Leader-Star News Service July 1996 Archive

One of the longest-standing theories in Saskatchewan politics is one that maintains health care is an issue that can only benefit the NDP.

It's a belief with long and deep roots in the province, reaching back to the late 1940s when the Tommy Douglas government launched its hospitalization plan. The theory was cemented in 1961-62 when the medicare crisis established the NDP as the party committed to a publicly funded, universally accessible health-care system.

For the most part, this theory about the politics of health care has stood the test of time. When the Liberal government of Ross Thatcher introduced user fees on medicare in 1968, the move was vehemently opposed by the NDP opposition.

A few years later, Allan Blakeney's newly elected government not only cancelled the health user fees, but eventually eliminated the annual premium on medicare. Throughout the 1970s, the Blakeney government expanded the core medicare system to include other health services, such as chiropractic care and prescription drugs.

In the 1980s, the Tory government of Grant Devine recognized the political delicacy of the health issue. In spite of mounting deficits, it exempted health care from the spending limits applied to other areas of government.

But now, after five years of the Roy Romanow government, perhaps the time has come to challenge the theory about the NDP's mastery of health care as a political issue. If anything, the idea is facing its stiffest challenge and there is mounting evidence that, instead of being a source of bedrock support for the NDP, health care has become the party's Achilles heel.

Certainly that's what the Opposition Liberals believe, and for good reason. The only issue to dominate the spring session of the legislature that ended last week was health care. Almost on a daily basis, the Liberals attacked the Romanow government's handling of the public health system.

There was no shortage of ammunition to use against the NDP. What with communities and health facilities suing the government and their local health boards for lack of health-care funding; thousands of names on petitions to save the Plains hospital; boiling anger in Moose Jaw over closure of geriatric beds at Providence Place; and, seniors in Swift Current facing eviction when their nursing home closes, there is no denying the depth of anger against the government.

Clearly the Liberals believe there has been a fundamental shift in the politics of health care. It's not so much a case of not believing the original theory that health care is the NDP's issue. Rather, it's coming to the belief that times and attitudes change. The Liberals see the Romanow government's handling of health care over the last five years as undoing decades of goodwill. Health care has gone from being a source of political strength for the NDP, to an issue corroding the NDP's political base, especially in rural Saskatchewan.

It's not an unreasonable conclusion to reach. In last year's provincial election, voter turnout reached the historic low of 66 per cent. While the NDP was still able to win another large, comfortable majority, there clearly were danger signs in the low turnout of voters.

The result suggested a mixture of apathy and anger. Voters either were not motivated to vote for anyone, or they were angry enough to withhold their traditional support for the NDP, but not willing to support either the Liberals or Tories.

This kind of silent protest is particularly threatening to the NDP because it tends to erode the party's base. What happens is the party is sapped of its energy, memberships decline and a lethargy seeps into party ranks because of disillusionment with the government.

There is little doubt that many of those distressed about the state of the health-care system in the province are traditional NDP supporters. They can't help but be affected by the sight of hospital bed cutbacks, nursing home closures and grassroots anger with the declining levels of health service in smaller communities.

What's developed is the perception that the Romanow government has, in essence, abandoned the health-care system. Instead of dealing with problems directly, it has abdicated its public and political responsibility by passing off the problems onto local health boards that are unable to cope with the situation dumped in their laps.

The government's own recent polls show that public concern about the health system is growing, no doubt in part because of the political attention the Liberals have kept focused on the issue. In May, 20 per cent ranked health care as the No. 1 issue facing the province, up from 12 per cent a month earlier.

The fact a growing number see health as a problem area suggests the Liberals might have a point when they say the theory that the NDP has a grip on the politics of health care is in need of revision.

One of the most tragic incidents ever in Saskatchewan politics occurred in February of last year when Jack Wolfe took his own life. It was one of those events in which the private anguish of others is brought into public focus.

When the former member of the Grant Devine cabinet died, he left behind a pregnant wife and three children. For his friends, Wolfe's death brought a flood of emotions that ranged from sadness to anger. But mostly it brought disbelief as people wondered how such a terrible thing could happen.

Like all former members of the Grant Devine government, Wolfe had been questioned by the police as part of the on-going fraud investigation into the former Tory caucus. No charges were ever laid against Wolfe, nor is there any specific reason to believe he would have been charged. But, in retrospect, even being tainted by implication apparently was more than Wolfe could bear in what was obviously his fragile emotional state.

Now, almost a year-and-a-half later, Gail Wolfe has decided to close this chapter of her life and is moving her family back to where she grew up in Michigan. Understandably, she leaves with conflicting emotions, hoping to build a new life for her family while leaving behind both the intense pain and joy that have been part of her years in Saskatchewan.

She met her husband at veterinary medicine college at the University of Saskatchewan. After they married, the couple opened a joint practice in Rockglen and started their family.

The other day, Gail Wolfe sat down and wrote a letter to explain how she felt as she prepared to leave the province. With speculation that more charges in the on-going and dragged-out Tory fraud investigation are imminent, her thoughts are poignant, troubling and understandable. She decided to write the letter while going through the various papers and effects her husband had accumulated during his three years in politics. Most will be destroyed, but she intends to keep a few mementos for her children.

One of the things she ran across was a 1992 letter to the editor of the Assiniboia Times newspaper from former NDP MLA Lewis Draper. Entitled "Angry about the mess," the letter is about the debt and deficit left by the former Devine government.

"The deeper we dig the more corruption and malfeasance we are finding. If more arrests and trials are indicated, we shall continue to lay charges," Draper wrote.

Following her husband's suicide, Gail Wolfe asked for a public statement from the RCMP clearing her husband's name. It never came. The Tories asked then justice minister Bob Mitchell to appoint an independent investigator to clear the cloud Gail Wolfe believed hung over her husband's memory. Expressing sympathy for Jack Wolfe's tragic death, Mitchell said he would take the request under advisement and nothing more was ever heard about the matter.

For Gail Wolfe, the comments by Draper tend to validate her belief that much of the investigation against the former Tories was politically inspired. She remains deeply troubled by the circumstances that led to the day that shattered her family and changed her life forever.

But allow her to say it in her own words.

"It seems pretty hopeless, but with the recent media attention on the 'airbus' affair and the comments by Justice Minister Allan Rock concerning the fundamental principle that politicians must not run investigations, I can't help but wonder what's involved in the instigation and momentum behind the RCMP investigation of the former PC caucus," Gail Wolfe says in her letter.

"I know how popular it is to look at politicians as all being corrupt, criminal, low-lifes, etc. I know that in our adversarial system one party benefits from portraying another in as poor a light as possible. I know how intense politics was in the time that Jack was a politician. I cannot believe, never have and never will, that the people in the PC government were a group of 'criminals' as our justice system is now, one-by-one, systematically applying that label to so many of them.

"And that is why I will always believe that somehow politics entered too deeply into this fray and that the combination of political interests and our "justice" system has brewed this sad and disturbing episode in Saskatchewan's history. I am not defending actions by some that may have been truly wrong, but I question how so many people could be guilty of 'criminal' acts according to the verdicts rendered . . .

"Jack was a decent human being, with strengths and weakness. He made a very terrible mistake when he ended his life, but I know he did it thinking he was protecting his family . . .

"I'm moving back to Michigan soon, I'll miss Saskatchewan in a lot of ways, but the politics here is one thing I'll be happy to leave."

Within Gail Wolfe's emotions, as she leaves Saskatchewan, is a message for us all.

In little more than four months, the Saskatchewan Liberal party will select its new leader. The hope is the leadership convention in November will end the nightmare that began one year earlier, when Lynda Haverstock was deposed as leader.

At this point, not only are there no declared candidates for the position, there's no one on the horizon with the credentials that puts them in a strong position should they decide to run.

That is, if you don't count Lynda Haverstock.

More than seven months after she was forced out by the Liberal caucus, Haverstock still casts a long shadow over the Liberal party. Officially, she may no longer be a party member, but, for many, she remains the Liberal leader in exile.

The fact remains that 52 per cent of the delegates at last year's convention supported Haverstock's leadership. Those were card-carrying Liberal members who showed up as voting delegates at the convention. It's no secret that they left enraged and bitter when the Liberal caucus members issued an ultimatum to Haverstock that either she go or they go. In effect, Haverstock supporters saw what happened as nothing less than a palace coup.

While many who supported Haverstock have withdrawn from active involvement in the party, they still consider themselves Liberals. It's not difficult, either, to figure out what would bring them back. If Haverstock were to announce she intended to let her name stand, many of those who supported her last November would be quick to join her leadership campaign and seek their revenge.

In retrospect, Haverstock probably made a mistake when she withdrew from the Liberal caucus after being deposed as leader. What that did was allow the party executive to rescind her Liberal membership, which severed her ties to the party and made her something of an outcast.

While it's understandable why Haverstock did not want any truck or trade with the people who plotted against her, by leaving she allowed her enemies the chance to isolate her from the party rank and file.

But events in the last few weeks have opened the door a crack to the possibility, faint as it might be, of Haverstock's return.

Two decisions at the Liberal party's provincial council meeting in June are worthy of note. The first was the announcement that Haverstock could rejoin the party if she wished. The second was the decision to allow all party members to have a direct, if limited, say in electing the new leader. The convention delegates will be required to vote for the leadership candidates on the first ballot in equal proportion to the preferences of party members as expressed at constituency meetings around the province.

On the first point, there is no reason to believe Haverstock will rejoin the party. She remains outraged by her treatment at last year's convention and the party's subsequent decision to pull her membership.

As for the structure of the leadership convention, it stops short of being a fully democratic convention where the new leader is elected directly by a vote of the party membership. By requiring that convention delegates vote based on the party membership only for the first ballot, the convention falls short of the grassroots democracy some, including Haverstock, would like.

When she stepped down as leader in an emotional speech at last November, Haverstock called on the party to become truly democratic and allow all party members to elect the next leader. The Liberal provincial council only went halfway in that direction. By limiting the membership vote to the first ballot, the party hierarchy has ensured it will have a typically brokered leadership convention, where deals and tradeoffs are made between various camps to determine who wins.

It is extremely unlikely Haverstock will want anything to do with a convention that is not totally controlled by the party membership. She knows that the current party structure is stacked against her, even if there is a broad base of support for her that remains in the wake of last November.

The argument being given for not allowing the full party membership to elect the new leader is that it is logistically too difficult. The "teledemocracy" system used by the provincial Tories to elect Bill Boyd might have worked with only two candidates, but it becomes problematic when there is a large field of candidates.

That's the official reason. But the real reason is the fear that, by opening up the system to a full membership vote, the party would also be opening the door to Haverstock's return as leader.

It all goes back to the long shadow cast by Haverstock over the party she helped bring back from the brink of extinction and the simmering anger of those who see her as a leader who was unjustly forced into exile.

The past seven months have done little to change that reality

Come tomorrow, something will happen at the Saskatchewan legislature that has seldom occurred since 1981.

Garry Aldridge, Premier Roy Romanow's Chief of Staff, will not be at work.

And to suggest it's an event that may alter the course of Saskatchewan politics may not be overstating matters as much as some might think.

There have been remarkably few days these past 15 years - Saturdays, Sundays and days when he was suppose to be on holidays, included - when Aldridge did not park at 2405 Legislative Dr. and vanish behind the marble walls for most or all of the day.

As press secretary and Chief of Staff to, first, Allan Blakeney's, then Romanow's Opposition caucuses, Aldridge would arrive at 7:30 a.m. and work through lunch - although there seems little empirical evidence of him missing all that many dinners.

His then colleagues say they would leave for supper, but Aldridge would still be there (leading one to conclude Garry eats a very, very big breakfast.)

When they would leave at 10:30 or 11 p.m., there Garry would still be - exactly where they'd find him the following day at 7:30 a.m.

And when the Romanow government took power almost five years ago, laughs one co-worker, "Garry really buckled down."

A workaholic.

Single-minded.

Driven.

On a mission.

Even obsessed, say compatriots.

"No one has every sustained the quality and creative of work over the long-term," another colleague said.

In a job where the average career expectancy is about two years - Grant Devine had four chiefs-of-staff/principal secretaries in nine years of government - Aldridge has been burning the midnight oil for a mind-boggling 15 years.

Born and raised in Moose Jaw, Aldridge returned to Saskatchewan in 1981 to join the Blakeney government as speech writer after a career as a CBC national radio reporter on Parliament Hill.

After the NDP's 1982 massacre, Aldridge was one of a few left behind to piece together the tatters.

For the next 14 years, he has approached most every day as if he were a farmer in the middle of a wet harvest.

"Let's face it," said one survivor of the NDP Opposition caucus days.

"We spent more time with each other than we did with our families.

"There's no doubt he drives himself hard and he drives the people around him hard."

His sacrifices were innumerable, colleagues say.

Even decisions like attending his grandmother's funeral or his daughter's wedding in the middle of the 1995 campaign were weighed against the NDP's political workload of the day.

But far more significant than the long hours logged has been what he was done with his time.

Why Romanow always seemed on the right side of the issue back then and why criticizing the Romanow government today often has been like nailing Jello to a tree has had a lot to do with Garry Aldridge.

The skill set the chief of staff developed in his long-tenure is both unique and rare - a bright, analytical mind, a shrewd tactician, an understanding of the media, and, perhaps most importantly, an understanding of what motivates people.

"Garry's single greatest skill is the framing of an issue," another NDP insider explains.

While many may have had input, the success of everything from the NDP's 1989 walkout over SaskEnergy privatization to the framing of the debt debate from 1991 has had Aldridge's fingerprints on it.

Aldridge has likely had input on every policy initiative these past five years - a near immeasurable contribution to the Romanow government.

"It was the day-to-day avoidance of problems which is impossible to quantify from the outside," says another colleague.

"Done successfully, you never hear of them."

Expected to join Phoenix Advertising to set up a new division, the question now becomes: How will Romanow, who trusts so few, fill the void Aldridge leaves?

In fact, the harshest criticism of Aldridge's work is he did his job too well by sheltering and isolating Romanow too much.

We'll find out starting tomorrow, when Aldridge won't be parked out in front.

For Roy Romanow and the NDP, the legislature may become a very different place.

Few diseases, if any, have been politicized to the extent of AIDS. Anyone who doubts that need only witness the demonstrations, protests and demands that have surrounded the international conference on AIDS in Vancouver this week.

As a disease that, in the developed world, remains predominantly in the homosexual community, AIDS has become a rallying point in the larger cause of advancing gay rights. Its concentrated and devastating effect on gays has helped to unite the homosexual community. But more importantly, AIDS has helped to create the kind of victim mentality that's so essential in any rights-based political movement.

But, of course, AIDS represents much more than merely a political movement. It is a serious public health issue for all people, as the threat of the disease is not limited to any specific group. Everyone is at risk from this deadly disease.

Indeed, if you listen to some of the rhetoric of the AIDS activists, this disease is the most serious public health threat we face. The demand is that more public dollars be spent on research into a cure and on education to prevent the spread of the disease. The politics of AIDS has been embraced by many, particularly the Hollywood community, where an AIDS ribbon is a mandatory part of the dress code among the rich and famous at public events.

For some people, myself included, the extreme politicization of AIDS has not entirely been a welcome development. It raises serious questions that go to the heart of how public health issues are best addressed.

Without question, the politics of AIDS has tended to affect the public's perception of the disease. An essential purpose of politics is to change the way people think about things. In the case of AIDS, the political movement around the disease has magnified public awareness and concern.

So what's wrong with that, you ask? As largely a sexually transmitted disease, the more awareness the better because knowledge will slow or halt the spread of AIDS.

All that's fine, providing politics does not distort perceptions to the point that it is also distorting the allocation of scarce public dollars in the scientific search for a cure. The problem is that often the first casualty of politics is perspective.

In 1994 in Canada, AIDS ranked 11th on the list of leading causes of death. The 1,628 who died of HIV infection represented 0.8 per cent of the total. Almost 600 more people died of chronic liver disease and more than twice as many people died of suicide. By far the leading causes of death - tied at almost 28 per cent of the total - were cancer and heart disease.

The AIDS numbers change radically when considered within a particular age cohort. Death from the disease remains concentrated within the male population aged 20 to 44, where it ranks third behind suicide and motor vehicle accidents and slightly ahead of cancer. What those numbers tend to confirm is that the biggest threat of AIDS is still to the male homosexual community.

But we shouldn't be so parochial. As many AIDS activists argue, the disease is devastating the Third World, which is more than enough to justify the need to keep political pressure on governments. Someone has to speak for the poor in the Third World.

Fair enough. But, if that's the case, then you should be asking yourself why people aren't out demonstrating in the streets on behalf of the millions who die each year from malaria. In tropical regions, malaria kills or infects three times more people than HIV infection and yet last year about $1 billion was spent worldwide on the fight against AIDS and only $60 million on malaria. Making it even more unjust is the fact that malaria could all but be wiped out with proper sanitation and water, which comes from public investment.

The point is that when politics and science mix, often what results is science driven by motives that cannot be justified by the science itself. While, by definition, politics cannot be separated from public health issues, when it comes to the science of health research we should make a conscious effort to keep politics at bay.

The cornerstone of good science is objectivity. As the AIDS conference unfolded this week amid political clamor, you couldn't help but wonder if a sound scientific conference could be held in such a politically heated and inspired environment.

That isn't to say politics cannot, and should not, help direct our allocation of public dollars for scientific research. But we need to ensure that science is not driven more by politics than the self-justification of the research itself.

The emphasis and public attention given to AIDS, because of the politics surrounding the disease, raises serious questions about how we establish our public health goals.

In the battle against AIDS, the fight has as much to do with politics, as it does with pursuing the right health priorities.

The beginning of the end for a government comes when it starts believing its own rhetoric.

To suggest this NDP government faces imminent demise would be to ignore a few obvious political realities .

The lack of a credible alternative is likely the biggest one.

But comments made by Economic Development Minister Dwain Lingenfelter late last month do leave one to wonder whether the NDP is falling victim to a belief in its own infallibility when it should be paying far more attention to critical issues - like the loss of decent jobs.

For Regina and Saskatoon, one short week in late June spelled disaster for hundreds of employees who once thought they had long-term job security:

• 107 jobs lost at Regina's Toronto Dominion Bank's data centre by early 1997;

• 40 layoffs Dairyworld Foods in Regina (plus 10 transfers to Saskatoon) by September.

• 37 job losses at Regina City Hall.

• 21 jobs lost immediately at the Regina's Sears catalogue centre, and;

• 86 highly-skilled jobs at Atomic Energy of Canada Ltd. (AECL)'s research office in Saskatoon - an announcement that incited a somewhat bizarre reaction from Lingenfelter.

(More on that in a minute.)

That doesn't include the spate of job losses announced earlier this year:

• 182 layoffs at The Regina Leader-Post, Saskatoon Star-Phoenix and Yorkton This Week.

• 31 and 57 jobs, respectively, when the Bank of Montreal and Bank of Nova Scotia relocated or closed their data processing centres.

• 544 layoffs/early retirements in the provincial budget.

Add them all up and you would seem to have the makings of a very bad year.

One problem with such anecdotal accounts, however, is that they don't give a complete picture.

In fact, labor department statistics suggest the first six months of 1996 is a near carbon copy of the first six months of 1995 - an average of 456,000 Saskatchewan people working in 1996 compared with 456,333 a year ago.

That you may have heard less about this job success is a sad admission we in the media do pay far more attention to job loss than job creation.

Perhaps to combat the spate of bad news, Lingenfelter's department is now publishing the Saskatchewan Economic News - a nothing-but-sunshine account of employment and economic successes.

The most recent June edition - one that, ironically, came out smack in the middle of 291 layoffs two weeks ago - highlighted nearly every economic success story right down to the opening of Lindsay's Variety and Second Hand Store in Raymore.

As government propaganda goes, this is harmless enough.

Some might even argued it's needed.

But one has to wonder whether Lingenfelter and the NDP are now buying into their own specious rhetoric.

The day AECL announced Saskatoon's loss of never-to-be-seen-again, high-paying nuclear research jobs, Lingenfelter's response was there is no point "whining and snivelling."

Spending $14 million to create 115 jobs for four years was of no consequence, Lingenfelter said.

"You can't always win."

A generous interpretation of Lingenfelter's comments is he sincerely believes the job creation war is a win-some-lose-some battle where it's unproductive to spent much time fretting over the losses.

But to blow off the loss of 81 nuclear science jobs while highlighting second-hand store openings tells us much about the problem Lingenfelter and the NDP government are encountering.

Even if Saskatchewan workforce is about where it was last year (far off course from the modest 4,000 new jobs the NDP government promised it would create in 1996) there is still legitimate concern about the kind of jobs being created.

It's little wonder consumer confidence in this province is severely dwindling, according to a recent Prairie Research Associates poll, when the government places as much emphasis on low-wage, part-time call centre jobs (which are also starting to disappear) as construction, utility, transportation and communication jobs (all down from a year ago.)

Maybe Lingenfelter is just putting on the best possible face.

But if he is buying into his own job-creation rhetoric, the government has a bigger problem than it knows.

The recent study done in Alberta that found an alarming number of young people in that province admitting to a serious gambling problem should come as a wake-up call for the Romanow government.

There have been no similar studies done in this province - at least none that we're aware of - but logic suggests if Alberta youth have a problem with compulsive gambling, the situation is at least as bad, and probably worse, in Saskatchewan.

Why? Because we have developed a much more pervasive culture of legalized gambling in this province over the last three to four years than is the situation in Alberta. While both provinces have video lottery terminals (VLTs) in bars and an assortment of ticket lotteries, Saskatchewan also has taken the plunge into big-time casino gambling.

The Alberta study released in May found that 67 per cent of adolescents had gambled in the past year. Of that total, eight per cent reported a serious problem with compulsive gambling and another 15 per cent was considered "at risk" to develop a gambling problem. The results indicate that underage people are six times as likely to have a problem with compulsive gambling than those of legal age.

What's disturbing about this is that we have no similar data on Saskatchewan. In February of last year, the Romanow government released the only major poll it has done on gambling in the province.

Based on it, about 2,700 people suffer from gambling addiction. Extrapolating those numbers into the total adult population, that means almost three per cent admit to having a gambling problem. Given that some people will not confess they have a gambling addiction, the number is likely somewhat higher.

At the time, then-gambling minister Eldon Lautermilch promised the government would be doing follow-up surveys to monitor social problems as they might arise. But if such analysis is happening, the government is not telling anyone. In fact, current Gambling Minister Clay Serby said recently there are no plans to do any surveys into the problems of youth gambling.

Sol Boxenbaum, executive director of the Saskatchewan division of the Canadian Foundation on Compulsive Gambling, says no one should underestimate the problem of adolescent gambling. If a survey similar to the one in Alberta were done in Saskatchewan, he suggests the problem of youth gambling would be at least as bad in this province, and probably worse.

"I think it would be magnified here, in large part due to the fact we have fewer diversions in this province. Small-town Saskatchewan doesn't have the attractions of big cities like Calgary and Edmonton," Boxenbaum says.

The problem relates to the gambling culture that, in recent years, has become rooted in this province. For example, Alberta has a total of 5,900 VLTS with a population more than double that of Saskatchewan's, which has about 4,000 VLTs.

While Alberta has casinos run by charitable organizations, it is only now starting to develop large-scale casinos in partnership with aboriginal people, as has already happened here.

"We need to know the extent of the problem before we can educate people about the dangers of gambling. Kids in this province can't wait until they're old enough to drink and go to a casino. We have to educate them that there are more important things in life and that the odds in gambling are stacked against you," Boxenbaum argues.

For many kids, the culture of gambling begins at an early age. It is legal in Saskatchewan for kids to play bingo at age 12. Although it is illegal to sell lottery tickets to anyone younger than 18, Boxenbaum says many parents involve their children when they play sports lotteries. "In some cases, playing a lottery like Pro-Select is seen as father-and-son bonding. The son helps pick the scores and the father goes and buys the ticket. This just instills the gambling culture in young people,'' says Boxenbaum.

One other aspect in the Alberta study that is particularly relevant for Saskatchewan is the finding relating to gambling among aboriginal adolescents. The study found that 89 per cent of young aboriginal people are involved in some form of gambling, compared with 67 per cent of non-aboriginal youth. Of those who gamble, 13 per cent of aboriginal young people reported problem gambling, five per cent more than found among non-aboriginal youth.

With Saskatchewan having a larger aboriginal population, in real and proportional terms, than Alberta, these numbers clearly suggest problem gambling among aboriginal youth is something we need to investigate and address.

But to this point, the provincial government seems committed to a head-in-the-sand approach to the whole issue of problem gambling among young people. The idea is that if you ignore the problem, it will go away.

But it won't. It will get worse.

HUMBOLDT - There is no sense kidding ourselves. This province is in the midst of what can only be described as a health-care crisis.

Given the evidence, what other conclusion can be reached? We have communities and hospitals in the process of suing the Romanow government for lack of health-care support. There are doctors resigning positions to protest what they see as declining quality of care. And district health boards are straining under budgets that do not keep pace with costs, or their own health-care priorities.

It's hardly surprising that sweeping reform of the health system we've seen in this province during the last four years has created problems, controversy and anger. Over time, what we created in this province was a health system driven and shaped as much by electoral politics as it was by the particular needs of the people it was serving.

Everyone has their favorite story about the inefficient spending of public health dollars. We all know about hospitals being built in smaller communities, not because they fit into a consistent and well-grounded provincial health strategy, but because it amounted to good politics.

In that sense, for generations, public health care was, in its own way, part of the political patronage system. Parties in power did what was popular, not necessarily what was good public health policy.

So, we shouldn't be surprised health reform has been controversial and divisive. You don't dismantle the system that politics helped create, and the vested interests it protects, without there being a serious backlash.

Clearly, the Romanow government deserves a great deal of credit for tackling health-care reform. It was long overdue and, while other governments didn't have the nerve to address what they knew was a serious problem, at least this one did. Not that the NDP had any realistic choice. The deficit and debt were so severe when the New Democrats took power that not attempting to come to grips with the $1.5 billion spent annually on health care was simply out of the question.

What's unfortunate about all this is the depth of the division and dissatisfaction health reform has created. More and more people question if the government is acting in good faith. There is this sense the government has regressed to the point it is using health reform as its own crude political instrument. They see a system controlled out of Regina with political responsibility passed off to district health boards, which remain the financial captives of the Romanow government.

Someone who reflects the dichtomy - support for reform, but doubts about the process - is Jim Ramsay, administrator of St. Elizabeth's Hospital in this community. As a hospital founded and operated by the Franciscan Sisters of St. Elizabeth, the question of how to integrate a denominational institution into a reformed health system has been a matter of some debate and, at times, tension.

Unlike union hospitals, Catholic hospitals are not owned and operated by the health boards.

They are separate corporate entities, which gives them the right of ownership, operation and disposal like any other privately owned corporate body. To deal with this anomaly, Catholic hospitals have struck affiliation agreements that set out terms of their relationship with the district boards.

Like most, Ramsay fully supports the health reform initiative. In fact, well before the process started, St. Elizabeth's had already reorganized itself and started community-based programs such as home care and has proposed other initiatives, including a community nutrition program, that are integral to the wellness model of health reform.

"Everyone is facing reality and recognizes the need to change. No one denies that, or is trying to keep the status quo," Ramsay says.

"We also agree with the need to integrate the system. But the question is, does standardization mean one way of thinking, or is it integration as in trying to create a seamless service?"

The concern Ramsay, and many others, express is that health reform is being imposed from the top rather than emerging as a consensus built from the health grassroots across the province.

One example of that approach some see was the recent Health District Amendments Act, which people on the frontlines of health care say was produced without sufficient consultation. The act gives the health minister power to take control of affiliated hospitals, through a public administrator, if operating agreements are not reached or properly enacted.

"Integration should reflect the different health-care cultures we have and the strengths and weaknesses that exist. But instead we see this as a very real threat to our autonomy. It puts us in a non-equitable position," Ramsay says.

It's yet another example of a health system at odds with itself.

Perhaps the most inherently unfair thing about being in cabinet is every minister gets the same wage.

And while the $89,776 (as of the MLAs' July 1 raise) each receives is undoubtedly a princely sum to most of us, there are obviously some cabinet ministers who earn it more than others.

Afterall, there are some ministers whose workload - provincial secretariat, half a gaming portfolio, northern affairs, post-secondary education the self-administering Crown Investment Corp. - is such that you sometimes forget they are still in cabinet.

Then there are others like Health Minister Eric Cline, who can't take off for two weeks of hiking around the Rockies with his wife without returning to find all hell has broken loose.

How Cline handles the burgeoning doctor resignation crisis at the Regina Health District, the lawsuits filed over underfunding and the dozen other daily brush fires will have a lot to do with the longevity he and other New Democrat cabinet ministers enjoy.

For the almost-$90,000-a-year he collects, Cline faces the unenviable task of halting the growing perception his government either does not care about the growing health problems or is abdicating its responsibility.

It's a problem not to be taken lightly.

Ignoring or paying short shrift to health care is perhaps the unforgivable mistake in Saskatchewan politics - one even Grant Devine didn't make.

In fact, for most of the past seven years both the Devine and Romanow governments had two health ministers. The reason., as much as anything, was to assure the public the constant problems associated with the portfolio never went unattended.

After Louise Simard's departure in February 1995, Lorne Calvert went it alone until November.

He, literally, worked himself sick.

For Cline, the job has been even tougher.

Prior to departing for his hiking vacation, he was also saddled with Doug Anguish's responsibilities of labor.

It only fortified the perception the NDP government is not taking health care seriously enough.

On Day One of his return Tuesday, Cline began the unpleasant task of trying to turn that perception around.

"We're responsible and we have taken responsibility for the level of funding to districts and the decisions they have to make which are difficult decisions," Cline unequivocally stated.

The minister also pronounced: "When concerns are expressed by members of medical the community, these concerns should be listened to and examined very seriously. I don't agree that I'm trying to downplay the concerns."

Such comments may help offset some of personal criticisms from the Liberal and PC oppositions who have taken to calling him "Health Minister Eric de-Cline."

But if Cline is to avert a full-scale health care crisis for his NDP government, it may involve some other cabinet ministers doing a bit more to earn their salaries.

Cline admits there are always a few more things that could be done within his department.

One possibility is more flexibility in the Department of Health's funding formula.

While much of provincial health care funding is needs-based, those needs do vary dramatically among the province's 30 health districts.

For example, in the province's seven biggest health centres - a group which includes Saskatoon, Regina, Prince Albert, Moose Jaw, Yorkton, North Battleford Swift Current - about 11.4 per cent of surrounding population is seniors 65 years or older, according to 1991 Statistic Canada census numbers.

But seniors are a whopping 16.7 per cent of the population outside the seven biggest centres.

Those figures suggest a far greater need for nursing care in most rural districts.

The real problem, however, is money.

Simply put, Cline needs more of it.

Health care funding has been stagnant ($1.56 billion both last year and in 1996-97) and more federal transfer cuts on the way for 1997-98.

Besides finding creative ways to come up with that cash, other ministers will have the added difficulty of explaining to the public more shortfalls and downsizing in their departments and Crowns.

There again, maybe that just means a few more ministers will really have to start earning their pay cheques.

The problem with the debate over the future of the Canadian Wheat Board is that it is always framed in the interests of farmers. Both sides, whether for or against the board, argue that their position reflects what will best serve the economic needs of farmers.

There is nothing unusual about this. Indeed, it's quite normal for such debates involving issues of political economy. Institutions are created to serve the interests of a specific group, whether it's the wheat board working to maximize returns for farmers, or a corporation seeking higher returns for its shareholders.

But what makes the wheat board issue different, or at least adds an important context that cannot be overlooked, is its monopolistic nature. The board is a monopoly buyer of farmers' wheat that sells into a competitive international market. Prairie farmers are compelled by law to deliver their wheat to the board, which then markets it internationally.

Anyone who doubts the board's power need only check with Andy McMechan. He's the maverick Manitoba farmer sitting in a Brandon jail for the past week because he defied the law and attempted to sell his wheat directly to a U.S. buyer.

The economic theory behind the board is fairly transparent. It was given monopoly powers in 1942 so that it could control the price of wheat during the Second World War. With wheat prices rising because of the war in Europe, the federal government stepped in to artificially hold prices down so that Canada could fulfil its obligations to sell wheat to Britain at a low price. It was all part of the war effort.

When the war ended, the wheat board's monopoly remained but its economic motive shifted. Instead of protecting the interests of consumers by keeping wheat prices down, the board's role was to maintain "orderly marketing" as a means to achieve higher wheat prices.

The term orderly marketing is actually a euphemism for market control. What the board does is prevent wheat prices from being driven down by thousands of Prairie farmers competing against each other. By requiring that farmers deliver their grain to the board and then be paid on the average pooled price the board gets from the market, farmers avoid direct, head-to-head competition.

This need to create a collective interest among thousands of individual farmers has long been central to Prairie life. The argument is that, unlike other economic actors, grain farmers individually have little control over their economic destiny. Individually, they cannot control supply to affect price. An individual farmer withholding what he produces from such a fragmented market has no impact. They are the ultimate price takers.

The only way to make so many individual farmers selling into a world market less vulnerable is by banding together. Thus, our history is filled with examples of attempts to create some economic control for farmers, whether it was buying inputs through co-ops, creating wheat pools or, as with the subject at hand, through the buying monopoly of the Canadian Wheat Board.

All this is fine if you're a farmer seeking to maximize your own economic self-interest. But there is a whole other side to this issue no one ever mentions.

The question that never gets asked is whether the idea of the wheat board is itself morally defensible. In other words, should we condone an institution with the explicit economic purpose of limiting competition to keep prices up for the benefit of farmers. Certainly, if you're a farmer, it sounds good, and, if you live in Saskatchewan, it makes sense that higher wheat prices are to our collective benefit.

But the world doesn't begin and end at our borders. There are billions of people who need bread, the vast majority of them much poorer than Saskatchewan farmers, and they must absorb the higher costs that result from the board's ability to prevent competition.

So, in that sense, the board is a classic example of how the interests of the many are held hostage to the benefits of a few. It is not difficult to hear the voice of the few, namely the farmers who want the board's monopoly preserved because it will serve their economic interests. But no one speaks for the many who pay the price of higher costs for wheat.

Of course, the wheat board is only a small player in a much larger international grain trade dominated by private corporate giants such as Cargill and Archer-Daniels-Midland. They exercise far greater market power than the board and, some will argue, legitimize the need for the Canadian Wheat Board to operate as a monopolistic market advocate for Western Canadian farmers.

Perhaps. But if we're going to play that game, we should at least own up to what we're doing. The idea is to make others, most of them poorer than ourselves, pay for our privileged economic position.

What should really annoy hunters - and all other Saskatchewan residents, for that matter - is not the cost of the new $11 hunting tax, but, rather, how it's being imposed.

The willingness of this NDP government to quietly slap on more fee/taxes without legislative approval is both rampant and alarming.

And in the case of this new "Big Game Damage Fund Licence" fee, it may not even be good public policy.

Obviously, the new fee that could provide as much as $850,000 annually to compensate farmers for deer damage does not put the sport out of reach for most of Saskatchewan's 75,0000 hunters.

A Saskatchewan hunter - after the new $11 Big Damage Fund Licence and the already-existing $11 Wildlife Habitat Certificate - will pay $55 to hunt a white-tail buck at home.

That's substantially more than the $26.75 Manitoba hunters pay, but less than the $60.88 Alberta hunters pay.

But that doesn't mean hunters here don't have reason to complain about being the only ones contributing to the fund.

Last March, Environment Minister Lorne Scott agreed the government had to accept ownership of deer as their wildlife resource, but questioned: "Where does public responsibility end?"

Well, it is estimated the province, as a whole, reaps $100 million annually from wildlife.

In turn, the provincial government enjoys $20 million in annual, direct benefits.

So why the public, government and the tourism and hospitality industries don't have some "responsibility" for deer damage is a legitimate enough question.

So is the question: Why aren't farmers contributing to the fund through crop insurance? In Manitoba, crop insurance covers wildlife damage to a maximum $7,500 per quarter section. In Alberta, it's 80 per cent, to a maximum $13,000.

But in Saskatchewan, it appears the government opted for the easiest solution available - quietly ding hunters and hope they won't complain.

No bill in the legislature.No public meetings.

In fact, the government is asking hunters to "voluntarily" pay the damage fund fee now, even though it hasn't even got around to passing the cabinet order that makes the fee legal.

Imposing and increasing fees through regulations - the legal, binding instructions on how a law works that come out months or years after the law is passed - has been a particularly popular practice in environment.

Sometimes, such fees are little more than a way for bureaucrats to get their hands on more money.

The best example has been the environmental protection fund - the levy on pop and beer cans and a number of other containers - that is supposed to going towards environmental cleanups.

In the past, our pop cans have also funded funded public relations campaigns and ministerial conferences.

The department vows 100 per cent of the money collected from damage fund licences will go to pay for deer and elk damage.

If this the case, it may be a precedent. Already, 70 per cent of the $11 hunters pay for a Wildlife Habitat Certificate - money that is supposed to go towards the purchase of land - goes to "general revenue."

But even if all fund money does go towards crop damage, is this fund the best solution?

Maybe not.

As Qu'Appelle farmer Jim Eberle will tell you, the problem isn't necessarily the lack of money to compensate for deer damage.

The problem is too many deer doing damage.

Last winter, a herd of 300 hungry deer gathered within a mile of Eberle's farm. The result was about $20,000 damage to the lentil and flax crops he hoped to pick up this spring.

(Not to mention two thousand-dollar tractor tires that fell victim to deer antlers.)

Asked about the new fund, Eberle responded: "The government is just manoeuvring to get out of a tight spot."

Instead, the government could have been "a little more imaginative" by relocating deer to less populated areas or increasing hunting in his zone.

Although not a hunter himself, Eberle fears the $11 fee will just scare off some casual hunters in his area. That will just mean even more deer congregating in his lentils next winter.

But such are the problems created when governments opt for the quick and easy fix.

Maybe it took more than a week, but the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool has come out in support of the Canadian Wheat Board. Thank heaven for small blessings.

Of course, 10 years ago, things would have been a lot different. There would be no time for reflection by the Pool if the wheat board's monopoly was under attack. The reaction would have been swift and unequivocal.

The fact Pool president Leroy Larsen gave, at best, a limp and equivocating response to the report of the grain marketing panel report last week, which many say spells the end of the wheat board, should tell you something. So, too, does the fact it wasn't until this Thursday that the Pool's board of directors issued a news release saying they were "adamantly in favor" of the board's single-desk grain marketing and price-pooling functions.

For generations, such principles have been an article of faith for the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool. There was nothing more fundamental to the Pool than the idea of orderly marketing and the Canadian Wheat Board.

But times change and so, too, it appears, have the Pool's business priorities and philosophical approach to Prairie farming.

This is a company no longer owned by its farmer members. Now publicly traded on the Toronto Stock Exchange, the Wheat Pool is a business that must serve the interests of non-farm investors as well as those of farmers who are its customers. In short, the Pool has become a business like all the others.

In an ever-more competitive business environment, the Pool is looking to expand its opportunities. In recent years, it has diversified into a value-added agribusiness with investments in everything from 230 doughnut franchises across Western Canada, to an ethanol-feedlot operation. By moving up the value-added food chain, the Pool has created a stable of 19 associated companies that accounted for $25.1 million in net earnings in 1994-95.

But perhaps the best example of how the Pool has changed is its joint venture partnership with Minneapolis-based Cargill Inc. to construct an ocean grain terminal at Roberts Banks near Vancouver. The very existence of the Pool was rooted in the need to protect farmers from the profiteers in the grain trade. As the largest privately held agribusiness multinational in the world, Cargill was long seen by Pool supporters as the enemy.

By climbing into bed with the enemy, the Pool has demonstrated how its business outlook and corporate needs have changed. This is a company that, at one time, was as much a political institution as a business enterprise. Today, the Pool has all but abandoned its political function in Saskatchewan.

According to Wheat Pool vice-president Barry Senft, there was good reason for the time lag in responding to the grain marketing panel report. "We were in other meetings last week and wanted to develop a co-ordinated plan of action," Senft said on Friday.

Next week, the Pool will be running a full page ad in its newspaper, The Western Producer, urging members to write federal Agriculture Minister Ralph Goodale to express their support for the wheat board as a single-desk seller.

But Senft also says one of the biggest problems with the panel report is that it neither maintains the board's status-quo monopoly, nor does it move to an open system of marketing.

"What the report does is sort of the worst of both worlds. It hasn't decided if it's suggesting an open market or the single-desk selling," Senft said.

It's an interesting admission. Implicit within it is the notion that an open-marketing system would be more preferable than one in which the panel suggests the board retains only its monopoly over wheat.

While the Pool's official position is support for the board to continue as a monopoly seller of Prairie grain, Senft concedes an open-marketing system would create business opportunities for the Pool.

"It does because somebody will have to market that grain if it isn't the board. In an open-market scenario, it will be the grain companies. From that perspective, it does (offer marketing possibilities for the Pool)," Senft said.

When you put all this together - the Pool's new business culture, its initial muted response to the panel report, followed by a one-week delay before stating its support for the board as a single-desk seller - things start making sense.

The reason the Pool has not been out front leading the political charge in defence of the wheat board merely reflects how much economic attitudes and the farm economy have changed over the past decade. For years, the Pool stood for a particular social and economic structure in rural Saskatchewan, where business and social priorities were balanced.

Those days are gone. The Saskatchewan Wheat Pool today is a business that must serve the investment needs of the people who own it, wherever and whomever they might be.

Is there such a thing as a "healthy" nationalism?

No doubt most people would answer with an unequivocal "yes". Pride in your country, its shared values, its sense of community, what it stands for and the goals it strives to achieve are all worthy ideals. They unite people by helping them submerge what might be in their own selfish best interests to strive for a common good.

In that sense, selflessness is central to nationalism. Your identity and interests become merged with a larger group interest.

It's difficult these days not to think about what nationalism means as you watch the Olympic Games unfold. Surely here is an example of healthy nationalism - friendly competition that is fuelled by national pride. You cheer for athletes from your own country simply because they are from your own country. They are representing us and our nation, so it's only natural we want them to succeed. On the international stage, we're proud of our country.

But as someone who is instinctively anti-nationalist, I find myself uneasy with even what seems to be the healthy and benign nationalism of the Olympics. There is something about people waving flags and being moved to tears by the playing of their national anthem that is, at its core, mildly disconcerting.

Admittedly, such shows of nationalism are a natural human instinct. As social beings, we can't help but identify with a group and, it so happens, one of the key ways we associate are in political and economic units we call nations.

But does that make nationalism healthy? Is there something inherently good in being a nationalist?

Clearly, we can agree there needs to be limits to nationalism. In other words, too much nationalism can be a bad thing. To reach that conclusion, you need only take a cursory look at world history.

The history of conflict throughout the ages is about nationalism in all its forms - ethnic, ideological, geographic, economic, religious. In that sense, some form of nationalism, or group identity, has been at the root of all human conflict. Over the centuries, countless millions have died at the altar of nationalism.

The reason why nationalism has been the scourge of humankind should be fairly obvious. By its nature and at all its levels, whether we deem it healthy or not, nationalism is exclusionary. It creates groups whose identify is based on the fact they aren't someone else. What gives nationalism its strength is that it unites people emotionally by including them in a specific group that has an identity separate from some other group. Nationalism segregates people; it creates social barriers and divisions and spawns stereotypes.

If we can agree that nationalism, in its more virulent, extreme forms, can be threatening and destabilizing to harmony among people, then how do you distinguish between healthy and unhealthy nationalism? How is it that a little bit of a bad thing can really be a good thing?

This has always been the great danger in nationalism. The difficulty is developing what we see as a "healthy" nationalism, something that becomes a source of national cohesion, but is open to others.

Some people talk about nationalism without borders. They suggest it's possible to craft a nationalism that doesn't exclude others, that is outward, rather than inward, looking.

It sounds nice, but what they're talking about is also, by definition, impossible to achieve. Nationalism cannot exist without borders, whether they are defined by politics and geography, or by beliefs within which people identify as part of a specific group.

For some of us, one of Canada's most endearing qualities has been its lack of nationalism. That's not to say Canadian nationalism doesn't exist, or wasn't crucial in the creation of Canada as a nation separate and sovereign from the U.S. In fact, Canadian nationalism has been shaped by the need to be distinct from the American giant to the south.

So you might argue then, that Canadian nationalism has been "healthy". It has given us something of an identity that differentiates ourselves and our beliefs from our neighbors. Ours is a kind of defensive nationalism, one that prevents us from being swallowed by the nationalism of the United States.

But the essential point remains. Nationalism is a force for division in the world. It keeps us apart and creates friction where people see their interests in conflict.

In Canada, we struggle with our own demons of nationalism, whether it is Quebec separatism or the question of self-government and sovereignty by aboriginal people.

To watch nationalism be expressed at the Olympics might seem harmless and even healthy. We can't help but feel emotionally uplifted by the success of our fellow Canadians at the Olympic Games.

Yet, the mere fact we feel that way demonstrates why nationalism is a force to be feared, not loved.

Like most, Ron Burrows hasn't kept up with every change in government policy.

In fact, few of us pay much attention to the way governments nickel-and-dime us to death - at least not until something causes us to sit up and take notice. In Burrows' case, chalk it up to a combination of realizing he was paying a lot more for a lot less.

It started with a recent update from the Saskatchewan Prescription Drug Plan - something the 67-year-old retired Regina firefighter acknowledges he hadn't paid all that much attention to in the past.

Ron's wife Olga has been on medication ever since she first started having heart problems in 1978. Their latest drug plan assessment informed them their drug bill did not exceed the six-month, $850 deductible.

Even though a new prescription means the Burrowses now pay about $89 a month or $1,068 a year, the amount is nowhere close to the deductible.

"We'll never run up $1,700 (a year)," he said. "For all intent and purposes, there is no drug plan (for them)."

Unfortunately for Burrows, his concerns are coming about three years too late.

In the now infamous 1993 provincial budget, the NDP government paved the way for the closure of 52 rural hospitals and the Plains Health Centre in Regina and the creation of 30 health boards that now have to contend with even more nursing home and hospital closures.

More immediately, that 1993 budget was able to slash three per cent, or $45 million, (and $102 million less than the PCs' last budget of two years earlier) from the health department budget by ending the children's dental plan and a greatly reduced prescription drug program.

Increasing the deductible to about $850 for a six month period from the old level of $375 has saved an estimated $29 million, annually.

And the plan changes were not completely devoid of compassion for lower-income earners.

Low-income seniors and those receiving the Family Income Plan still enjoy a $200-a-year deductible and pay only 35 per cent of drug costs after that. Other change were based on a "sliding deductible" where Saskatchewan residents are expected to pay drug costs that represented 3.4-per-cent of their income, if their income us under $50,000, annually.

The health department says 87,800 family units now receive drug plan subsidies - 39,640 through built-in programs to help poorer people cope.

For the Burrowses, however, they would have to earn less than $30,000 annually to qualify for any such special support. Fortunately for them, they do not qualify.

But as a middle-class income earner, events of late have got Burrows thinking about the way government has been clipping him at every possible opportunity.

He went to pick up some new tires the other day - a reminder of the less-than-smooth condition of Saskatchewan highways - and faced the province's new $3.50 a tire environmental charge.

He met with a few other retired firefighters last Friday to talk about fall hunting plans. Talk immediately turned to whether all hunters in the province should boycott this hunting season over the new $11 "Big Game Damage Fund" fee.

And now he sees hospital and nursing home closures across the province and a perceived health care crisis in Regina three years after the government drastically cut health care deductibles.

Every time you turn around here, they're digging into your pocket," Burrows said. "What we'd like to know is, where the hell are our tax dollars going?"

Having to pay more to fight the debt was one thing.

But paying more for what people now see as a significant decline in service is another matter.

And the more health care services decline, the higher a lightning rod health care becomes for an increasingly angry public.

"We're having a long, hard look at getting the hell out of here," Burrows said.

If such attitudes are prevalent, it does not bode well for the Romanow government.

It may signal that people are just starting to see and feel the impact from things like 1993 deficit-fighting budget.

Problems may just be starting to boil to the surface.

There was a time not long ago when politicians used to wonder how to mobilize the vast personal savings of Saskatchewan people. In the early days of the Grant Devine government, there was talk that per-capita savings in Saskatchewan were among the highest in the world.

With such a massive well of personal wealth, the theory was that the money should be put to more productive use. As notoriously cautious savers and investors, Saskatchewan people kept much of their money in simple demand bank deposits, earning low levels of interest and not directed to any specific economic or social benefit for Saskatchewan.

What the government wanted to do was find a way to tap into this huge source of money. Perhaps with tax incentives people could be encouraged to invest their money in venture capital pools that would finance new Saskatchewan enterprise. There was even fanciful talk of trying to start a Saskatchewan stock market catering to small local companies that needed investment, but were unable to get into larger equity markets in Toronto, Vancouver or, even, Alberta.

But the idea of turning savers into risk-takers never worked. Saskatchewan people were too conservative to be lured in any substantial way into equity investments, particularly ones designed to finance Saskatchewan enterprises.

The only way the government has been able to pry loose the personal wealth of Saskatchewan people has been with the lure of Saskatchewan Savings Bonds. The public has eagerly loaned its money to the provincial government on the strength of a government-guaranteed interest rate.

While the sale of similar government instruments in other provinces declined anywhere from 35 to 63 per cent this year, sales in Saskatchewan were up 12 per cent over 1995. On average, Saskatchewan people hold $1,274 in provincial government bonds, the highest figure of any province and even more than the national per-capita average of $1,048 for the popular and long-selling Canada Savings Bonds.

This idea that Saskatchewan people are the among the richest in the world does not fit easily with either our self image, or how others see us. Internally, we like to view ourselves as people with modest means and expectations. Externally, Saskatchewan's image is that of a have-not province with limited economic opportunity or potential for growth.

But the fact remains that Saskatchewan people are wealthy. According to data produced by the Canadian Bankers Association, as of December 1994, Saskatchewan ranked second nationally in per-capita deposits held by banks, trust companies and credit unions.

The total of demand deposits in Saskatchewan was almost $16.4 billion, which works out to $16,372 per person. Leading the way in Canada was British Columbia with per-capita savings of $16,8449.

In Alberta per-capita savings were $12,620, in Manitoba the average was $14,343, it was $15,500 in Ontario and $13,195 in Quebec.

People in the Atlantic provinces are by far the poorest in Canada. The average for per-capita savings for the Atlantic region was $8,557, with people in Newfoundland holding a mere $5,174 per capita.

In their own way, such raw figures on personal savings reflect the province's history and the culture it has produced. We still carry the traditions of a pioneer society and bear the emotional scars of the Dirty Thirties. The insecurity of an agricultural economy and the experiences of the 1930s have created a population that is financially cautious, fearful of debt and instinctively savers.

The numbers, however, do not tell the entire story of Saskatchewan.

On the surface, high per-capita savings might seem like a good thing because personal wealth is crucial to the strength and stability of any economy. But they also point to a serious and growing issue that threatens our economic future.

One reason why Saskatchewan is so wealthy is because we have an aging population. The older people get, the more wealth they accumulate. Of the provinces, Saskatchewan has the the second oldest population and it's steadily getting older as the migration of young people to other provinces continues.

So, in that sense, the per-capita savings figures are really a two-edged sword. They represent the tremendous personal wealth underlying the provincial economy, but also reflect the serious economic implications of an aging population.

One way to understand the interconnected problem of wealth, aging and youth migration is through the allocation of wealth in retirement and the inter-generational transfer of wealth.

As Saskatchewan people retire, many leave for other provinces, particularly B.C., or, in some cases, the southern U.S. Their money goes with them.

Among those who live out their lives in Saskatchewan, many have children living in other provinces who will inherit the wealth now located in Saskatchewan.

In other words, our wealth is as much a curse as it is a blessing.

The conundrum the Liberal caucus has now created for its party goes like this: The more the current Liberal caucus messes up, the less likely a credible leader can emerge from within caucus ranks.

A leader from outside caucus - someone who could inject credibility back into the party - would seem to be the only solution.

But the more the Liberal caucus messes up, the less likely anyone from outside caucus would want the job of leading the Liberals into the next election.

Of course, it is as likely the Liberals will thrive despite themselves. Recent events are affording them a wonderful opportunity for huge gains in the next election.

The health care issue has exploded at the grassroots unlike anything this province has seen in years.

For New Democrat political strategists, this has to be a truly frightening development.

Come election time, three years from now, it's quite possible the only thing voters will remember is the Liberal caucus was clearly on the right side of the issue from Day One.

(Or, more importantly, the NDP government was clearly on the wrong side.)

But if the Liberals are to capitalize on all this, its legislative caucus will have get its act together sooner than later.

Judging by the past week, there is little to indicate that is happening.

A week ago, acting Liberal leader Ron Osika - somewhat exasperated by the recent hospital closures - told reporters the NDP government should consider selling off Crown corporations to pay for the shortfall in health care.

This was not a bad strategy for a party that needs to capitalize on both a major issue and the right-of-centre vote.

The problem was, exactly two weeks earlier Liberal finance critic Gerard Aldridge had released his party's otherwise innocuous submission to the government's Talk About Saskatchewan Crowns (TASC) committee suggesting the Liberals believe utilities and Crown investments should remain publicly-owned.

Reminded of this later in the day, Osika - who, presumably, was off arranging transportation for the Atlanta Olympics when Aldridge delivered the TASC paper - responded: "It becomes necessary to part with assets you have when faced with a serious crisis, especially where we are financially."

On July 5 when the the Liberals presented their submission to TASC, the enormity of the health care wasn't known, Osika said.

An odd response, to say the least.

A month earlier, the Liberals were delaying the end of the session because of the health-care crisis. Their caucus had presented petitions, daily, protesting the closure of Regina's Plains Hospital. Rod Gantefoer was booted out of the legislature during question period over the closure of a Melfort nursing home. Aldridge was asking questions on the closure of Moose Jaw's Providence Place.

In fact, the day Aldridge released their paper to TASC, 59 jobs and 25 beds were eliminated at Moose Jaw Union Hospital.

A day earlier, Dr. Roberta McKay had resigned as head of medicine with the Regina District Health Board.

Two days earlier, a Kerrobert special care home had to close.

This Wednesday, Osika was forced to acknowledge his suggestion last week was completely inconsistent with the party's official position on Crown ownership.

Why the caucus has no clear policy on such fundamental issues may say a lot about the problems of this caucus. When they should have have been developing strong policies on issues like Crown corporations at their post-election convention last November, they were, instead, busy dumping their old leader.

Of course, all the Liberals may need is a strong leader to take charge. As stated earlier, three years can be a long time in politics.

But most of the rumored leadership candidates - Harvey McLane, Rod Gantefoer, Ken Krawetz, - are all part of this caucus that has authored the problems.

And any leader from the outside will have to sort through the mess left behind plus directly deal with those who created it.

Maybe three years is a long time.

But the current disarray in the Liberal caucus could also reverberate for years to come.

There is growing speculation about the future of Roy Romanow. Specifically, people are wondering how much longer he intends to remain as premier.

A few months ago, there was similar speculation when talk surfaced of Prime Minister Jean Chretien assembling a "unity cabinet", which might include outsiders such as Romanow to deal with the issue of Quebec's place in Canada. Nothing ever came of it, but questions about Romanow's future persist.

The latest rumor, believe it or not, comes out of the Quebec government. Word is circulating that Romanow could be named Canadian ambassador to the U.S. in Washington. In the past, some have suggested Romanow could some day end up as Canada's ambassador to the United Nations, the same diplomatic post once held by former Ontario NDP leader Stephen Lewis.

You'd be wise not to count on either happening. Romanow's interests lie almost exclusively on the domestic front and he's not interested in being a bureaucratic agent for government. After he was defeated in 1982, he turned down the offer to become the Canadian ambassador on disarmament to the UN.

What has triggered the latest questions on whether Romanow will step aside in the foreseeable future have been recent changes within Executive Council and at provincial NDP headquarters. In the last month, no less than five people with close ties to Romanow have moved to new, less political positions in government, or left for the private sector.

The list includes Romanow's chief of staff and key adviser Garry Aldridge; NDP provincial secretary Dick Proctor; cabinet secretary Sandra Morgan; special adviser Sean Caragata; and Saskatoon executive assistant Brian Hansen. Such events do not go unnoticed. They feed speculation within the bureaucracy, which thrives on gossip, innuendo and political intrigue, particularly in the dog days of summer when no one has anything better to do.

Aldridge is joining Phoenix Advertising Group in Regina, where he will oversee a new division in the company that is expected to expand into government affairs consulting. Proctor is headed for a senior position in the Health Department, likely as an assistant deputy minister; Morgan has been named deputy labor minister; Caragata has taken over as general manager of public affairs at SaskTel; and Hansen has been named an assistant deputy of economic development based in Saskatoon.

Those trying to read the tea leaves say the changes are merely a prelude to something much bigger. The suggestion is Romanow has put the word out that he intends to step aside in the not-too-distant future and people on his staff are finding other positions in advance of the leadership change.

Also fuelling talk has been the behavior of Deputy Premier Dwain Lingenfelter, who doesn't hide the fact he wants to be Romanow's successor. Recently, Lingenfelter invited many of the ministerial staff to his rural estate north of Regina for a barbecue. Apparently he did the same with people in his department.

What adds further intrigue is Aldridge's move to the Phoenix Group. Key figures at Phoenix are Graham Barker and Reg Gross, two key Lingenfelter supporters. Some believe that by joining Phoenix, Aldridge has joined the Lingenfelter camp should there be a leadership race to replace Romanow.

Those who thrive on such things have seen the changes in Romanow's staff and Lingenfelter's social behavior as the equivalent of a sign from God that Romanow will soon ride off into the sunset. As one former NDP MP said the other day, when talk turned to speculation on Romanow's future: "Remember, Romanow always said he expected only to be around for two terms in government when he was elected leader."

At this point, it doesn't much matter if he did or didn't say it. The fact some people say he did, or he could have said it, is just more fuel for the fire that he might be planning his departure.

But for any of this to have validity, someone needs to answer the question why Romanow would leave. If we are to believe the government's polls, the NDP's support is still holding quite firm. There is no doubt that health-care problems have the potential to cripple Romanow and his government, but we're still at least three years away from another election, which is more than enough time to turn the situation around.

Sources say a recent provincewide poll on federal politics done for Ralph Goodale also asked opinions on provincial party preference. It found support roughly equivalent to the popular vote in last year's election - the NDP holding a comfortable lead, the Liberals firmly in second and the Tories well back in third.

Moreover, there is no well-identified political alternative to the NDP. Thus, the question is not if Romanow is leaving, but why would he?

Until someone comes up with the why, it's only idle speculation

It might seem like a provocative question, but it's worth considering: is Donovan Bailey really a Canadian?

The world record holder and Olympic gold medal winner in the 100 metres is certainly considered Canadian for the purposes of the Olympics. He lives in Canada, is a Canadian citizen and is on the Canadian Olympic team. When it comes to nationality as determined by the Olympics, you can't be much more Canadian than that.

But what determines a person's nationality? Is it merely defined by citizenship and the rights, privileges and responsibilities that are part of being a citizen?

Or is nationality something deeper and more enduring than place of residence? Is it your culture, your ancestry, your traditions, your values, the inherent beliefs woven into your past?

The Oxford definition of nationality includes "one's nation of origin" and "race forming part of one or more political nations."

In the pride and excitement Canadians feel over Bailey's gripping win at the Olympics, we all embrace him as a Canadian and a patriot. Who could not help but feel their national pride swell when Bailey wrapped himself in the Canadian flag following his victory.

Actually, by Canadian standards, Donovan Bailey is a Canadian in the classic sense.

He emigrated to this country from Jamaica as a young teenager, drawn to Canada as a land that offered hope and a better life. As a nation of immigrants, Canada's strength comes from the millions who left their homes, their families and their roots to make this country one that is envied around the world. We are a nation of immigrants.

But clearly a person's identity goes much deeper than being the citizen of a nation. It has to do with personal history that reaches back generations and forms a sense of who a person is and where he or she comes from. To suggest that identity is defined by where you live at a particular point, or period in your life, is to suggest that politics is what defines how people see themselves.

While, to a certain extent, politics does define us as people because it tends to reflect our values and embody them within a nation, it does so only in a superficial way. There are far more fundamental and personal creeds that give individuals a sense of who they are - religious beliefs, ethnic customs, their family values or, even, the food they eat.

So the question becomes, does Donovan Bailey's recent life as a citizen of Canada make him, by nationality, a Canadian and no longer a Jamaican?

For the vast majority of us this is not an issue. Of course he's a Canadian. He is a citizen of Canada, has a Canadian passport and is every bit as much a Canadian as anyone else, whether an aboriginal person whose ancestors have lived here for many centuries, or a fourth-generation Canadian whose great-grandparents came and helped settle the West.

But that's the political definition of nationality. It is an identity bestowed on people as a right of citizenship, something that brings with it a full range of rights that are equally applied to all people of the same nationality.

However, there is another nationality, one that is neither bestowed nor withdrawn by politics. It has to do with how people see themselves, an identity that transcends superficial national labels.

To understand how nationality runs deeper than citizenship, you need only consider the identity conflict that Bailey felt after his tremendous win. Actually, it was less a conflict for Bailey than it was for others.

As Canadians rushed to embrace him as one of us, Bailey made it clear his identity is as a Jamaican, not a Canadian. Shortly after his race, he was asked about his country of birth sharing in the victory.

"It's not even Jamaica sharing. I'm Jamaican, man. I'm Jamaican first. You gotta understand that's where I came from. That's home. That you can never take away from me. I'm a Jamaican-born Canadian sprinter," he said.

Later, when pressed further on the same point, Bailey tried to walk the identity-nationality tightrope. "There's no way I'll choose between who I won the medal for. All Jamaicans are very proud and so are all Canadians. I'm equally Jamaican and Canadian."

Ultimately, then, Donovan Bailey answers the question of whether he is a really a Canadian. It depends on how you want to define the term.

If being Canadian means the country where you live, your adopted home, a place where you have made your life, then Donovan Bailey is truly a Canadian in the fullest sense.

But if being Canadian means who you are, where you find your roots, the place you find a sense of belonging, the essence of your identity as a person, then Donovan Bailey is not a Canadian and never will be.

In that sense he is not unlike many who feel that being Canadian is less about nationality and identity than it is about citizenship.

As a health minister, we are about to find out how good a lawyer Eric Cline is.

It should be an interesting exercise, given the lawyer/health minister's recent, publicly-confessed aversion to the courts.

"I don't think going to court is an appropriate way to make a rational decision," Cline said in an interview earlier this month.

"Maybe a lawyer should be the first to admit this sometimes. As a lawyer, I have never taken the view that litigation and court cases are the way to resolve things."

An odd response from a lawyer, perhaps.

But it's not all that odd from a minister of health on the fringes of six different court actions against local health boards over issues related to the province's underfunding of health care.

Monday, for example, the Court of Queen's Bench granted a temporary order calling on the Moose Jaw/Thunder Creek Health District to continue to provide the $100,000-a-month financing of the geriatric assessment and rehabilitation unit at Province Place in Moose Jaw.

In his ruling, Justice Robert Laing noted funding for the geriatric unit "was not forthcoming from the provincial government" despite earlier statements it would provide that funding.

With such unfavorable court rulings becoming a huge political problem for the NDP government, it's only natural an NDP health minister would focus the blame elsewhere - in this case, the legal system, itself.

After all, what better way to deal with your problems than blaming them on self-serving, local interest groups and those suit-happy lawyers representing them. Who likes lawyers, anyway?

Especially if they are standing in the way of those "rational decisions," as Cline calls them, that need to be made about the delivery of health care.

But one gigantic problem with Cline's pronouncement is its inference that those taking local health boards to court did have another way of resolving problems other than the courts.

Gordon Kuski is also a lawyer - a pretty good one, by most accounts. Kuski also agrees that "litigation, at anytime, is a last resort."

But as the legal representative of Vancouver-based Chantelle Management Ltd. that owns the soon-to-close Swift Current Care Centre, the Regina lawyer argues: "It's the only thing left often to people like my client."

Long before launching his court case, Eugene Skoretz, owner of Chantelle Management, attempted to arrange a meeting with either Cline or Premier Roy Romanow to discuss the ramification of the Swift Current Health board's decision to close the 70-bed nursing home for Level Three and Four residents.

Skoretz said he was informed by Cline's office the minister would only get involved at the request of the Swift Current Health District because the matter was now of local jurisdiction.

But Skoretz said it was obvious the board had no intention of re-visiting it's decision to stop funding the Swift Current Care Centre.

Even when Chantelle Management sent a draft copy of its suit to the board a week before it was filed, the board gave no indication it would change its decision.

Skoretz now says he will withdraw his suit the minute the local board restores funding to the Swift Current facility.

He has also put forward a proposal to the board suggesting the number of nursing home beds could actually be increased 20 to 205 (instead of decreased 70 to 115 when the Care Centre shuts down Dec.1) if the district would put Chantelle in charge of the delivery of Level-Three and Four- care in the district.

The reaction?

Well, the board won't talk about the plan because the case is before the courts.

And nor will Cline discuss the issue as long as it's before the courts.

This only adds to the frustration, Kuski said.

"There seems to be fundamental flaw in the way the health system is now structured," the lawyer said. "Everyone can point the finger at somebody else. There doesn't seem to be a place where the buck stops."

Well, actually, there is.

The courts.

And Cline now must either ward off or deal with the consequences of these legal challenges.

For the NDP government's sake, let's hope he's a good a lawyer.

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