The Atlantic premiers did two big things at their meeting last weekend. They basically called the Harper government incompetent, having constructed labour market policies on the basis of "anecdotes" and no evidence.
And for the first time in more than a generation -- apart from Newfoundland's mercurial former premier, Danny Williams -- someone from these parts has said "boo" to the federal government.
Twice the same day recently I heard this, spoken in dismissive rage: "That idiot, Harper" and "that fool in Ottawa."
In my decades watching politics, I've found that tone of voice is more indicative of political fortune than either polls or rational argument.
One speaker was a fisherman, angry at ham-fisted fishery management reforms, the other a guy who fixes houses for sale and had just been told by his bank manager that uncertainty over EI changes made an already catastrophic real estate market in Western Nova Scotia even worse.
Both probably voted for Harper last time, and neither thinks much about politics -- the type of "Tim Horton's crowd" voter the Conservatives target.
Budget time is approaching in Nova Scotia, as elsewhere. Not just any budget time, but that special variety that precedes an election (this fall, I'd guess). You can usually tell by the tension in the media/political complex. The government is preparing for the buckets of vitriol that will fall on its head when it announces that it can't balance the budget this year as promised, and there's a howl over a $27-million accounting error in last year's budget.
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Three questions are worth bearing in mind as we consider the proposal to reform EI.
First, what does public opinion reveal? Those with even a shred of respect for democracy will take into account what the priorities of the citizenry are.
In 1982, 84 workers died when the Ocean Ranger drilling rig sank east of Newfoundland. After three years of searching for Coast Guard seaman Greg MacClennan, Newfoundland author Mike Heffernan caught up with him and collected his memories of being a crew member of one of the ships that answered the distress call in 1982.
The Hudson was tied up on the south side of St. John’s harbour. The crew stood by the railing, smoking and chatting amongst themselves. I walked up the gangway and was introduced to a giant of a man. He was bearded, his hair long in back and gathered together into a ponytail. His hands were thick and heavily calloused, swallowing my own as we made our introductions. Yet his voice was soft and his words articulate.
