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Leader-Star News Service September 1996 Archive |
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Leader-Star News Service September 1996 Archive |
The stunning success of a privatized Potash Corp. of Saskatchewan is, by now, undeniable. In seven years, it has gone from being a government-owned, Saskatchewan-based company that produced only potash, into a multinational, integrated fertilizer giant.
During the past 18 months, PCS has made four acquisitions to become one of the largest and most powerful fertilizer companies in the world. Armed with a share value that has eclipsed $100 after initially trading at $18 in 1989, PCS began its expansion last year by purchasing Texasgulf, a North Carolina phosphate producer. A few months later, it acquired White Springs Agricultural Chemicals of Florida. About two weeks ago, PCS announced it was planning to move into the European potash market in a big way by getting a 51-per-cent share of Kali and Salz AG, a German potash producer.
Now comes word that PCS is absorbing all the outstanding common stock of Arcadian Corp., a Memphis-based company said to be the largest producer and marketer of nitrogen-based fertilizer in the Western Hemisphere.
There is little doubt that none of this would have happened had PCS remained a Crown corporation. The constraints of politics, to say nothing of the legal barriers against a government company operating in other jurisdictions, would have made such expansion impossible. So, in that sense, privatization has allowed PCS to grow and blossom into a truly world-class multinational.
Naturally, the advocates of privatization use PCS as an example of why government should not be in business. The success of a privately owned and publicly traded Potash Corp. is proof that government-run commercial enterprises are a mistake.
But there is another way to look at the remarkable success of PCS. It can be equally seen as a vindication of the original decision by the NDP government in 1976 to create a government potash company.
One fact that cannot be disputed is that had the Allan Blakeney government not created PCS, Saskatoon would not be the headquarters for the world-class, multinational fertilizer giant that it is today. Indeed, the only reason Saskatchewan has such a private-sector corporate presence is because of government enterprise 20 years ago.
There were many reasons -- constitutional, legal, social and economic -- why the Blakeney government invested taxpayers' dollars in the potash business. Clearly, the government believed that owning potash mines was a good public investment that would provide value for the money invested.
Whether it was remains a matter for debate. Certainly, based on the original equity investment of $418 million and a debt that grew to more than $660 million, versus what the government realized from privatization, PCS was not a good investment. But the company was also sold at the low point in a cyclical market. Moreover, judging by how fast the publicly traded shares increased in value, a debt-free PCS was undervalued at the time of the initial public offering.
Leaving aside the debate over the original investment, what cannot be denied is that government investment in potash gave Saskatchewan a corporate presence in the business. Prior to the creation of PCS, Saskatchewan was fulfilling its traditional economic role as a producer of raw natural resources. We had an abundance of the natural resources -- in this case, the richest potash deposits in the world -- but none of what economists call the backward or forward linkages that come with an industry.
We had the mining jobs, but none of the head offices for the potash companies that operated in the province. We had the most potash to sell, but not the marketing agency that sold it. By buying some private mines to form PCS, the government instantly created a Saskatchewan corporate presence in the world potash business.
So, in that sense, the reason why PCS privatization has been a success is because PCS existed in the first place. Before there can be a privatization, there has to be a government enterprise to privatize.
Had there been no government investment in the potash business, there would have been no privatization possible, and no major multinational company based in Saskatoon that now is in a dominant position in the world fertilizer business.
Thus, when you take a longer term view of the potash issue, what makes the case for privatization is the original government investment. In a kind of paradoxical way, the two complement each other.
By getting involved at the ownership level of the potash business, the NDP government of the 1970s was hoping to broaden the corporate base in the province.
Its goal was to make PCS a major player in the world potash business, with its corporate headquarters based in Saskatoon.
Thanks to the original public investment and subsequent privatization, PCS has succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams.
Like most NDP governments, there is a tendency in this Saskatchewan administration to want to save the poor from the evils of of the world . . . or perhaps themselves.
The problem is, such goodwill sometimes backfires.
This may be the case with the recent news that renters must brace themselves for substantial rent increases.
While the Saskatchewan NDP government hasn't exactly been known for its unswerving determination to adhere to left-wing dogma, it has placed special emphasis on easing the burden of welfare recipients.
One of its first acts after taking power in November 1991 was to donate video cameras used by former PC minister Grant Schmidt's welfare fraud squad unit to more gentle purposes. (The actual cost of running the unit far exceeded the amount saved in welfare fraud, anyway.)
And Saskatchewan has yet to substantially cut welfare payments, even though it's had to back-fill millions of extra dollars no longer coming from the federal government that once covered the welfare costs of off-reserve Indians.
Also, amidst the 1993 controversy to amend the Saskatchewan Human Rights Code so landlords could not discriminate against homosexuals, another change to code prevented landlords from discriminating on the basis on the basis of source of income -- ie: welfare payments.
This emphasis on supporting the poorest of the poor may also be seen in what Saskatchewan hasn't done -- change the law that prohibits landlords from charging renters any more than $125 for damage deposits since the early 1980s.
Of course, the vast majority of renters in this province are not welfare recipients, but this government's reluctance to allow landlords to charge a more reasonable damage deposit has largely been governed by welfare policy.
Also unlike many other jurisdictions, Saskatchewan social services picks up the cost of the damage deposit imposed on their welfare clients. Should the landlords be able to charge a month's rent for damage deposits, the department argues it would cost social services significantly more than the current $3 million in now shells out on welfare recipients damage deposits.
If this policy has made for good relations between government, welfare recipients and renters in general, the same cannot be said for what it's done for relations between landlords and government.
The government's unwillingness to increase the $125 charge was the issue behind this spring's less-than-successful "landlord's strike" where members of the Saskatchewan Landlords' Association vowed to start charging a full month's rent for damage deposit in defiance of the law that calls for a $500 or a jail sentence or refuse to rent out their properties at all.
Until mid-March, it looked like the landlords and the government might reach an amiable compromise with a new damage deposit equivalent to one month's rent phased in over an 18-month period.
But, as is often the case, politics got in the way.
Leading the charge for the landlords' association was Bonnye Moncreif, who also happened to be the Liberal candidate in Saskatoon Idylwyld in the 1995 election. Many in the NDP government assumed Liberal caucus was surreptitiously behind this fight.
Negotiations completely imploded when a truckload of junk left behind by tenants -- mattresses, dishes, clothing, rotting food, books and toys -- were dumped in front of Premier Roy Romanow's constituency office a couple of weeks before the provincial budget.
More than five months later, we now see renters in Saskatoon -- where the vacancy rate is less than one per cent -- looking at substantial rent increases in the not-to-distant future. Other cities are expected to follow suit.
Even if one accepts the notion that these increases have nothing to do with past battles and are totally market driven, there is little doubt the most affected group will be welfare recipients.
Despite its Human Rights Code amendments, stigmatized welfare recipients are still having difficulty finding quality accommodations because of the landlords' fear the $125 is not enough of a deterrent. As rents increase, so will the chances of welfare recipients finding such quality accommodations.
For the cost of $125, the government is killing its welfare recipients with kindness.
A fellow named Don Johnson was on the phone the other day, damning Roy Romanow with faint praise. Like many people, Johnson was glad when Romanow took on Lucien Bouchard over the Quebec language issue at the recent premiers' conference in Jasper.
As a native Montrealer who worked for years as a journalist in that city, Johnson knows how deeply the language issue runs in Quebec. And as a Quebecer now living in the West, he is outraged and offended by language laws that, in some cases, effectively outlaw English.
At the conference, Romanow waded hip deep into the Quebec language issue by accusing Bouchard of going back on his promise to use moderation in dealing with the language issue. There has been a growing and vocal lobby among English-speaking Quebecers demanding stores defy the law that requires French-only exterior signs and interior signs dominant in French.
Bouchard, and some of his more hardline Parti Quebecois government ministers, have said they will crack down on anyone who does not abide by the language law. Recently, the Bouchard government hired more officials to enforce the law limiting the use of English.
"Sure, he (Bouchard) is going to say it's an internal debate. Let him say I'm interfering. I am interfering," Romanow says about his decision to join the Quebec language debate.
"The fact of the matter is that when we're talking about sensitive Quebec matters, we're talking about matters that affect all Canadians. The notion that I, as a Canadian, have no responsibility or right to speak on issues that affect national unity and that somehow this is a matter which is exclusively to be resolved in Quebec by Quebecers alone, I don't accept."
It is difficult, if not impossible, to argue with Romanow's position. How can anyone suggest that Canadians outside Quebec should have no interest and not be permitted to state opinions on the language issue? No issue goes more to the heart of the national unity debate than the divisions over language, both in Quebec and throughout Canada. How the Quebec language issue is handled will be crucial in determining the future of the nation.
But, as much as Romanow's intervention in the Quebec language debate warms the heart of a Montrealer like Johnson, it still leaves him cold. He can't help but wonder where Romanow has been for the last 20 years. The PQ first came to power in 1976 and quickly brought in legislation that officially turned English into a second-class language.
More importantly, Johnson argues it was Romanow's key role in the drafting of the 1982 Charter of Rights and Freedoms that has prevented Quebec's language laws from being declared unconstitutional.
Romanow was among the provincial group that insisted a notwithstanding clause be included in the charter added to the Constitution. The argument was that the political integrity of the legislatures and Parliament had to be protected, otherwise courts and unelected and unaccountable judges would have too much power.
Section 33 of the charter allows politicians to pass laws "nothwithstanding" the fact they are in contravention of sections in the charter that guarantee fundamental freedoms, legal and equality rights. By passing a law and invoking section 33, governments are able to explicitly ignore constitutional rights.
That was exactly what the PQ government did to prevent language laws from being declared unconstitutional when it passed an omnibus bill that exempted provincial laws from the charter. Ex-premier Robert Bourassa did the same when the Supreme Court ruled his law, that permitted interior English signs, was unconstitutional. It's hard to imagine a more fundamental right in a democratic state than the freedom of expression in the language of your choice.
As the language debate intensifies, so has the rhetoric. Recently, there has been talk by the more strident Quebec nationalists that constraints should be placed on English-language radio hosts who have been speaking out against the language law.
As a former Quebecer, Johnson says he is not impressed with Romanow's conversion to the cause of minority rights in Quebec. "If Romanow was really concerned about the language rights of the minority in Quebec, he would be demanding that the notwithstanding clause be eliminated," Johnson says.
No one should hold their breath. Romanow still maintains that, within certain contexts, when a court decision clearly goes against the will of a population, there must be some political remedy possible. If not, the political system and democracy itself will be undermined.
That's fine, providing you can trust politicians to do what's right. But as Don Johnson argues, if you're an anglo living in Quebec, it's cold comfort hearing Roy Romanow defend your rights when you believe he's the one who helped sell them out.
One of the key points around which the gambling debate in this province revolves has to do with the provincial government's motivation.
Did it get involved in gambling because it viewed it as an easy source of non-tax revenue? Or was the government forced to get involved to maintain control over an activity that everyone agrees brings significant social problems?
You might recall that the government's argument was the latter. It would have preferred not to allow the spread of video lottery terminals and casino gambling. In an ideal world, gambling would be kept to a minimum. But the reality was that other provinces -- specifically Manitoba -- and neighboring U.S. states had moved into gambling in a big way. Many rural hotel owners, particularly those near the Manitoba and U.S. borders, said they could not survive without VLTs.
The casino expansion issue moved on a separate track. With Indian bands in the U.S. developing casinos on reserve land as a right of self-government, Indians in Saskatchewan began to do the same. The issue was brought to a head when the White Bear band in southeast Saskatchewan defied the law and opened a casino on its land.
Thus, the casino issue became an aboriginal rights issue. If Indian nations had the right of self-government on their own land, they intended to exercise their sovereignty by getting into the gambling business. In effect, control of casino gambling was being lost and the province faced the prospect of numerous casinos being built on reserves.
So, faced with these pressures, the Romanow government was forced to act. The province was made wide open to VLTs, with more than 4,000 operating in bars, licensed establishments and casinos around the province. As well, the government struck a deal with the Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations for the construction of five casinos, four on reserves and the showpiece Casino Regina.
But to suggest money wasn't the primary motivating factor for a cash-strapped government would be to deny the facts and the behavior of the politicians involved.
The government could have taken a stand on principle, like other provinces such as B.C. have done, and refused to take the plunge into the gambling business. Or, at a minimum, it could have declared that government should not be involved as a direct investor in gambling business and only seek to regulate the industry. In that way, government wouldn't become an advocate of gambling and have a direct financial stake in its success.
By creating the Saskatchewan Gaming Corp., its own gambling company, and investing $37 million in Casino Regina, the government revealed its true motivations. The government was not forced into the gambling business because of factors beyond its control; it was lured in by the money.
Evidence of how this is about money came with word that projections for Casino Regina profits in its first year of operation have been scaled back to $4.3 million. Originally, the forecast was for an annual profit of $20 million, which was subsequently reduced to $10 million when the casino opened last winter.
In her reaction to the smaller profit figures, Gambling Minister Joanne Crofford said there was no need for concern. "The bottom line is healthy. There's no reason to panic," Crofford said. The minister said the taxpayers' investment of $37 million in the casino was not at risk and we should all relax.
But just to be sure, Crofford said more free chips will be given away to lure people into the casino, especially to play table games like blackjack and roulette. The table games, which tend to cater to wealthier gamblers with more money to risk, have not done as well as expected, so the government wants to increase incentives for people to gamble at the casino.
The response of government is no different from any investor. It wants to maximize its return on the direct investment it has in the casino business.
As a result, other issues arising from the lower profit figures that should concern government are ignored. If high-end gamblers are not using the casino as much as expected, that means most of the revenue is coming from slot machines. Slots tend to be the gambling machine of choice for lower-income gamblers.
But instead of the lower profit figures raising social concerns about the income level of people using the casino, the issue is framed purely in terms of money: the casino hasn't made enough; how can it be made more profitable?
This lack of sensitivity to the social impact of gambling is neither new for the government, nor particularly surprising. One of the primary criticisms about gambling expansion has been the lack of commitment to deal with the social problems it creates.
The reason is simple. The government is in the gambling business for one reason, to make money.
If the Saskatchewan Liberal party can get beyond its internal strife, and let bygones be bygones, it might finally come to terms with a few truths about Saskatchewan politics.
That's not to suggest the Liberals didn't make their own bed late last year when Lynda Haverstock was forced out as leader and deserve the discord they brought upon themselves. You don't go through the kind of bloody scene that unfolded on the second floor at the Hotel Saskatchewan and not suffer consequences.
Without question, Haverstock's overthrow was among the more crude and gruesome scenes in the annals of our politics. There have been other times when leaders were deposed -- whether it was Hammy MacDonald being forced out as Liberal leader by supporters of Ross Thatcher in 1959, or NDP leader Woodrow Lloyd being shown the door in 1970 by the those unhappy with his sympathy for the left-wing faction of the party.
But, in each instance, the deed was done primarily in private. In the case of MacDonald, he was paid a visit at his home by key people and given the message that his time had come. The knife was stuck in Lloyd during the privacy of a caucus meeting after others had plotted secretly and mobilized the numbers to make Lloyd's position as leader untenable.
In both events, a brave face was put on the leader's departure, with everyone praising the person who had decided to step down. It might have been a charade, but at least an effort was made to create the perception of unity and loyalty to the leader.
In the case of Haverstock, there were no such attempts to paper over deep divisions. It became an open and bitter public spectacle that left many people outraged, while others celebrated the coup. No political party can go through what happened last November to the Liberals and not suffer scars.
To make matters worse, the party executive then acted with what seemed like malice last February when it passed a motion rescinding Haverstock's party membership. There might have been good reason to do it, given Haverstock had made a public show of leaving the Liberal caucus and sitting as an independent. But the symbolism of kicking her out of the party made it appear as if there was a personal and petty vendetta against the woman.
The anti-Haverstock crowd will argue they had no choice. They maintain that dissension had reached the point that either a change in leadership occurred, or the party would tear itself apart. Moreover, they say Haverstock was unwilling to go quietly in the face of those challenging her leadership.
So, unlike other leaders who agreed to go quietly when they faced internal opposition, Haverstock forced those conspiring against her to turn it into open warfare.
Now, months later, we see the lingering effects of what happened as the party mounts a leadership campaign to select a permanent successor to Haverstock. A faction, led by Saskatchewan Liberal Women's Commission president Hannah Shenouda, remains angry with Haverstock's treatment and has called for the resignation of party president Dennis Barnett.
''We, the Saskatchewan Liberal party, have always boasted about our principles. Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have lost our integrity, we have lost our principles when the caucus took it upon themselves to 'fire' our leader. And then the (Saskatchewan Liberal Association) came in for the kill. Well done. We cannot continue with a future vision when we have fallen to the lowest pit of hell, in order to control,'' Shenouda says in a memo to the party executive.
This lingering anger and resentment is not only destructive to party morale, but it also keeps the party from focusing on what must happen if it hopes to win power.
The future for the Liberals rests in a simple fact that holds the key to power. They must polarize the political debate between themselves and the New Democrats. As such, the challenge for the Liberal party is to cement itself as the only viable, realistic alternative to the NDP. What the new leader must do is accomplish what the party failed to do in the last election -- marginalize the Tories and create a head-to-head showdown with the NDP.
By no coincidence, a leader who did exactly that was also the last Liberal to lead the party into government. Ross Thatcher recognized that nothing less than a single-mindedness of purpose, coupled with an organization tightly controlled from the centre, were crucial if the party was going to mobilize the anti-NDP government forces of that era.
Granted, a lot has changed over the years. The personalities are different, many of the issues today did not exist 10, let alone 30, years ago and the entire political spectrum has shifted significantly to the right.
But some things never change. For the Liberals, the need to consolidate the anti-NDP vote remains the single most important issue they face. If they don't put their past behind them in this leadership race and get on with life, they can expect to keep wandering in the wilderness for years to come.
Tonight my wife and I will likely partake in our household's weekly ritual of telephoning our moms -- hers in southern Saskatchewan and mine in western Manitoba.
If tonight is typical, I will likely talk to my mom for about 15 minutes and my wife will talk to my mother-in-law for their average conversation of three days, 12 hours and 49 minutes. (I'm lying. My long-distance charges to Manitoba each month are always the highest on our bills.)
But thanks to our friendly Crown telephone utility and the joys of competition, long-distance costs haven't really been much of an issue with us.
Presuming both my wife and I each talk to our moms for about 15 minutes tonight (we've gladly moved our weekly ritual from the weekends to Wednesdays to take advantage of SaskTel's most recent marketing campaign that charges subscribers a measly 15 cents a minute for calls anywhere in Canada after 6 p.m.) it will cost us about $4.50.
Considering that 10 years ago the same 15 minute calls from Regina to the same moms in Saskatchewan and Manitoba would have cost us about $10.35, we'll save $5.85 this week. In the course of this month, that means we could save $23.40.
And even when this temporary promotion expires at the end of this month, the general reduction in long-distance rates means the 30 minutes a week we spend on long distance calls will likely cost us $270.90 by Sept. 1, 1997.
That's likely $236.25 less than the $507.15 we would have paid for our 30 minutes a week of long-distance mother conversations in 1986.
Also, while many of us are griping about threats from SaskTel president Don Ching ("Big Boy. Must have a good appetite,'' my mom would say) to charge more for basic service charges, the $15.35 a month or $184.20 a year we now pay in telephone service fees is also likely less.
Ten years ago, we would have had to rent a telephone from SaskTel and would have had to pay for each extension in our house (four extras, in our case). That means, our service charge would have been $21.30 a month or $255.60 a year.
Between service fees and long distance charges, I figure I'm paying about $307.65 less than I would have been 10 years ago.
If Ching's new service charge increase is reasonable and if I avoid making 4-1-1 directory service inquiries at the new charge of 75 cents a call, I presume our household will remain ahead of the game.
Now, don't get me wrong.
There is still much about the running of the Crown telephone utility that makes you wonder.
The fact that they're now paying Ching as president while still paying past president Fred Van Parys an undisclosed amount (presumably, the equivalent of his $170,000 a year salary) to do undisclosed work should make us all suspicious and annoyed.
Why SaskTel -- supposedly swamped by this new cutthroat competition -- saw no problem shelling out the equivalent of a 4.5-per-cent increase plus $1,500 in RRSPs to its striking employees last June is also curious.
And the fact that -- between weekends, statutory holidays, every second Friday off and generous contracts -- many SaskTel employees spend fewer days at their jobs than teachers do, really causes one to wonder about whether this company can survive competition.
But none of this means SaskTel is being unfair to institute the 75-cent directory service fee (something every other province now has -- some for three years now) or that it's being unfair to consider hiking basic service fees (perhaps lower than they were 10 years ago) to make up for a loss in clientele coming because of competition.
Nor has competition meant -- as SaskTel Minister Carol Teichrob seemed to be suggesting this week -- that we consumers are being unfairly taken to the cleaners.
By my calculations to date, I've done quite well, thank you very much.
Given the breaks we've received on long distance lately, shouldn't we be paying some extra costs somewhere?
Afterall, as our mothers have likely told us during many of our long-distance conversations: You don't get something for nothing.
As Miles Greenwood was swathing his two-section farm near Carnduff on Wednesday, it was impossible for him not to think of his son Jason.
The 19-year-old was always "a great kid . . . one of the better-liked kids in school,'' his dad said in a telephone interview Wednesday evening from his home in the province's southeast corner. "He was always the spark.''
And Jason loved the farm. He loved farm work. He was good at it.
"I could put out my hand and he always had the right wrench for me,'' Miles Greenwood recalled. "I have two boys. Jason would have been the one that took over the farm . . .
"He was a big, strong, young man who didn't back away from anything . . . Maybe that was his downfall . . .''
Jason did plan to take over the family farm, but he first wanted to go to university. He was determined to pay his own way and sought out the best-paying job he could find.
It was with K-Line Maintenance and Construction Ltd. -- a subcontractor for SaskPower.
On March 7, 1989, Jason Greenwood was working at a K-Line job site near Macrorie, 100 kilometres south of Saskatoon, stringing high-power lines.
Greenwood and co-worker Myles Brooks were asked to work in a 22-tonne crane's man-basket, suspended 12 metres in the air.
Some on the crew thought the man-baskets were unsafe and the company was using them to save money. One 21-year-old had even quit two days before because of these safety concerns.
Jason Greenwood hated the basket, too, but he wanted to prove he could do the job, his dad said. He trusted his bosses would not allow him to work in an unsafe environment.
That naive assumption -- one from a young man working on his first big job, making real money for the first time -- cost him his life.
The basket plunged to the ground that day.
Greenwood was killed. Brooks was severely injured.
K-Line had made no attempt to ensure the rigging block that keeps the crane's cable in place would not jump off the pulley. The 27-year-old crane operator was not certified. He had little experience. No safety log book was kept.
In a stinging indictment, a Saskatoon judge in February 1990 fined White City-based K-Line $7,000 for four violations of the then Occupational Health and Safety Act.
"A young man has tragically died. The factors that resulted in his terrifying death were within the control of men -- some of who were witnesses in this trial,'' said Judge G. T. Saniuk.
That this tragedy could have been averted is the hardest aspect for the victim's father and mother Connie -- now battling cancer.
"I think young people should back off and not take some of these jobs,'' said Miles Greenwood, who was unsuccessful in his 1991 attempt to have criminal negligence charges laid against the company.
"You're young. Somebody tells you to climb to the top of the tower and you go.
"I think young kids should know you have some rights.''
The mountain of new rules governing the Occupational Health and Safety Act that came down this week are not perfect.
But you do get the sense that in their three years of squabbling and nit-picking over 470 regulations, politicians, bureaucrats and labor and business representatives kept in mind this agonizing process was all about the Jason Greenwoods.
You can see that in specific regulations calling for qualified crane operators and updated safety standards. Or requirements that every employer have an occupational health committee.
And it can be seen across the board in the special emphasis placed on workplace education. As Labor Minister Bob Mitchell so aptly put it, employers just can't throw kids out of high school into these unsafe situations anymore.
Liberals, Tories and some business people would be wise to think about this before they criticize these new regulations as too costly or too intrusive.
We likely cannot understand the special relationship between a father and the son he farms with.
Nor can we understand the pain Miles Greenwood -- likely to sell his farm in the coming years -- is likely feeling these days.
"It's kind of sad. We really have a nice farm . . . a lovely yard . . .'' Greenwood said, fighting back the tears. "I think about Jason a lot.''
But maybe, just maybe, Jason Greenwood's tragic death has not been all for naught.
One by one, we entered Dale Eisler's recently painted new office to converse with Saskatchewan's eminent political columnist.
There he sat on the floor -- a cross between Groucho Marx and Gautama Buddha with a little borrowed wisdom from each -- attempting to peck his column into his computer terminal. Not a stick of furniture was in sight. The walls, floors, window and even the ceiling were covered with newspapers.
"You know, at first I thought it was a dumb idea, but it seems to be working,'' Eisler said in his ever-sincere manner. "I think the fumes are going away.''
As we each left, none of us dared say anything. Tears were already starting to stream down our faces. Our only hope was to sneak away before we peed ourselves laughing.
It was 1988 and Dale's excitement about his new office at the legislature's press gallery had been somewhat dampened by his concerns that toxic paint fumes would render him incapable of recalling the doctors' strike of '62, potash nationalization or Hammy MacDonald.
Despite assurances from the legislature's building staff that water-based paint is actually not life-threatening, Eisler's concerns persisted.
A day or so after the painting, the building staff came up to the gallery while Dale was away at lunch and left a message with a couple of press gallery clowns to tell Dale the paint was perfectly dry and it was quite safe for him to move in.
For reasons still unclear to me, two gallery wisenheimers took this as an open invitation to cover every square inch of his new office with newsprint.
Then one of them got the bright idea to leave the following note on his new office door: "Newspapers are absorbing paint fumes. Do not remove or move in furniture until further notice. By order of building maintenance.''
Eisler came back from lunch and read the note. His relief was visible. He would live to write another day.
I bring the above story to your attention for the following reasons:
* It may be the only time in 13 years of working with him that I ever recall Eisler being naive or gullible.
* He's threatened bodily harm to the next person who says or writes some overly sentimental, maudlin account of how much we will miss him.
* Every time I tell this story it greatly embarrasses him, and my wife Shawna and I have a great deal of getting even to do from two years ago when he was master of ceremonies at our wedding.
It also affords me the opportunity to share with you a bit of what Eisler has taught those of us about Saskatchewan politics -- both the spoken and the unspoken.
Much of the spoken will already be familiar to you because he's shared it in more than 3,000 political columns he's written for Saskatchewan's daily and weekly newspapers in the last 17 years:
* Politics is ultimately about power. But never forget that politicians are often people with strong philosophical beliefs that are often governed by those beliefs.
* Whatever reason a politician states for doing something, remember he likely has another motive that has to do with being re-elected. But never rule out the possibility that a politician's motive is to do the right thing.
* No one party has a monopoly on either good or evil people. And while political parties or individual politicians are often driven by the pursuit of power, they still are people.
But it may be one unspoken lesson from Dale that all of us would be best served to remember.
In a world often filled with huge egos, insufferable pretense and strident combatants, it's hard to imagine a personality more ill-suited to thrive than Dale Eisler's.
While "co-operation'' and "communitarian" may be just words to some of the people that Dale covered over the years, they are pretty much what Dale has lived by.
None of Dale's colleagues ever heard him say: "We're doing it my way and that matter is not up for discussion.''
No one has ever heard him swearing at someone he disagreed with.
Everyone, in Dale's view, had an equal right to have his or her opinion heard.
Perhaps after covering politics for 17 years, it became less clear where Dale separated Saskatchewan politics from Saskatchewan life.
But in both, Dale Eisler has firmly held his belief that respect and tolerance must be first and foremost.
Bye, Dale.
It's been great working with you. Even when you've been just a little naive and gullible.
There is a fellow I know who said something to me not long ago that struck me as kind of profound. A few years ago, he left Saskatchewan for a new career and a happy life in British Columbia and he was back in his home province for a brief visit.
During the course of our conversation over coffee on a pleasant spring afternoon with the warm sunshine streaming in through the restaurant window, the talk turned to our feelings about Saskatchewan. He wanted to know how things were going and how the future looked in the province where he grew up and started his career.
I've always considered myself something of a cold-blooded realist when it comes to this province, so when he sought my opinion, I told him Saskatchewan is no different now than ever. This is a province that is always struggling to overcome its problems. In that sense, there is a kind of continuity, or cadence, to life in Saskatchewan. To struggle against adversity and sometimes to succeed, and other times to fail, is central to our identity.
The thing about Saskatchewan, I suggested, was that it always seemed to be trying to come to terms with itself. As a result, it never can escape the image of a province that lacks the opportunity other places might offer.
He listened and basically agreed.
"I know what you're saying. People say that Saskatchewan is in the middle of nowhere. But you know what? Saskatchewan might be nowhere, but it's my nowhere," he said.
Those words might sound almost trite to you, but they have stayed with me and forced me to think about why people feel the way they do about Saskatchewan. There are many who have built careers writing about this province and trying to understand its spirit and its people. But I've always felt the ones who best appreciate Saskatchewan are those who have left it and still consider it their home. Their attachment to the province does not diminish with the years, and often grows even stronger.
There is no doubt that the spirit and soul of Saskatchewan is in its people. Each person, in their own small but important way, reflects the character and essence of this province. But to say that people make up the spirit of one province is also a truism. The same can be said about any other place.
The thing is, though, that, in Saskatchewan's case, those who best recognize the qualities of the people and the province are the ones who have left. They leave behind a piece of themselves and can never quite let go.
Like my friend said, it may be nowhere, but it's his nowhere.
For a number of years, I've had the privilege to write about Saskatchewan, its people, its past, its future, its successes, its failures and its endless hope. For the most part, I have written about politicians and others who have been central figures in the public life of the province. To a person, they all reflect the character of the province and, over time, you can't help but grow to appreciate the uniqueness of Saskatchewan that is embodied in its people.
When you think of Saskatchewan, it is impossible for your mind not to turn to the people who have come to represent its spirit. Our history is rich with the passion of those who have struggled to make Saskatchewan a better place. They range from political icons like Jimmy Gardiner, Tommy Douglas and Ross Thatcher, to ordinary and often unknown folk whose good works go unnoticed and unheralded. But each has been an equally critical link in the Saskatchewan chain of life.
In this age of cynicism, distrust of those in public life has become a convenient emotional refuge from what have become very difficult and seemingly intractable problems. We question motives and assume the worst in almost everyone who dares take a public stand because it's easier than trying to find solutions to the problems that always seem with us. So rather than questioning ideas, we attack the people who have them.
How much the media, and myself personally, have been responsible for helping to create that kind of unhealthy climate, and how much of the public's negative attitude is justified, I will let others judge. But over time, I have come to realize that to not have faith in the people of this province, whether a well-known or unknown public figure or a private citizen, is to lack faith in Saskatchewan itself.
The reason why I'm saying all this is because it's my last chance. This is my final column for the Regina Leader-Post and Saskatoon StarPhoenix. After more years than I would care to admit, I'm going to, as they say, pursue other career options. What they are and where they'll lead me, I'm still unsure.
Not that it matters. What counts is that I'll take with me the memories of countless Saskatchewan people, each of them unique, and the vast majority committed to helping a province locked in a struggle against the odds.
To each of them, my thanks, and best wishes.
For the most part, former premier Grant Devine has been spared from responsibility for the real corruption and wrongdoing that took place during his 10-year regime.
But that benefit of doubt Devine's enjoyed may have ended on the witness stand at Michael Hopfner trial this week.
If testimony is to be believed, Devine can no longer be excused.
That Devine has been spared from direct responsibility for the scandals to date has been because nothing has suggested he was directly involved in any of these scandals.
Certainly, Devine is seen as responsible in the sense that any premier must take ultimate responsibility for everyone and everything that goes on in a government.
But in the same way that a bank president or bank manager isn't charged if a teller is skimming money, a premier can't be directly blamed if his MLAs or employees are breaking the law.
But a little known former employee of Devine's office named Michael McCafferty may have changed that.
As a Crown witness, McCafferty testified that he was part of a an internal committee of Devine staff members whose job was to discredit then newly elected NDP leader Roy Romanow.
Called Operation R-Squared, much of the committee's functions were distasteful but relatively harmless -- writing letters to the editors on behalf of party loyalists, placing phoney calls to open line radio talk shows and keeping tabs on Romanow speeches. As disheartening a waste of taxpayers' dollars as such activities are, they are also sadly part of politics. We'd be naive if we thought similar things don't go in Romanow's government today.
But according to McCafferty's testimony, this committee's work crossed politics' fine line between annoyingly acceptable and of the completely unethical, libelous and potentially illegal.
False advertisements with a fictitious farmer slagging Romanow were taken out in the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix ( paid for by caucus funds.) The committee considered hiring a private detective to "dig up dirt" on Romanow's personal life and find a way of getting hold of his medical records. It even thought about targeting now federal Agriculture Minister Ralph Goodale for similar dirty tricks, McCafferty said, describing the committee's work as "sick."
Before taking his testimony at face value, we should remember a few things. In earlier testimony, McCafferty also confessed to playing a role in helping Hopfner fraudulently obtain caucus communication allowance.
He also says he doesn't know if any of the MLAs knew about this committee's activities. Therefore, one might presume Grant Devine might not have known about the renegade activities of a few employees.
But much of what McCafferty described -- particularly as it relates to the false advertisement and discrediting Romanow at all costs -- is being verified by other members of this so-called Operation R-Squared. Furthermore, these fellow committee members do not apologize for what they did. They considered it part of their job.
If so, it's the most damning indictment of Devine's leadership to date.
If a premier can't be expected to always know when a few of his employees have crossed the line, he is expected to be the one who draws the line and ensure that his people know they aren't allowed to cross it.
Co-incidently or not, it was about this time Devine was delivering his most vitriolic and personal attacks on Romanow. At the PCs' November 1987 convention, Devine referred to Romanow as 'a spineless political playboy" and made specific reference to Romanow "personally profiting" when the NDP leader's former law firm (which included current cabinet ministers Bob Mitchell and Eric Cline and SaskTel president Don Ching) represented the Bank of Nova Scotia in foreclosing on a farmer.
Neither Devine nor anyone in PC ranks ever proved Romanow benefited from a farm foreclosure. (Surprise. Surprise.) Devine's attack did far more to embarrass himself than he did to discredit Romanow.
But it's also apparent this particular attack sent a clear message to Tory workers that anything goes when it came to discrediting the NDP leader.
Even if Devine truly didn't know what his employees were up to, it's not good enough this time. He didn't draw that line that all premiers must draw. That line a premier's staff should never cross.
We may excuse Grant Devine for being overly trusting, a poor judge of character or even somewhat incompetent as a public administrator.
But how can anyone say Devine is not directly responsibility for the activities of his dirty tricks squad?
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