Speaking of help, I have saved the best for last,” said Kathleen.
We leaned forward and gave her our undivided attention.
“I am very pleased to share with you, confirmed only moments ago, the leader is coming to Dartmouth!” she said.
Abuzz again, we waited for more.
“Yes, people, On Friday we will have the leader for three hours of campaigning. Looks like things are heating up! There is no better indication of head office’s validation of our efforts. If the leader is coming to visit, then they believe we have a real shot to win!” elaborated Kathleen.
“The leader is coming here?” I asked.
“That’s right, and he will spend three hours with you,” replied Kathleen.
Without another word, I stood up and walked out of the room.
“Hey, where are you going?” yelled Suzanne.
“Out,” I replied.
Yes, things had heated up.
I walked past Dot without saying a word. I grabbed the current canvassing file and left the building. I needed to cool down. Frank jumped up and followed me out the door. My pace was quick so he had to jog to catch up.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
“Let just walk for a while,” I said.
“Okay, where are we going?”
“To knock on doors,” I said.
“Are you sure that is a good idea? Maybe we should grab a coffee first?” he replied.
I looked at Frank dressed in my pink Lacoste shirt, blue slacks and with a fresh haircut. I was impressed. He cleaned up well and this reminded me appearances, while important, can be a thin veneer. He was right, I needed to calm down.
“Coffee it is… Let’s go to Tim’s,” I replied.
Ten minutes later we were at the Tim Horton’s on Wyse Road. I offered to get the coffee. Frank told me to sit down and went to the counter. I found an empty table near the back of the store close to the toilets. Frank joined the queue while I stared out the window. Wyse Road was busy with traffic. Outside, everything looked in order. I couldn’t say the same for myself.
“So, what’s up boss?” asked Frank after he placed two coffees on the table.
“Frank, the leader is coming… and he is going to spend three hours with us. This Friday…” I replied.
“And that is bad news? How?” he said with a smile.
“Of course it is.”
“Why? I don’t get it. I am not a political pro but it seems to me this is something we should be happy about. He obviously doesn’t waste his time with people who are losers, so why are you all worked up? There are only thirty days in this campaign and there are thousands of places he could spend his time and he has chosen to spend a half of a day with us. That fact should make you feel good bud, not like someone pissed in your coffee,” said Frank.
“Listen Frank, it is not about what he and his team think about us. I get having him here will get us more attention. My issue is different. I am not a fan. Let’s just say the leader and I don’t see eye to eye on a few things,” I responded.
“Such as?” he continued, not content to let me blow him off.
“Look Frank, forget about it. I don’t want to bore you with policy discussions,” I said.
“What? Just because I live in a shelter and wear hand-me-down clothes, you think I don’t have any interest? Or, I am too stupid to give a shit about anything except my next meal?” he replied sharply.
“Sorry Frank. I didn’t mean it that way. I just thought… well, you wouldn’t be interested. It wasn’t my intention to offend you. It has been a busy couple of weeks, and things are about to get crazier. I am sorry.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. Together, we have gone door to door talking politics on every kind of issue from garbage pick-up to kids who can’t keep their dicks in their pants. I have been with you twelve hours a day working for nothing but food and coffee. Why don’t you try me?” he said with a smile.
I looked at Frank. Since our first day together he had proven himself time and time again. By far, he was the campaign’s most dedicated volunteer. I was wrong to cut him short. He sat silent and waited for a response.
“Okay Frank, you’re on. Let’s start with abortion. The leader has publicly stated he is against abortion. Only women should decide if they are going to have children or not,” I said.
“Yes, but he has also stated the Supreme Court of Canada has settled this and he has no interest in reopening it. Even if it does not square with his Roman Catholic faith that abortion is an offence to the sanctity of life. Personally, I have respect for someone who recognizes the tragedy of abortion but will still support the important division between Church and State and acknowledge a woman’s right to choose her own destiny. I don’t see Canada imitating The Handmaiden’s Tale any time soon. Next,” he replied.
“Fair enough. I hadn’t thought about it that way Frank. How about same-sex marriage? The leader has said often that he doesn’t support marriage between same-sex couples. This is offensive to people’s fundamental rights and freedoms,” I countered.
“Yes, I agree with you that is a more difficult one, but he has also said, when he is prime minister, he will ensure Members of Parliament will have a free vote on it. What is wrong with allowing MP’s to vote the will of their constituents? If someone is elected by people who are fundamentally opposed to same-sex marriage then this MP should reflect the will of the people who voted for him don’t’ you think? We shouldn’t have to agree with people who think this way but we should respect their right to disagree with us. Now, you are the political pro and I am just your homeless helper, but I can do the math on that vote. With the Bloc, NDP, and most of the Liberals and Conservatives supporting it, this issue has been a done deal in Canada for a long time now. The House of Commons has already had the vote and Canada will never have a future government over turn it. This issue fell off the radar quicker than Eddie Murphy’s singing career,” he said with a smile.
“Eddie Murphy sings?” I asked.
“Exactly. Anything else you want to talk about Boss?”
“How about the war in Ukraine and Canada’s role?”
“Sticky for sure, but even a peace-loving librarian should see that sometimes we all need to stand up for something. Ukraine is now a shit hole. It deserves better. Where is your global view man? As real conservatives we have an obligation to promote some core universal principles and beating back foreign invaders should be one of them,” he said.
“Of course, Frank. Basic human rights should be considered universal, but I don’t believe violence is how we achieve success,” I responded.
“Sometimes we have no choice. We have to fight for what we believe in. More importantly man, let’s get back to you. Are you telling me you need to agree with everything the leader says and does? Think about all the people you have ever worked for… Have you ever agreed with every decision they made? Are you that much of a zealot that you need to share every bit of his, or anyone’s, vision?” asked Frank.
“Of course not, but politics is different,” I replied.
“No, it isn’t. The way I see it, you get to have your view and he gets to have his and the party will be a mix of everything in between. No one should swallow the policy platform whole. This campaign is starting to look like a big tent political movement to me, and politics shouldn’t be different than any other workplace. Running a country may be more complex but it is still the same. It is a business where we strive to achieve common goals without pissing too many folks off along the way,” he said.
I smiled. Frank was a quick study. He sounded more reasonable than most of the people in this business.
“How about his negative comments about people from Atlantic Canada. The whole ‘culture of defeat’ stuff?” I asked.
“I have only been here a couple weeks but I have to agree with him. You people in Atlantic Canada are fucking lazy. There are help wanted signs everywhere and there are folks sitting around doing nothing except complaining there are no jobs! Look around this Tim Hortons. We see the same goddamn people every day bitching to each other about how the government keeps screwing them. Culture of defeat? Are you kidding? He was being polite with that comment. You can’t be defeated if you won’t even get in the game! Jesus, most of the volunteers in your campaign spend more time eating donuts than they do knocking on doors! You have to face facts bud, Nova Scotians are a bunch of lazy fuckers,” said Frank returning my smile.
“Watch your language. We need these people’s votes.”
“These people? Vote for you? Not a chance in hell. Ha! That will be the day! They won’t turn up for anyone but the NDP because they all believe in that fundamental principle of socialism,” he joked.
“What would that be?” I asked taking the bait.
“Simply put, I have nothing; let’s share! Even Newfoundlanders who squandered their oil money have fallen off their high horse of financial independence and are now back on the teat of federal transfer payments,” Frank replied with laughter.
“Ha, I suppose you are right.”
“Of course, I am. Now let’s get the hell out of here and go find some votes!” he said with enough volume for at least half of the people in the coffee shop to hear him. He held his hand in the air and held it there. Without embarrassment, I returned his high five.
The more time I spent with Frank, the more my respect for him grew. He was a good kid who didn’t deserve the shit he had experienced in his young life. He had also found the strength to push on with life when most people would have given up. I was humbled by his commitment to helping someone like me whom he barely knew. I only wish I felt as confident about other people on this campaign.
Troy Myers 