Democracy with Justice/La juste democratie: Melanges en l'honneur de/Essays in Honour of Khayyam Zev Paltiel 9780773573741

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Democracy with Justice: Essays in Honour of Khayyam Zev Paltiel / La Juste Démocratie: Mélanges en L’Honneur de Khayyam Zev Paltiel

Alain G. Gagnon A. Brian Tanguay, Editors

Carleton University Press

DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE LA JUSTE DEMOCRATIC

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE LA JUSTE DEMOCRATIE

ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF KHAYYAM ZEV PALTIEL MELANGES EN L'HONNEUR DE KHAYYAM ZEV PALTIEL

Carleton University Press Ottawa — Canada 1992

CARLETON UNIVERSITY 1941-1991

©Carleton University Press Inc. 1992 ISBN 0-88629-157-7 (paperback) ISBN 0-88629-155-0 (casebound) Printed and bound in Canada Carleton Library Series 171 Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Main entry under title: Democracy with justice: essays in honour of Khayyam Zev Paltiel = La juste democratic: melanges en 1'honneur de Khayyam Zev Paltiel (Carleton library series ; 171) Includes some text in French. Papers presented at a conference held at Carleton University in February 1990. ISBN 0-88629-157-7 (paperback) ISBN 0-88629-155-0 (casebound) 1. Canada-Politics and government. 2. Civil rights-Canada. I. Gagnon, Alain, 1954- . II. Tanguay, Brian III. Paltiel, Khayyam Zev, 19221988. IV. Title: La juste democratic. V. Series JL65 1992 D44 1992 320.971 C91-090361-1 Distributed by Oxford University Press Canada, 70 Wynford Drive, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada. M3C 1J9 (416) 441-2941 Cover design: Aerographics Ottawa Acknowledgements Carleton University Press gratefully acknowledges the support extended to its publishing programme by the Canada Council and the Ontario Arts Council. The volume has been published with the help of a Book Preparation Grant from Wilfrid Laurier University.

Contents Acknowledgements ix Contributors xi

Democracy with Justice: An Introduction Alain-G. Gagnon and A. Brian Tanguay

I.

Khayyam Zev Paltiel: A Portrait The Life and Times of K.Z. Paltiel Jeremy Paltiel Friend, Colleague, Teacher and Scholar Bruce McFarlane Khayyam Paltiel: Some Memories Reg Whitaker

II.

1

7 18 24

Individual Rights, Collective Rights, and the Canadian Constitution The Constitutional Dialectic and The Conundrum of Hate Legislation Paul Rosen Collective Action in the Age of the Charter Raymond Bazowski National Minorities, Rights and Signs: The Supreme Court and Language Legislation in Quebec Claude Galipeau Ontario's New Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act in Practice Donald C. Rowat

35 52 66 85

III. Rights and Representation: Meech Lake and the Charter Limited Government versus the State: Meech Lake and the Moral Grammars of Choice Richard Nutbrown From the Constitution Act, 1982, to the Meech Lake Accord, 1987: Individual Rights for All versus Collective Rights for Some Mj'chael Behiels

107

125

The Meech Lake Impasse in Theoretical Perspective Kenneth McRae

140

IV. Clientelism, Patronage, and Corruption The Origins of Canadian Politics Gordon Stewart The Comparative Study of Clientelism and the Realities of Patronage in Modern Societies: Israeli and Canadian Trends Luis Roniger From Parties to Symbols and Entourages: The Changing Uses of Political Patronage in Canada S.J.R. Noel Les nouvelles formes du patronage Vincent Lemieux La pratique du patronage et la poursuite de 1'ideal democratique Raymond Hudon

V.

157

173

197 208

219

Lobbying and Interest Representation A Political Economy Approach to Interest Representation 239 Jane Jenson New Social Movements and Unequal Representation: The Challenge of Influencing Public Policy 255 Susan Phillips Sustainable Development and the Challenges Facing Canadian Environmental Groups in the 1990s 276 Thomas Con way

VI. Interest Representation and Class Politics in Quebec Les associations patronales comme groupes de pression dans la revolution tranquille Michel Sarra-Bournet La representation des interets: Les schemas corporatistes au Canada Clinton Archibald

291

304

Devenir "maftres chez nous": emergence d'une bourgeoisie balzacienne au Quebec Alaj'n-G. Gagnon et Khayyam Zev Paltiel The Changing Face of Class Politics in Quebec: The Representation and Expression of Business Interests in the Policy Process Bruce Wise

318

340

VII. Party Finance, Party Organization, and Party Decline Khayyam Zev Paltiel and Theories of Public Financing Herbert Alexander Ethical Elections: Political Finance and Related Issues in France and Ireland Kenneth Gibbons Popular Financing of Parties in Quebec: An Analysis of the Financial Reports of Parties, 1978-1989 Louis Massicotte Reflections on Political Marketing and Party "Decline" in Canada . . . or, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the 1988 Election A. Brian Tanguay The Dysfunctions of Canadian Parties: An Exploratory Mapping John Meisel

Selected Annotated Bibliography: The Work of Khayyam Zev Paltiel

355

370

383

391 407

433

Tim Thomas and Jeff Allan Haire

For my Father

Ari Paltiel

445

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Acknowledgements This book brings together a number of essays that were first presented at a conference held at Carleton University in February 1990 to honour the memory of the late Khayyam Zev Paltiel. We would like to extend our thanks to the many people who made this conference the success that it was, and to acknowledge those individuals who have assisted in the compilation of this volume. Our principal debt is to the Paltiel family — Khayyam's wife, Freda, and his children, Ari, Jeremy, Candy, and Ora — who not only greeted the idea of a conference in honour of Khayyam with enthusiasm, but took time from their busy schedules to attend a number of the conference sessions. We are also extremely grateful to Jeff Haire; without his energetic assistance, the conference would certainly not have unfolded as smoothly as it did. Marion Armstrong of Carleton University and Helen Paret of Wilfrid Laurier University expertly typed portions of the manuscript, and doubled as editorial consultants. Financial support for the conference was generously provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Dean of Social Sciences, Carleton University, and the Department of Political Science at Carleton University. Publication of this book was assisted by a Book Preparation Grant from Wilfrid Laurier University. Thanks also to the two anonymous referees who provided evaluations of the manuscript for Carleton University Press. Jeffrey Simpson, Emanuel Gutmann, Glen Toner, and Harold Angell all gave papers at the conference which, unfortunately, could not be included in this volume for one reason or another. Luis Roniger's essay was not presented at the conference, but we are pleased to include it in the book. We would also like to thank those individuals who acted as discussants or chairpersons for the various conference sessions: Pierre-F. Cote, the Directeur general des elections du Quebec; Jean-Marc Hamel, the former Chief Electoral Officer of Canada; Ralph Heintzman, of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada; Dennis Forcese, Rianne Mahon, Maureen Molot, and Michael Whittington of Carleton University; Gilles Paquet and Jean-Luc Pepin of the University of Ottawa; Fred Engelmann of the University of Alberta; and Leo Panitch of York University. Finally, a word of thanks to Khayyam Paltiel, our teacher, colleague, and friend. We hope that the conference and this book, by stimulating the sort of intellectual debate that Khayyam so passionately advocated and practised, will serve as fitting tributes to his memory. Alain-G. Gagnon A. Brian Tanguay

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Contributors Herbert E. Alexander Director, Citizens' Research Foundation University of Southern California Clinton Archibald Faculte d'Administration Universite d'Ottawa Raymond Bazowski Department of Political Science St. Francis Xavier University Michael D. Behiels Department of History University of Ottawa Thomas Conway Department of Political Science University of Ottawa Alain-G. Gagnon Department of Political Science McGill University Claude Jean Galipeau Ministry of Intergovernmental Affairs Government of Ontario Kenneth M. Gibbons Department of Political Science University of Winnipeg Jeff Allan Haire Department of Political Science Carleton University Raymond Hudon Departement de science politique Universite Laval Jane Jenson Department of Political Science Carleton University Vincent Lemieux Departement de science politique Universite Laval

Louis Massicotte Departement de science politique Universite de Montreal Bruce McFarlane Department of Sociology and Anth. Carleton University Kenneth D. McRae Department of Political Science Carleton University John Meisel Department of Political Studies Queen's University S.J.R. Noel Department of Political Science University of Western Ontario Richard Nutbrown Department of Political Science University of Waterloo Jeremy Paltiel Department of Political Science Carleton University Susan Phillips School of Public Administration Carleton University Luis Roniger Dept. of Sociology fc Soc. Anth. Hebrew University of Jerusalem Paul Rosen Department of Political Science Carleton University Donald Rowat Department of Political Science Carleton University Michel Sarra-Bournet Ddpartement d'histoire Universite d'Ottawa

Gordon Stewart Department of History Michigan State University

Reg Whitaker Department of Political Science York University

A. Brian Tanguay Department of Political Science Wilfrid Laurier University

Bruce Wise President, Great Northern Consulting Toronto

Tim Thomas Department of Political Science Carleton University

Democracy with Justice: An Introduction Alain-G. Gagnon McGiLL UNIVERSITY A. Brian Tanguay WILFRID LAURIER UNIVERSITY Members of the political science community in Canada were saddened to hear of the sudden death of one of their most respected colleagues, Khayyam Zev Paltiel, on April 17, 1988. For those of us who had spent some time at Carleton University, either as students or as teachers, and who came to know Khayyam, the loss was particularly painful. Many of us in the Political Science department at Carleton had unthinkingly assumed that there would always be a Khayyam Paltiel wandering the corridors of the sixth floor in the Loeb Building, a copy of the Globe and Mail or the latest issue of some academic journal in hand, seeking out a conversation partner. And even when we calculated the "cost" of these conversations with Khayyam, in terms of lost planning time or a missed appointment — for these tete-a-tete were known to last entire mornings, or even the whole day — we had to admit that the rewards were immeasurable. Discussion would wend its way from the latest idiocy of some pompous politician, to an egregious example of the overweening power of the business establishment, and from there into any one of innumerable conversational tributaries — the electoral alliance between the Communist Party and the Liberals in Windsor in the 1940s, for example, or the differences between Chinese and Soviet domestic policies, or the academic literature on interest groups, and on and on. All of us who considered ourselves to be Khayyam's friends benefited from — and were truly amazed by — his encyclopaedic knowledge of politics. It is nearly impossible to get used to the notion that our conversations with Khayyam have been abruptly terminated, at a moment when the man himself still seemed so vigorous. In the interests of carrying on the intellectual dialogue to which Khayyam was so deeply committed, we came up with the idea of holding a conference in honour of his memory. Those invited to attend were either recognized authorities in one or another of Khayyam's academic specializations, or graduate students who were carrying on his research

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interests. The conference theme was "Democracy with Justice": To what extent do Canada's political institutions — the constitution, political parties, interest groups, and what might be broadly termed the rules of the game itself — ensure equitable participation in decision making by all groups in society and state responsiveness? Does the Charter of Rights and Freedoms strike an acceptable and just balance between individual rights and collective rights? Has the dispensing of patronage become the pre-eminent concern of our governments, and do the efforts of different administrations to reward their friends feed the pervasive and growing public cynicism about politicians and politics in general? Are interest groups and political parties doing an adequate job of representing the concerns of all citizens, and not just the most powerful? Do election campaigns constitute effective instruments of democracy, or are they dominated, with the help of existing electoral law, by those groups with the most money and the best connections? These were the sorts of questions addressed in the papers included in this volume. These questions, it must be said, seem all the more pertinent in the final months of 1990, when a whole series of events is calling into question the very legitimacy of our present system of government: the failure of the Meech Lake Accord, the confrontation between Mohawk Warriors and police at Oka, Quebec, the bitter wrangling between the Senate and the House of Commons over the Goods and Services Tax, and the Mulroney government's desperate move to swamp the Senate with Tories — some of them, such as the former Nova Scotian Premier, John Buchanan, under a cloud of suspicion for alleged patronage abuses. There is no "party line" in the following collection of essays, only a healthy scepticism and a willingness to ask tough questions about the nature of power in Canadian society. Khayyam Paltiel was far too much of an individualist and a sceptic — he was contemptuous of all orthodoxies, both of the right and the left — to have encouraged the growth of a coterie of devoted disciples, or a "school," around him. Thus each contributor brings to this volume his or her own perspective, untainted by any editorial injunction to toe a party line. There may not be a single, uniform vision of the good society — of democracy with justice — in the following pages, but the intellectual conversation that was initiated at the conference may constitute one of the first steps toward attaining a more equitable polity. The remainder of the book is divided into seven sections. In the first, Jeremy Paltiel, Bruce McFarlane, and Reg Whitaker offer brief sketches of the life and times of Khayyam Paltiel. Although Festschriften usually include a mixture of personal sketches and more serious scholarly writings, the tendency in Canadian political science has been to quarantine

ALAIN-G. GAGNON AND A. BRIAN TANGUAY

3

the anecdotal material, restricting it to the conference dinners and the like, while reserving the book for matters of deep scholarly import. In this case we wanted to include some personal appreciations of Khayyam and his work, particularly since, in Reg Whitaker's words, there were two Khayyams: the Khayyam of the written word, and the Khayyam of the oral tradition. Section I of the book provides us with a brief glimpse of the second Khayyam. Sections II and III deal with the Canadian constitution, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and the abortive Meech Lake Accord. The leitmotiv running through these various contributions is the tension between individual and collective rights, and the attempt, through the Charter, to strike a balance between the two. Section IV examines one of the enduring themes in Khayyam's writings: clientelism, patronage, and corruption, and the theoretical distinctions that can be made among these concepts. The chapters in this section provide historical and comparative analyses of these phenomena. Section V deals with the representation of interests in liberal democracies like Canada, a subject that was always of overriding concern to Khayyam. Section VI focuses on interest representation and class politics in contemporary Quebec, and includes a translation of an article on Quebec's new francophone bourgeoisie that Khayyam Paltiel co-authored with Alain Gagnon. Section VII is devoted to what was perhaps the pre-eminent theme in Khayyam's research and writing: party finance laws and their impact on party organizations and democratic politics. A re-examination of the thesis of party decline, which Khayyam addressed in one of his last published works, is also included in this section. The book concludes with an annotated bibliography of Khayyam's writings, and Ari Paltiel's eulogy for his father.

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I Khayyam Zev Paltiel: A Portrait

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The Life and Times of K.Z. Paltiel Jeremy Paltiel UNIVERSITY OF ALBERTA My father, K.Z. Paltiel, was born into a well-to-do family in the Jewish neighbourhood of Montreal on March 16, 1922. This was the same neighbourhood evoked by the poet A.M. Klein and later satirized by Richler. His father, Aaron David, who immigrated from Romania just before the turn of the century, had started off as a dry-goods merchant in Northern Ontario in Porcupine and North Bay, but settled down in Montreal around the time of the First World War and built up a successful business as a real estate developer and property manager. His mother, Bella Ruth, was a much younger cousin of his father, who had immigrated to New York as an orphaned girl of seven, her mother having died in the aftermath of the pogroms which followed the failed peasant uprising of 1907. She succeeded well in school, attended Hunter College and worked for a while as a secretary for the famous social worker Lillian Wald before marrying her elder cousin, the family benefactor who was twenty years her senior. Though his parents were immigrants, the language of the household was English. Anyone who ever met my grandmother Bella Ruth would testify to her eloquence. My grandfather aspired to be a genteel patriarch, and by the end of the 1920s he established himself as a gentleman farmer in upstate Vermont on a farm along Lake Champlain called "Shalom"; five other siblings were born in rapid succession over the next decade, and my father never had a chance to enjoy the prerogatives of being the eldest before my grandfather was wiped out by the depression in 1932. The depression destroyed the family's livelihood, but could not take away its culture. The parents subscribed to the American liberal publication, The Nation. My grandfather had already been active in Canadian Zionist circles before the First World War, and my grandmother continued to hold prominent positions in the Montreal chapter of Haddassah even as my grandfather retreated into solitude. The depression cut short

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my father's music lessons on the violin, a loss which I think haunted him. Yet when the family could barely pay its bills, my father had a private tutor for the Talmud. In other respects his childhood was much like others of his generation of Jewish children in Montreal. The Jewish quarter of Montreal was on the knife-edge of the geographic border of the city and the country's two solitudes. To the west lay Mount Royal and on its western slopes, Westmount, where the barons of St. James Street lived in their mock Scottish manors. To the east lay the sprawling walkups of French Montreal with their curving wrought iron staircases and a Catholic church on every corner. The grey limestone, walled-in mentality of Catholic Quebec relegated the Jewish children to the Protestant school boards of anglophone Quebec. My father never forgot the Protestant hymns they were obliged to sing at the start of every school day, and it was not until a trip to New York, at the age of fifteen, that he discovered with great astonishment that nuns spoke any language other than French. In a cultural minority wedged between a dominant English minority and a restless French majority obsessed with its own survival, he and his contemporaries sought to realize the universal values which had lured their immigrant parents to the New World. They lived a dialectic existence, proclaiming cosmopolitan allegiance to universal values while the surrounding society reinforced in them an acute sense of their own cultural and historical particularity. My father's life played out this dialectic in a fruitful and creative way. In his lifetime, Canada came to embody it in a way inconceivable in his youth. He was one of those postwar pioneers who helped to transform the vertical mosaic with its congruent strata of ethnic, linguistic and economic domination into the more open and dynamic mosaic of multiculturalism and bilingualism today. This context helped to form the mixture of ambivalence and identification with which he viewed French Canada and Quebec. Montreal participated in all the hopeful and tragic ideological battles of the 1930s. The Spanish Civil War took on a particular and sometimes ominous resonance in the Catholic community. My father had vivid memories of demonstrations for and against the Spanish Republicans, and remembered being taken out to protest rallies against the Nazis. My father and his bohemian circle strove to remain cosmopolitan in a milieu heavy with ideological gunsmoke. With his friends at Baron Byng high school he founded an intellectual discussion club called the "15 Club" (for the room in which it was held). The club was founded to provide a forum "for tolerant exchange of ideas and outlooks" by active idealistic and intellectual young men who did not want to be drawn into

JEREMY PALTIEL 9 the orbit of the Communist Party. Remember, this was the riding represented by the infamous Fred Rose, later to be caught up in the Gouzenko web. They discussed philosophy, history, religion and politics. In its minutes for 1940 we find the following topics: "Dialectical Materialism in the Fine Arts"; "H.G. Wells on Russian Foreign Policy"; "Judaism in the Graeco-Roman World"; "Anti-Semitism in Quebec"; "Marxist Analysis of the 1837 Rebellion in Lower Canada"; "Economic Aspects of the War"; and the only one-word topic, "Sex." (There is an active exchange in the minutes, between one member who deplored the notion that there be "socials" mixing the sexes, and a derisive majority, including my father, who enthusiastically approved of their inclusion.) In September 1940 my father delivered a lecture on religion which "traced the development of ideas regarding God and religion from the Greek philosopher Aristotle down to the present day, touching on the ideas of the Chinese, the Jews and the Egyptians and of the modern West." His contemporaries remember him among the intellects of this self-consciously intellectual group. His own contribution to its early discussions was recorded in the minutes as involving "a barrage of questions," as well as frequent objections and emendations on questions of principle. From the start he displayed a certain independence of mind, and a tendency to bohemianism. His mother recalled that he was not at all perturbed or concerned about his matriculation exams, and was even willing to forgo the exam in history, which was his best subject. His nonchalance towards formal study was to be broken by his experience of trying to gain entry to McGill University. The reply of the registrar, when he came to register in 1940, was: "My job is to keep you people out." My grandmother had to pawn her jewelry to pay the tuition for my father's first year at university. His unspoken riposte to the registrar was to curb his bohemian proclivities just enough to graduate first in his class, with double honours in Political Science and Economics, and to forestall the slightest question about his academic credentials by earning a scholarship at every subsequent step in his academic career. Among the professors at McGill who influenced him, Eugene Forsey, regarded in those days as a dangerous radical, was prominent. Though my father's interests lay elsewhere, he retained a lifelong familiarity with the B.N.A. Act, and a healthy and serious respect for formal institutions and their role. He also gained the friendship and patronage of Cyrill James, who was later to become Principal of McGill University. He was always interested in political economy. I think the greatest influence that any book exercised on him was that of Keynes' General Theory. This interest was shaped not only by the personal and collective trauma of the Great Depression, but also by his Schumpeterian

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admiration for the entrepreneur. Not because he had any admiration for men of property — he had no use for vested interests of any kind — but because he admired creative people who put ideas into action. Note, in this context, the article he co-authored with Alain Gagnon on the "Balzacian bourgeoisie" of contemporary Quebec. He liked economics because it was the area where the material basis of life intersected social behaviour, but he despised economic thought that abandoned contact with human beings. He recalled with derision the experience of tutoring a class in economics where not one student could name a capital good or had ever seen one in action. In the summer of 1940 he had himself attended a government-sponsored training course for machinists in Montreal, but was unable to find employment because of his ethnic origin — a story his fellow trainee, Bruce McFarlane, is better placed to elaborate on. He had as a teenager worked as an apprentice for a French-Canadian plumber, and had bagged groceries for the original Steinberg's, and never lost a visceral respect for the dignity of the working man or woman. His sympathies are revealed by his first publication, a prize essay on postwar reconstruction published in the journal of the Canadian Trades and Labour Congress, the forerunner of today's CLC. Also, his first proposal for a Ph.D. thesis was on the history of the trade union movement in Canada. Following his graduation from McGill with a gold medal in 1943, he was awarded a fellowship to Harvard University which he was unable to take up because of wartime restrictions on travel abroad. Instead, he enrolled at the University of Toronto. There Harold Innis stimulated his interest in communications, and among his greatest disappointments was his inability to establish an institute of communications at Carleton despite months and years of futile effort. At the core of his work on election expenses there is an argument about the costs of communications. He saw the high cost of television advertising as the reason why political parties were persuaded to opt for public financing of electoral campaigns. A central preoccupation in my father's work is the problem of transmitting public concerns to government, and the creation of government designed to respond to public concerns disciplined by effective choices made at the ballot box. These concerns might at first blush seem far from Harold Innis's Communications and Empire, but there is a direct connection here between political power, communications, and technology. Thus he may legitimately be regarded as an heir to this indigenous Canadian school of political economy. Nonetheless, unlike Innis's more famous disciple, Marshall McLuhan, my father was never dazzled by

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11

technology. For him it was simply a tool in the hands of those who used it. The problem was never technology itself, but the fact that it is usually appropriated by elites to buttress their own privileged position in society. My father's concern with communications surfaced most notably in his work on party finance and later, more explicitly, in his comparative research on political broadcasting. While he did not particularly enjoy his time in the Toronto of 1943, which he found unbearably stodgy and WASP, he did recall going to hear Duke Ellington in the dance halls by the lakeshore. It may surprise you, but he was an enthusiastic and excellent dancer. Having finished his M.A. at Toronto, and still being unable to take up the fellowship to Harvard because of the war, he drifted away from academic pursuits for some time. He worked first as a rewrite man for Canadian Press, then he did research for the Royal Commission on Coal. This job took him to Nova Scotia, where he quarreled with the directors, but also had the opportunity to meet a man who would become the dean of Canadian critics of his day, Nathan Cohen, then still in Glace Bay. But his bohemian spirit led him to quit the Royal Commission on Coal and go to work for far less money at the National Film Board. John Grierson, my father said, was the only genius he ever met in person. He was at the Film Board in its wartime heyday, when the likes of Norman McLaren began to create their magic. While my father never again worked directly in the artistic or creative milieu, he carried with him a lifelong appreciation of the cinema. The Film Board experience did, however, become a further milestone in his interest in the technology of political communications. Grierson was keenly interested in propaganda. In 1945 he was in New York, where he had gone originally as the manager of a film crew. He and his colleagues indulged themselves at the expense of the taxpayer (his own construction on his activities) but were eventually cut loose by the NFS. He inquired about taking up the Harvard fellowship that was denied him by the war, but he was unable to, so he enrolled at the New School for Social Research, the exile home of German-Jewish intellectuals. He also spent time working for the American Economic Committee for Palestine, trying to find markets for Dead Sea Bromine. His suspicions of economics as a rational and abstract science must have been reinforced when he discovered that petroleum companies were able to reorganize world-wide cartels within weeks of the end of the Second World War, excluding new entrants into the market for bromine used as a gasoline additive. He relished the life of New York, with its cultural amenities, the theatre, the museums. My parents' last holiday together was a Valentine's day trip to New York, on the occasion of the fortieth anniversary of their

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first date, just three years ago. He left New York only because he was given a draft notice, and he refused even to consider taking a physical, although he had already been rejected for service with the Canadian forces several times during the war. When he found himself in Montreal again without work, he was asked by his old department to help with teaching the returned veterans, so he enrolled in the Ph.D. programme, and began to plan a thesis dealing with the history of the Canadian labour movement. He was buffeted by the early winds of the cold war, and by the general atmosphere that was hostile to academia until the Sputnik launching in 1957. He was offered a job at the University of New Brunswick at the grand salary of $1,300 per annum, which he decided to decline after calculating the cost of the move. He offered to teach Marxist theory at one Canadian university, and received the cold reply that they did not think such a course was necessary. Marxism was for him an intellectual challenge, but he was not a Marxist. I think his abiding scepticism towards Marxism — apart from the horrors of contemporary Stalinism — was due to its inability to comprehend or analyze the passions of nationalism. At this time his own passionate commitment was to his work to help bring the Israeli state into being, while at the same time he courted my mother Freda, whom he married in June 1949. When he became discouraged by the prospects of finding academic work, he faced the responsibilities of marriage by working for Canpal, a small firm apparently dedicated to developing Canadian trade with Israel. He left the firm, characteristically, when he found that its manager had no intention of carrying on any trade directly, but instead acted as a passive investor in a similar American firm. He was still unemployed when my older brother Ari was born. My brother was named after the first Canadian to die in the Israeli War of Independence. A short while later my father took a job with the Canadian Jewish Congress in Winnipeg, organizing a campaign for fair employment practices legislation in Manitoba, and acting as a general organizer and fundraiser for the Canadian Jewish Congress in the West. This job allowed him to roam the West by train and in his first car, a Hudson, west to Banff, south to Lethbridge and as far north as Flin Flon. His letters show an appreciation for the western landscape as well as a deep attachment to his wife, and his young family, including, by this time, me. In 1953 he took a job as director of the Jewish Community Council of Windsor, Ontario. Here, while he continued work on behalf of the Jewish community, he occasionally offered evening lectures to the Windsor

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Labour Council. It was an idyllic interlude for him and for our family, during which my two sisters, Ora and Candida, were born. My parents enjoyed a steady income and the cultural amenities then afforded by Detroit, but my father eventually outgrew community work of this kind. After a trip to Israel sponsored by the community in 1957, he decided to take his family there and once again begin a Ph.D. programme, this time at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. At first he wanted to do his Ph.D. in economics under Don Patinkin, but he learned, after painful efforts to catch up, that at the age of thirty-six he lacked the requisite mathematical background. So he switched to political science. The first topic he proposed was to be a comparison of the politics of conquered peoples: the Arabs under Israeli rule and the French Canadians (at that time, the Quiet Revolution was only beginning). The reluctance of his supervisors led him instead to a dissertation which traced the history of a small party in Israel founded by middle-class refugee immigrants from Germany, the Progressive Party. He chose this topic, not just because he wanted to study a small party in the Israeli electoral system, but because he was concerned about the impact of middle-class values and their bearers on Israeli society. This was part of the prism through which to view his fundamental quest for democracy with justice, or the joining of liberal-democratic values with the dignity of people in their three-dimensional collective whole. I want to emphasize my father's Athens and Jerusalem. It would be entirely wrong to view Zionism as a private passion separate or distinct from his public value concerns. There was still the dialectic at work here that had originated from his Montreal youth, the same urge to reconcile dignity with universal values, cultural identity with political efficacy. It was his belief that cultural identity could and should be reconciled with the political framework of the liberal-democratic state. While Canada did not embody the ideal political community, it did offer one example of a potential accommodation of these concerns. Israel in the abstract formed the other kind of political community, the new society founded on the ideal community. What my father discovered and emphasized in his further work on Israeli politics was that, far from being a "new society," Israel also represented an accommodation of different cultures within a single political framework. Throughout his stay in Israel, he endeavoured to maintain contact with Canada, and he published two articles in the Canadian Forum, the first on the Eichmann trial, and the second on the Israeli election of 1961. Interestingly enough both these articles show the same emphasis: his admiration and appreciation for Ben Gurion's principle of "mamlachtiut" (statehood) — the upholding of the impersonal qualities of the state

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above the partisanship of ideology or personal loyalty. Indeed, his principal objection to Israel, then and later, was its incomplete adherence to these principles. When he returned to Canada during my grandfather's terminal illness, he was struck by the efficient impersonality of the post office, contrasted with the attitudes of Israeli officialdom. I say this not to emphasize any negative feelings he may have had towards Israel — whatever his misgivings he retained a passionate love for Israel and its people — but rather another of his deep-seated loves: the traditions of law and state expressed through democratic politics at its best. His deepest satisfaction was the opportunity he had at Carleton University to combine academic research and teaching with the opportunity to engage in public discourse and public service, to shape public policy and legislation which could improve liberal-democratic political practice. He felt fortunate to have the chance of rejoining academic life in Canada. There was a real possibility that we would have ended up in New Zealand, whence came the only job offer he originally had. But in 1963 he did go to Carleton, to take up a teaching career. He used this opportunity to work with the Bilingualism and Biculturalism Commission in its initial stages in 1965, and was among the first to recognize the importance of multiculturalism within a bilingual framework. He also made important and seminal contributions to election expense studies and legislation, and was also, and this is sometimes forgotten, one of the original organizers of the Parliamentary Intern Program. I want to conclude this sketch of my father's life and times with some illustrations of how the dialectic of values which I have emphasized here was played out in his work. I found the following private communication among his papers which I think best summarizes his values. It comes from a response to a report of a government task force on information, headed by Bernard Ostry: It appears to me that the source of alienation of decision makers from the people . . . must be sought in the political sphere rather than in the technological . . . What is needed is more politics, not less . . . I am all for participatory democracy . . . but it is clear that participatory democracy, if it is to have any concrete meaning, must involve a real share in decision making, and not be simple acquiescence induced by mass media. (Paltiel, 1969) To understand my father's work on communications and elections expenses, one must understand his commitment to ensuring that the tools of communications technology be placed in the hands of the public to

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enable them to obtain adequate and accurate information so that they could make informed political choices. He consistently attacked measures presented as reforms intended to ensure equity but which actually buttressed the position of elites. In his last major review of Canada's election expense legislation he concluded: . . . the Canadian electorate is faced with a request simply to ratify preselected choices made by the party elites. The commonly noted fact that policy and programme receive short shrift in Canadian elections accentuates elite dominance of the political stage. The centralizing tendency inherent in the campaign finance reforms buttresses this control. (Paltiel, 1987a:246) My father's thought exhibits a number of opposed tensions, as well as a core of consistency. At one level, he appears as a strong believer in liberal democracy of a traditional kind, characterized by strong political parties, the defence of the individual against arbitrary state action, and the freedom to organize freely to present particular interests before properly constituted decision-making bodies. I have been able to trace this theme from his earliest surviving lecture notes, prepared for a class of Israeli social workers in 1961. On the other hand, my father also believed in a form of cultural integrity as a basic human right. His reaction to the vertical mosaic of the Canada of his youth was not to reject the idea of a mosaic, which was the desire of his friend John Porter who invented the concept, but rather to deal with its hierarchical element in such a way as to protect the fabric of the underlying mosaic. In other words, he wanted to be treated as an individual by the registrar of McGill University, without discrimination, but also to be free to express his particular identity without restriction. He feared classical liberal thought, especially its American variant, because it assumed undifferentiated individuals. The unresolved tension in his thought — and here he reflected the underlying tension in the Canadian community — was between his fierce loyalty to the notion of cultural integrity and his equally fierce opposition to any form of privilege or status differentiation. If groups are the stuff of society and the wellspring of politics, then culture provides the essential glue, not just for society as a whole, but for its multitudinous subgroups. The finest illustration of this trend of thought (and I believe he felt it as an honour and an achievement to be able to translate his strong feelings about identity in ways which transcended his own primordial loyalties) was in his work on group rights, the Canadian constitution, and the question of aboriginal self-determination:

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE The fact is that despite ritual obeisance to the values of equality before the law, the principle of "one person, one vote" and majority rule, Canadian institutions and politicians from colonial days to the present have always acknowledged, both implicitly and explicitly, group claims, privileges and rights. That there be no special privileges granted or obligations imposed on individuals is a truism, however, which rests on an assumption of equality, not merely formal equality before the law, but equality of condition, of resources and bargaining power. Demands for and grants of constitutional protection for national minorities on the other hand, are a recognition that formal equality does not automatically protect minorities and their members from the pressures of the dominant group . . . The aboriginal peoples have been the victims of a grossly skewed version of liberal democratic ideology which has been biased in favour of the dominant economic and social groups in Canada. The issue is not one of the admissibility of the principle of group rights. Although the right to autonomy has yet to be identified and defined, the concept of the "aboriginal peoples of Canada" contains the necessary consequence that these people are entitled to due recognition of the corporate bodies which they have chosen to speak and act on their behalf. Failure to respond to the demand for the identification of their rights . . . would mean the perpetuation of the more than century old discrimination that has reduced the indigenous peoples to wards of the state, in violation of their collective personality, and has deprived them of their individual rights in the cultural, social, economic, political and legal spheres. (Paltiel, 1987b:26-27, 35, 41-42)

I believe the last sentence sums up one of the central themes in my father's thought. To him, the recognition of corporate personality and individual rights was part of an indivisible package. The single dimension of citizenship did not encompass the whole of the individual's personality, which could only be found in the various aspects of the individual's community life and commitments. Any recognition of the value of the individual as such had at the same time to recognize the full value of that individual as revealed in his or her community identity. I believe his interest in political parties derived from the intersection of his great ideals, a concern for identity with a concern for governments that were genuinely responsive to public demands and desires. My father made no claims to be a political philosopher. The corpus of his work appears to be mostly concerned with the "nuts and bolts" of the democratic process. Nevertheless the wide range of the topics he chose indicates the breadth of his intellecutal interests. He was always reluctant to make a show of his own values. His written work on the application of values to

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public policy is always cautiously framed in the form of "if (liberal democratic values entail x), then (y should be the policy adopted)," rather than a straightforward "I believe x, therefore y." Nevertheless, there is a core of values to almost everything he wrote, and I have attempted to reveal that core here and present it in the context of his own life. No one who knew him could doubt the passion of his commitment to "Democracy with Justice."

REFERENCES Paltiel, Khayyam Zev. (1969). Letter commenting on the Report of the Government Task Force on Information. March 27, 1969. . (1987a). "Canadian Election Expense Legislation 1963-1985: A Critical Appraisal." R.J. Jackson, Doreen Jackson, and Nick Baxter-Moore, eds. Contemporary Canadian Politics: Readings and Notes. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 221-247. . (1987b). "Group Rights in the Canadian Constitution and Aboriginal Claims to Self-Determination." R.J. Jackson, Doreen Jackson, and Nick Baxter-Moore, eds. Contemporary Canadian Politics: Readings and Notes. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 26-43.

Khayyam Paltiel: Friend, Colleague, Teacher and Scholar Bruce McFarlane CARLETON UNIVERSITY I first met Khayyam Paltiel 50 years ago. We had both recently graduated from high school in Montreal, and in the unsettled period of 1939 and early 1940, we were both uncertain about what to do or where to go. This was a period when our fellow high school graduates were joining the RCAF as air-crew trainees, or the army and the RCN as officers, but at that time, as my Member of Parliament informed me in a letter after a discussion with the Minister, these paths were closed to all of those with non-Caucasian background, including Jews. Hence, it is not surprising that Khayyam and I were attracted to each other when we enrolled in a special short-term technical training programme at the Montreal Technical School, intended to prepare people to work in the war production factories which were beginning to spring up in the Montreal area. If my memory serves me well, there were 49 in our particular course: 28 French Canadians, 18 English Canadians, two Jewish Canadians, and myself, Canadian-born of West Indian ancestry. On completion of the course, the inability of the government and the school to place those of us with a minority background in the factories that were crying out for workers is a study in itself. Their inability to find a job for even one of the French Canadians, the two Jews and myself is something Khayyam never forgot, although, of course, he recalled it with considerable humour when some Canadian politician or other spokesperson was proclaiming the generosity or open-mindedness of Canadians. I should note that the efforts of the officials of the school were exemplary. We were sent to many of those embryonic war production establishments, completed the application forms from those which offered them to us, were interviewed by personnel officers and others, and returned home to await the telephone calls which never came. In case you think these were isolated events, or if you wish to get the full flavour of this xenophobic period in Canada, I recommend a recent book entitled On Guard for Thee: War, Ethnicity, and the Canadian

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State, 1939-1945 (Hillmer, Kordan, and Luciuk, 1988). A reading of this book will have a leavening effect on those who still believe that "It didn't happen here," or "It can't happen here." After the episode mentioned above, Khayyam and I eventually went our separate ways, he to McGill University and a double First Class Honours in Economics and Political Science, and I to serve as a member of the RCAF after my MP brought up my case in the House and I was suddenly found to be eligible as a "special case." It is not surprising, then, that anything that smacked of numerus clausus, such as the early stages of the Canadianization debate in our universities, caused Khayyam considerable concern and anxiety. Even at that early date he was as passionate about things and events as he was in later life, although in those days his passion was directed towards the recent events in Franco's Spain, the Mac-Papineau Brigade, the "phoney war" in Europe, and the plight of refugees, Jewish and others, about whom we read daily in the Montreal Star. In all cases his concern was and would always be for the rights of the underprivileged, the underdog, and for those who seemed to have no one to speak for them. He also learned very early that one could not let up in the struggle against inequitable treatment. In many instances his friends and colleagues were certain that he was seeing "inequality" where it did not exist. Subsequent events, however, usually proved him right. The revelations of Hillmer, Kordan, and Luciuk (1988) about official policies and officials' attitudes during the war years show that Khayyam's perceptions and interpretations were not too far off the mark. Before discussing Khayyam as a colleague and a teacher, I would like to make a few remarks about the period in his life in which he was not working as an academic, which may be unknown to most of his colleagues. After graduation from McGill, he studied at the University of Toronto on a university fellowship and was awarded his Master's degree. He then went to work as a budding journalist with the Canadian Press, and from there he went to the National Film Board as a production assistant. He was always very proud of his time at the Board because he had the opportunity to meet and occasionally work with John Grierson, then Commissioner of the Film Board. He admired Grierson, not least because of the latter's brief wartime stint in Ottawa as general manager of the wartime Information Board, and the role he played (despite considerable opposition) in attempting to bring the immigrant groups (or "races" as they were known then) in Canada into the mainstream of the war effort and Canadian life. Khayyam and I talked about this on numerous occasions.

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For ten years or so, following his work at the NFS (and before he went on for his doctoral studies), Khayyam was heavily engaged in Jewish community relations in Montreal, Winnipeg and Windsor, where he served as Director of the Jewish Community Council. His work in these agencies covered such things as fair employment practices, public relations, aid to Israel, and social work in its broadest sense. I may add that, since I too had worked for the Jewish Vocational Services in Montreal for two years, we had yet another common bond. Khayyam thus brought to academic life a broad range of experience and knowledge gained by working outside the university. Khayyam was an exemplary colleague, albeit a tough taskmaster to others and to himself. Always willing to take on his share of administrative duties at the university, he served on a large number of important committees at the departmental, faculty and university level, and was a member of the Senate and the Board of Governors. He also served on various committees of the Carleton University Academic Staff Association. His contributions did not end there, and outside the university he played an important and active role on the academic panels and the selection and other committees of the Canada Council, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, the Association of Universities and Colleges of Canada, and several foundations and learned societies. He also served as a consultant and/or research associate on a number of Royal Commissions and as an adviser to government at both the federal and provincial levels. During this time, he was frequently called upon to speak or be interviewed on the CBC and Radio-Canada. He was asked to speak on a wide range of topics, including bilingualism, minority rights, royal commissions, Israel, and federal elections. His ability as an anglophone professor at Carleton to speak at this level on radio and television in either French or English served him, Carleton, and Carleton's academic community in good stead. I would also like to mention Khayyam's lifelong interest in broadcasting and his major disappointment that Carleton seemed unwilling to create a research and teaching centre or institute concerned with broadcasting in its widest sense. He even prepared a working document in which he outlined all the possibilities, as well as a potential structure, for the centre. He believed very strongly that Carleton was the appropriate place for such a centre, given the fact that it had a school of journalism of some distinction, a number of faculty interested in the subject, and a university President who had had a distinguished career in broadcasting. Davidson Dunton, former president of the CBC/Radio-Canada, was one of the most respected people in the broadcasting field in both English

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and French Canada. Whatever the reason (Khayyam believed it was due to lack of imagination and foresight), the idea in its entirety never took hold. As colleagues, Khayyam and I often discussed current political, social and economic events, and his analyses, frequently punctuated with the rhetorical question, "Am I right? Am I right?", caused us all, and Khayyam himself, a great deal of amusement. He was not an easy person to win points on in these discussions, primarily because he usually had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the natural history (as well as anecdotes) of most of the people and/or events under discussion. This was true whether the topic was local, provincial, national or international. And as Professor Vic Valentine has pointed out to me, Khayyam also had the skilful debater's knack of spotting the other's weak point and capitalizing on it. In our frequent (almost daily) discussions, as often as not in the halls of the Loeb Building, I usually became the embodiment of all that was wrong with sociologists and sociology. For example: "Why aren't you doing some research on interest groups, like Clark's classic study of the Canadian Manufacturers Association?" (Clark, 1939). This question, delivered with considerable vehemence, was accompanied by an accusatory finger pointed at my chest, then a short pause, and a smile when he realized what he had said. Khayyam was a passionate man. He was also a warm, outgoing, generous person. He was generous with his time, almost to a fault. He always made time for his colleagues and was never too "busy" to see you. He was always willing and able to help and give advice, whether or not the problem concerned was related to scholarly and academic life. Despite this support, he had little sympathy for those who did not participate to their full potential — unless, of course, there was some systemic barrier preventing them from doing so, and under those circumstances he did everything within his power to rectify the situation. These qualities, by the way, were not reserved solely for faculty colleagues; they were extended wholeheartedly to his students, both undergraduate and graduate. He was a good teacher, and attracted a large number of graduate students, both male and female, who wished to work with him, particularly on Canadian topics, but on others as well. He also had a large number of undergraduate fans. At the undergraduate level, it was, I think, his capacity to point out, illustrate, discuss and explain the frequent anomalies and ironies in Canadian political life that endeared him to his students. It was also a mystery and a source of amazement to him, however, that bright undergraduate students who were very keen to learn about politics and political life in Canada seemed unwilling to

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learn to read French, let alone speak it, thereby limiting their knowledge of thirty per cent of the Canadian population. In the case of graduate students, it is of considerable interest to note the important role that Khayyam played as academic mentor to his graduate students after their theses or dissertations had been completed. This often took the form of gentle guidance, or perhaps prodding, to get them to draft papers extending their earlier research. He then criticized and polished up the papers for them, for presentation at Learned Societies meetings, and in many cases the papers were subsequently published in journals. At the outset, I said that I would leave the scientific analyses of Khayyam's work to other specialists who are contributing to this volume. I think, however, that it would be remiss of me not to mention what I, as a colleague from a cognate discipline, deem to be his major contributions to scholarship. Khayyam's early research was concerned primarily with political parties in Israel, small parties, the subject of his Ph.D. thesis. He had, however, in 1942, while still a McGill undergraduate, published an award-winning article on postwar reconstruction in Canada. Throughout his career, he never gave up his early interest in political parties, although he changed his location and focus from Israel to Canada. Another early, but continuing research interest, was the study of pressure groups as special interest groups, or corps intermediates, to use the early, albeit more specialized concept popularized by Vincent Lemieux (Archibald and Paltiel, 1977:59). Khayyam's major research interest and contribution to scholarship, is however, in my considered opinion, his work on electoral expenses and party financing. While this formed the core of his work, it did lead him into a number of related areas: for example, election broadcasting on the one hand, and the financing of individual candidates. It was this area of work, as much as any other, which earned him (and, incidentally, his department and university) an international reputation. It is a salutary experience to read his article on election financing in the second edition of Hugh Thorburn's Party Politics in Canada, and to trace the changes and their implications in his subsequent contributions on the topic in the third, fourth and fifth editions of this book. I would like to call attention to one other area of Khayyam's research, since I believe it will, in the years to come, have considerable impact on a long-standing troublesome problem in Canada. I refer to his contribution to our understanding of aboriginal, or native Canadians' rights, including land claims, self-government and parliamentary representation for the native peoples of Canada.

BRUCE MCFARLANE 23 In the short space available, I have not been able to do justice to Khayyam's scholarly work, except to note that, all in all, it was concerned with many of the major problems which face a democratic society such as Canada. As an aside, I shudder to think what he would have said of the recent municipal decisions in Sault Ste. Marie and in some forty other Ontario communities to make English the only official language. Possibly, as he had, like myself, had many such experiences, he would not have been surprised, although he would have voiced considerable concern and anxiety. In this brief chapter, I have commented primarily on Khayyam's public life. In his private life he was, of course, very much a family man, and he was very proud of the accomplishments of his children, Ari, Jeremy, Candy and Ora, as well as those of his wife, Freda, a senior member of Canada's public service. In closing, I would like to pay tribute to a very dear friend, a longtime colleague, a first-rate teacher and graduate supervisor, and a scholar of international repute.

REFERENCES Archibald, Clinton, and Khayyam Paltiel. (1977). "Du passage des corps intermediaires aux groupes de pression: la transformation d'une idee illustree par le mouvement cooperatif Desjardins." Recherches sociographiques 18:1, 59-91. Clark, S.D. (1939). Canadian Manufacturers' Association: A Study in Collective Bargaining and Political Pressure. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Hillmer, Norman, Bohdan Kordan, and Lubomyr Luciuk, eds. (1988). On Guard for Thee: War, Ethnicity and the Canadian State, 1939-1945. Ottawa: Canadian Committee for the History of the Second World War.

Khayyam Paltiel: Some Memories Reg Whitaker YORK UNIVERSITY It is a very great honour for me to remember Khayyam Paltiel, a man who was to me, in turn, teacher, research director, colleague, and friend. It is a daunting task when one is called upon to provide a theme appropriate to a man as complex and as many-talented as Khayyam. I briefly pondered the idea of providing a serious summation of the value of Khayyam's intellectual legacy as embodied in his published writings, of reflecting on the significance of his work on political finance, political patronage, interest groups, nationalism, minority rights and so on. Eventually I chose not to do this. I have, in fact, decided not to address myself at all to Khayyam's published work. In this, I certainly mean no disrespect to Khayyam's written legacy. Indeed, when I began to reflect seriously upon his work I realized with astonishment how deeply the themes which riveted his attention over the years had, one way or another, insinuated themselves into my own scholarly work. I suspect that I am not alone in this. Yet it is to this body of published work that the rest of this book is addressed. In the various chapters, his work is being extended, his ideas elaborated or criticized, his legacy assessed. I wish to write of another Khayyam, related to but in many ways different from the Khayyam who remains with us on the printed page. There are two traditions of learning, the one embodied in writing, in books, monographs, articles, papers; the other in the spoken word, in conversations and debates among colleagues, students and friends. The written tradition, now enhanced by the high technology of word and data processing, has become ascendant in the twentieth century. But, as Harold Innis used to remind us, there is much to be said for trying to balance this with the older oral tradition, for the kind of communication which can only exist among people who meet face to face. As Socrates explained in the Phaedrus, "once a thing is committed to writing it circulates equally among those who understand the subject and

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those who have no business with it; a writing cannot distinguish between suitable and unsuitable readers." Khayyam liked to choose his "readers." In his written work he was most often very cautious, constrained, mindful of trying to craft his words very carefully so as not to be misconstrued. His written works speak for themselves, but they leave out a good deal which was, I am rash enough to suggest, of the essence of the man himself. I think that there was a distinctive moral imagination, an intellectual boldness, an all-consuming curiosity, which only those of us who were privileged to know Khayyam personally could fully appreciate. It is this Khayyam, the man of the oral tradition of learning, whom I wish to remember. Inevitably, these kinds of memories are very personal. I must therefore begin on a personal note, only because of the particular light I may thus be able to cast upon Khayyam's personality. I first met Khayyam in the fall of 1964. He was then, I believe, in his second year of teaching at Carleton University. I was a combined Political Science and Economics major going into my fourth, or Honours year. My first encounter with Khayyam might not have commended me to a more conventional academic. I had arrived back at the university late, very late — I think it was sometime in late October, more than a month after the term had officially begun. My excuse for this tardiness was idiosyncratic; I had been hitch-hiking around the United States and Mexico during the summer and had made my way back to Ottawa in a most leisurely and insouciant fashion. And now I was in Khayyam's office. Could I, even at this late date, get into his Honours year seminar on the political process? I think that the eccentricity of my excuse appealed to him. Certainly I could join the seminar — if I would prepare a presentation on Max Weber for the next class, which happened to be the next day. I had never read Weber, but I set to work. I guess I must have passed muster. Khayyam seemed to take a liking to me; and, as was his wont with students he liked, he took me under his wing. This seminar in 1964-65 was noteworthy in another way. Apart from myself, it also included Mike Whittington, Rick Van Loon, Jill Vickers, and David Kwavnick: five future members of the Carleton Political Science Department! I mention this only with reference to Khayyam's well-known work on patron-client politics and the persistence of kinship structures in modern societies. The truth is that Khayyam became my patron. After graduation, I was hired as a member of the research staff of the Committee on Election Expenses, of which Khayyam was research director. Later I returned to Carleton for a Masters degree, and Khayyam was my supervisor. Later yet, after I had gone on to the University of Toronto for doctoral study,

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I was hired as a junior member of the Carleton department — of which Khayyam just happened to be chairman at that time. In my years at Carleton, I grew to appreciate Khayyam as colleague and friend. We were literally next-door neighbours on the sixth floor of the Loeb Building and often days began in conversation with Khayyam, sometimes continued into the lunch hour in conversation with Khayyam, and on occasion, even extended into late in the day in conversation with Khayyam. It never occurred to him that other people might not welcome these expansive conversations, or might be so unfriendly as to insist upon pursuing their own private work uninterrupted. He was a bit like Socrates, always assuming that life was, or ought to be, an endless dialogue in pursuit of truth. Earlier I mentioned curiosity. If I had to choose a single theme to characterize Khayyam's distinctive spirit, I think it would be curiosity. And his curiosity was universal, one might even say promiscuous, in the sense that it was never faithful to narrow disciplinary boundaries. Khayyam was a polymath. A political scientist he may have been by profession, but in the oral tradition of learning, he was a philosopher (literally, a lover of knowledge). He had read extraordinarily widely, across the centuries and across civilizations. He could talk with learning about everything from the most arcane aspects of medieval Jewish customs, to the derivation of European languages in relation to the trade routes from Asia, or the precise origins of certain Canadian family fortunes, or how national cultural characteristics are expressed in the depiction of the Madonna and infant Christ in Renaissance paintings. He was an intellectual — not an academic specialist, but someone who was interested in the world, engaged, always intrigued, often angry (usually, but perhaps not always, with good reason) about what was happening, but always wanting to explain, to understand. Some academics have become technicians of information, interested in the world only as it can be carved into small quantifiable portions to be fitted into their particular narrow academic specialization, run through a computer, and made to generate yet another obscure article in some technical journal. Khayyam was, frankly, contemptuous of such people, whom he thought were careerists, or worse: the whores of power and wealth, hired tools to justify the ways things are. I think the reason for this contempt was that he saw them as subverting the true calling of the intellectual, which in his conviction was to be a critic, to hold up a mirror to the pretensions of power and wealth, to declare, when it seemed appropriate, that these self-styled emperors of our age had no clothes. The task of the intellectual, in his view, was to understand the world from a critical distance. I think he would go

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further and say that one could not understand the world except from a critical distance. This explains his vocation as a scholar and member of the academy. He deeply believed in the principle of freedom of thought, of freedom of inquiry and freedom of expression. These liberal freedoms were not, to him, like banners or flags to be hung about in self-congratulation on days of national celebration; rather, they became alive only when they were exercised — and most of all when they were exercised in defiance of orthodox ideology, conventional wisdom, national smugness, and the celebration of our way of life. I can recall vividly his anger at intellectuals who dishonoured their vocation: at, for instance, the Cold War liberals in the United States who had turned their talents to the production of elaborate apologies for American power and domination; or to Communist intellectual apologists for Soviet or Chinese oppression. Closer to home, I recall with delight his acerbic and funny pinpricks at the pious rationalizations offered by certain writers for the alleged social conscience and positive role played by the great pooh-bahs of Canadian capitalism. I think, looking back, that Khayyam had a kind of gut distrust of those who possessed wealth and power, and an equally instinctive suspicion of the rhetoric in which they dressed up their actions. Khayyam's fundamental principle of analysis of public (and private corporate) policy was to apply rigorously the standard: cui bono? Who benefits? This made him a kind of natural radical — a radical quite innocent of any ideology, certainly of any dogmatic or programmatic blueprint — but a radical nonetheless. Perhaps we can come closer to what he stood for by turning to a particular North American tradition, that of the muckraker. Khayyam was convinced that under the cover of rhetorical flapdoodle and the symbols of power, one was likely to find that some people, somewhere were getting away with something they had no right to, and that the role of the intellectual was to blow the whistle on them. As a muckraker, Khayyam had accumulated an astonishing mental archive of ... dirt (there is no other term for it). He knew who had done what to whom, who had made a killing when and how, and where all the bodies were buried. Conversations with Khayyam could sometimes be very informative, not to say entertaining. And helpful, as my own acknowledgements of his contribution to my research indicates. Instinctive distrust of power is a valuable quality, one with which more political scientists should be endowed. I can recall vividly his indignation when the Canadian state under Pierre Trudeau invoked the War Measures Act in October 1970 and suspended civil liberties. Now

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those of you who knew Khayyam were aware that he did not have a great deal of use for Quebec nationalism. It seemed to bring back too many memories of his boyhood in Montreal in the 1930s when nationalism had fascist, antisemitic overtones. It set off too many alarm bells about exclusivist, integral cultural nationalism with no room for unassimilable minorities. We might differ about these views and about the validity of his interpretation of Quebec nationalism, but that is not the point. Given the views he did hold, one might have expected him to applaud the federal government's decisive act. One might have expected it, and one did see some such responses from others who also distrusted Quebec nationalism. But not if you knew Khayyam well would you have expected it from him. Whenever Khayyam heard the voices of power justify the imposition of censorship, of detention without charge and without bail, interrogation without counsel, the deployment of the army in the streets, his response was to say that Power always lies and that free people do not act as cheerleaders for state repression. I cannot at this time help but imagine Khayyam's reaction to the astonishing chain of events we have just been witnessing in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. If he had been privileged to live to see the crumbling of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of Communist police states, he would certainly have been deeply moved and greatly heartened by this victory for ordinary people and for the human spirit over the grim tyranny of bureaucrats and police. And I am equally sure that he would have thrown up his hands in anger and derision at the lawless US invasion of Panama carried out at the same time. I well remember his words to me in the summer of 1968, apropos of the twin monstrosities of the crushing by Soviet tanks of the Prague Spring and the crushing by police clubs of the antiwar protests at the Democratic convention in Chicago that summer. "These prove," he said with real sadness, "that there is no hope." Perhaps 1989, this annus mirabilis, would have shown him that there is hope after all. He would, of course, have been the first to point out how much there remains to be done, and undone. I think, looking back on his conversations, that Khayyam was always a materialist in his method of understanding the world. This of course comes out in his written work, in his emphasis upon the role of money in politics, in his fascination with the operation of organized interests. But when I say he was a materialist in method, I certainly do not mean he was a dialectical materialist. He had no use for ideology, even ideology that claimed to be materialist. I remember once attempting to explain to him some fashionable but abstruse French Marxist theory. He listened

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with growing sullenness until finally, unable to bear any more, he burst out: "Ech! Can you eat it?" A materialist he was, but (and this is an important qualification) he situated materialism within a cultural matrix. His interest in political anthropology, in kinship patterns, in patron-client relations, all bespoke this deep interest in the cultural. His understanding and appreciation of culture was not idealist but itself material: people are imbedded in a social and cultural web, their individual identities are shaped and defined by these relationships. Hence his abiding concerns about minority cultures and the dangers of assimilationist and dominating majorities. Cultural identity is always particularistic, and it presented itself to Khayyam in a very specific way. There was an essential side of Khayyam, about the profound significance of which no one who knew him could have any doubt, but about which I must write with some reticence. I mean his deep, even fundamental sense of Jewishness. It was obvious to all who knew him that, to Khayyam, being Jewish was not a hat he wore on occasion, but was of the very essence of the man himself. As I am not myself Jewish, I do have a reticence about discussing a state of subjectivity which arises from an experience which I have not shared and can only understand from the outside. Nevertheless, no appreciation of Khayyam could be complete without reference to his deep, and particular, sense of identity. Some of my own fondest memories of Khayyam relate to his love of the particularity of Jewish history and lore. I remember visiting Ottawa once in the early seventies after moving to Toronto. I arranged to have lunch with Khayyam at a downtown restaurant. The lunch went on well into the late afternoon (friends of Khayyam will recognize the pattern), as he regaled me with endlessly fascinating stories about the intricacies and oddities of Judaic law and custom as practised in Israel: why Moshe Dayan's daughter (or was it his son?) had to travel to New York to get married, the bizarre absurdities of the Law of the Return as applied to immigrants with particularly idiosyncratic backgrounds, how rules about the division of land worked out by Talmudic scholars in medieval ghettoes took on new and strange forms when embodied in Israeli law, why Cohens could not attend funerals. I wish I could remember the half of it now, but what I certainly do remember is the droll enthusiasm (not unlaced with a certain self-mocking scepticism) with which Khayyam had amassed all this lore. Khayyam was not just Jewish, he was also a Zionist, who believed very deeply in the importance of Israel to Jews all over the world. We differed from time to time on Israeli policies and practices, especially toward the Palestinians. He accepted these differences with relative

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equanimity. Of fellow Jews who criticized Israel, he was not so tolerant. From fellow Jews he expected loyalty. This demand for solidarity came out of a sense that Jews were a beleaguered people. And who was I, who had not lived as a Jew through the terrible years of the 1930s and the Holocaust of the 1940s, to challenge this sense? Still, I cannot but speculate on what private anguish he may have suffered over the events in Israel and the occupied territories in the last years of his life, when the clarity of purpose forged at the time of Israel's creation had become blurred by considerable moral ambiguity. I can remember for instance, his gnomic warning in 1967 that it would prove far easier for Israel to take the West Bank and Gaza than it would be for them to get out. But if he did harbour doubts, it was essential to his identity not to display mixed feelings in public. Israel aside, I think that something else essential to Khayyam's character was founded in his Jewishness: an instinctive sense of solidarity with the underdog, the outsider, the marginalized. Having grown up as a member of a minority which suffered discrimination and persecution, Khayyam empathized with others in the same position. He had considerable sympathy for native peoples, for instance — and contempt for the rationalizations of the white majority justifying their privileged position with regard to the original inhabitants of this land. We know from his son Jeremy how elated and honoured Khayyam was to have been asked to advise the native peoples on aboriginal self-government. In this regard I would like to recount an anecdote about Khayyam's reaction to another event in Quebec: the highly publicized removal of the head office of Sun Life from Montreal as a calculated blow against the Parti Quebecois government. Since Khayyam was somewhat unsympathetic to Quebec nationalism, one might not have been prepared for his reaction to this event: rage at the arrogance of Sun Life. When I probed, I discovered that when Khayyam was a schoolboy in Montreal he had been turned down for a summer camp sponsored by Sun Life, because he was Jewish. He drew from this a kind of gut sympathy for the Quebecois faced with this same arrogant (and WASP) corporate power. No one who knew Khayyam could have any doubt about one characteristic: his irreducible individuality. We are all individuals, but perhaps Khayyam was more of an individual than most of us. There was indeed something downright idiosyncratic, even eccentric about him. My colleague Leo Panitch, who was also very fond of Khayyam (despite some memorable battles over Israel), once remarked to me, some time after we had both become colleagues at Carleton in the early 1970s, that the Readers Digest magazine had a feature called "The Most Unforgettable Character I Have Ever Met." If he were ever asked to write one of these,

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Leo said, with an affectionate smile, there was no question that it would be about Khayyam Paltiel. He was probably the most unforgettable character most of us have ever met. Some of Khayyam will remain in his writings. Some will remain in the intellectual legacy his work bequeathed to others working in the same fields. But it is one of the sad aspects of the oral tradition that much of it passes away along with the speaker. This Khayyam remains now only in the memories of those of us who were privileged to know him and converse with him.

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II Individual Rights, Collective Rights, and the Canadian Constitution

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The Constitutional Dialectic and the Conundrum of Hate Legislation Paul L. Rosen CAR.LETON UNIVERSITY Constitutional democracy with its veneration of the rule of law and the condition of equality seems, as it enters the last decade of the twentieth century, to be more sharply defined than ever before as the regime which best satisfies the human quest for freedom and dignity. As the ideological conflict of this tumultuous century abates, and parousiastic regimes1 retreat, teeter and collapse, history offers the astonishing prospect of an underlying democratic movement taking the form of a constitutional dialectic. This dialectic in its present mature stage is a conversation, conducted by legislatures, courts and citizens, about the fundamental questions of democratic political life. Intricate and diverse, they revolve around antipodal themes of liberty and order or individual and communal interests, and seminal notions of rights, freedoms and responsibilities. Recently, questions of freedom of speech and reasonable abridgements of them have become part of the dialectic as the result of the passage in Canada, as well as other democratic states, of legislation designed to throttle expressions of hate towards racial, ethnic and other minorities. The spirit of freedom is at times heady and intoxicating. And it may well be that the very success of the constitutional dialectic has led to exaggerated expectations of its capacity to interpret and fulfill, to everyone's satisfaction, key political ideals. Though freedom of speech, for example, has become a hallowed democratic value, the enthusiasm and absolutism with which it is defended and elaborated in some quarters obscures the political and theoretical parameters and context which permit sounder and more realistic appraisal and appreciation. Thus it will be argued in this chapter that the role and utility of freedom of speech in politics and in the academy has tended to be misunderstood, and is sometimes obscured by woolly rhetoric. Freedom of speech, it will be noted, was not a major theme in the early stages of the constitutional

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dialectic, and may not be as indispensable and absolute a principle in politics, and even in the academy, as some critics ardently believe. Whatever the shortcomings of the constitutional dialectic as a means of attaining the millennium, it has surely deflated, by its appeal and its performance, the excessive claims made for the material dialectic. The British Constitution, not the British Museum, has proved to be the political laboratory of the future. The democratic son of the ancien regime, not the seer of Trier (the former visited the new world while the latter wrote for it), grasped better the nature of the human psyche and the dynamics of political ferment and change. Tocqueville, who in 1831 began a nine-month journey taking him to all parts of the United States, and for twenty days to parts of Canada, found in North America the confirmation of his prescient hypothesis that the tide of European history has made democracy a "providential fact," and that an "attempt to check democracy would be in that case an attempt to resist the will of God" (Tocqueville, 1904:xxxiv). Democracy, Tocqueville knew, was inclined to rely on the judiciary for guidance and resolution of thorny political questions. The prominence of the Charter and the revitalized role for the judiciary in Canadian politics today, are perfectly consistent with that vision.

The State and the Constitutional Dialectic It is evident from a preliminary examination of the liberal democratic state that free speech was not initially a basic concern of the constitutional dialectic. The State, with its capricious capacity for arbitrariness or benevolence, is the modern successor of territorial kingship. The rule of kingship was chiefly denoted by the fact that political authority was vested in the personality of the king. As western kingship moved to consolidate and expand its power through feudalism and then mercantilism, it was compelled to negotiate the conditions of growth with the magnates of the realm. The business of kingly rule was essentially that of estate management. Taxes, tolls, land regulations, and markets were the priorities of kingship. The administration of these concerns required the creation of courts. And the dispensation of justice was, at first, more of a business arrangement than a matter of abstract notions of right and obligation (Strayer, 1970:28-29). The preservation and enhancement of the rule of kingship also required the depersonalization of authority, and the commitment of the king to the public good, instead of exclusive concern with his own private good. In France a first tangible sign of this process was the creation in 1523 of a public treasury for the deposit of all funds (Shennan, 1974:50-51). The transformation of the king, in effect, into a judicial officer, the abstraction of rule, the emergence of justice as

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an autonomous concept separate from religious morality, marked critical gestation stages of the state. By the seventeenth century, the nascent state cast an ominous coercive shadow, poetically described by Hobbes. His awesome brute, however, might be tamed through negotiations and contracts. Indeed, the metamorphosis of kingship into the modern state began with a series of charters, the best known of which is the Magna Carta, signed at Runnymede in 1215. The written document of concessions by King John to baronial interests signaled that the constitutional dialectic was at work. The dialectic represented a process by which the notables of the realm reached accommodation. More importantly, it gave form to substantive ideals and guarantees that would illuminate and guide the future pattern of western political development. The modern state would come to possess a monopoly of the means of employing considerable violence. But at the same time, it also aspired to higher ends. The ideal nature of the state was derived from, and energized by, the clash of interests symbolized by the constitutional dialectic. The state, though an engine of immense force, would speak whenever possible the language of law. The genius of constitutional democracy followed from the dual effects of law. That is, the state would be empowered, and yet at the same time constrained, by law. This occurred to such an extent, as Poggi has observed, that now "one can visualize the whole state as a legally arranged set of organs for the framing, application, and enforcement of laws" (Poggi, 1978:102). Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, the two great seventeenth century English theorists of the state, invigorated the constitutional dialectic by charging the state with the responsibility of safeguarding basic individual rights, which they believed were prescribed by nature. The Hobbesian contract established the state as the guarantor of public order and individual security. Locke extended the Hobbesian guarantee to include the natural right to property and its manifold increase. In the following century, somewhat giddy with the idea of progress, Jefferson added to this democratic catalogue the right to the pursuit of happiness. Liberal democratic theory, far from seeing the state as a menace, envisioned it as a powerful vehicle for the delivery of basic individual rights. Natural rights theorists unanimously apotheosized the state as peaceful, commodious and felicitous. The constitutional dialectic, as it developed in the United States and Canada, involved the application of basic rights to a wide range of factual circumstances. Yet it was relatively quiescent in the area of jurisprudence dealing with core questions of speech itself, the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution notwithstanding. It is worth emphasizing

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that no great constitutional cases on First Amendment rights to freedom of speech emerged throughout the entire nineteenth century. And the speech provisions of the Amendment would not even become constitutionally applicable to the states, via the Fourteenth Amendment, until 1925 (Gitiow v. New York, 1925). Subsequently, the U.S. Supreme Court would treat speech with much greater gravity and urgency, with some Justices (Brandeis, Black, Douglas and Brennan) arguing eloquently and persuasively that freedom of speech was an absolute principle. In Canada, prior to the 1982 Charter, freedom of speech was viewed by the courts as a fundamental value and intrinsic to the process of democratic government. But the Canadian Supreme Court caused no great waves over the issue of free speech, and deferred to the customary limitations upon it. Though the Court now has much greater latitude to choose a radically different course, it remains clear, as Beckton has put it, that "Canadian jurisprudence was remarkably sparse on the issue of freedom of expression. In fact, very little attention had been paid by academics and commentators to the theoretical underpinnings of freedom of expression and the values it served" (Beckton, 1989:196-198).

Evaluating Freedom of Speech and Hate Propaganda The scope of the genocidal consequences of the rise of Nazism and Fascism, and the eschatological challenge posed to Western civilization by the Nazi Holocaust, forced Canada to realize, belatedly, that its attitude and response to the evils of racism were inadequate and required review. To this end, Guy Favreau, Minister of Justice, appointed in January 1965 a special committee, chaired by Dean Maxwell Cohen, to report on the problem of hate propaganda in Canada (Cohen Committee, 1966). Its members included two social scientists, a journalist, and two professors of law, Mark R. MacGuigan and Pierre Elliott Trudeau. Seen in retrospect and given the vast accumulation of evidence today, the Cohen Committee could hardly fail to recognize the logical linkage between the pervasive and prevalent circulation of virulent anti-Semitic literature in Europe (Mosse, 1964:126-145) and the consequent annihilation of European Jewry. The Committee, echoing Hobbes, took as its initial premise the "power of words to maim." It queried sceptically the rational model of human nature, widely popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and noted: While holding that over the long run, the human mind is repelled by blatant falsehood and seeks the good, it is often true, in the short run, that emotion displaces reason, and individuals perversely reject the demonstrations of truth put before them and forsake the good they

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know. The successes of modern advertising, the triumph of impudent propaganda such as Hitler's, have qualified sharply our belief in the rationality of man. We know that under strain and pressure in times of irritation and frustration, the individual is swayed and even swept away by hysterical, emotional appeals. (Cohen Committee, 1966:8) The Committee pointed out that legislation in Canada and in other jurisdictions had been slow to confront the problem of prejudice against minority groups and that insofar as this phenomenon was a "state of mind" the law was content to leave correction to other social devices (Cohen Committee, 1966:35). The law, it explained, was primarily concerned with situations provoking breaches of the peace, with the protection of the law of libel afforded to individuals and not groups. Where English common law did offer some defamatory relief to groups, though without applying to Canada, the Committee deemed this approach of limited value, as it was contingent only on the likelihood of the peace being breached (Cohen Committee, 1966:36-43). The Cohen Committee took note of comparative legal material dealing with hate and group libel, and also surveyed social science findings on the dynamics of hate propaganda, much in the way Louis Brandeis had first marshalled extra-legal facts early in the century to justify the use of law for the purpose of social engineering (Rosen, 1972:67-101). The Committee surveyed the recent proliferation of hate literature in eight provinces, concentrated mostly in Ontario and less markedly in Quebec and British Columbia. Much of the material was found to be of U.S. origin, and targeted mainly at Jews and Blacks (Cohen Committee, 1966:12). The Criminal Code, it concluded crisply, "even on the widest interpretation, does little or nothing to protect groups from the evils of hate propaganda" (Cohen Committee, 1966:49). Accordingly, the Committee recommended four principal additions to the Criminal Code: (1) that the Code prohibit and punish the advocacy of genocide; (2) that it ban communication inciting hate likely to lead to a breach of the peace; (3) that the wilful promotion of hatred against an identifiable group be proscribed; (4) and lastly, that legal defences of truth, relevance and public benefit be established against the above proposed charges. Though no specific recommendation was made, the Committee drew attention to the possibility that consent of the Attorney Generals be required, before such charges were laid, in order to discourage frivolous prosecutions (Cohen Committee, 1966:69-71). While the Committee declined to label hate propaganda as a problem of "crisis or near crisis proportions," it did describe the Canadian situation as "serious" (Cohen Committee, 1966:59). It affirmed the value

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of freedom of speech, but weighed it against competing concerns, noting freedom of speech was not in itself an absolute right: Canadians who are members of any identifiable group in Canada are entitled to carry on their lives as Canadians without being victimized by the deliberate, vicious promotion of hatred against them. In a democratic society freedom of speech does not mean the right to vilify. The number of organizations involved and the number of persons hurt is no test of the issue: the arithmetic of a free society will not be satisfied with over-simplified statistics demonstrating that few are casting stones and not many are receiving hurts. What matters is the incipient malevolence and violence . . . . However small the actors may be in number, the individuals promoting hate in Canada constitute a "clear and present danger" to the functioning of a democratic society. (Cohen Committee, 1966:24) The Committee's recommendations, based on this thinking, became the basis of legislation which was first introduced in the Senate in November 1966. However, the bill had anything but a speedy passage. The proposal engendered searching committee hearings and critical debate, and also survived a change in government. The legislation, with opposition coming chiefly from the Conservatives and Creditistes, was finally passed by a divided Commons by a margin of 89 to 45, with almost half of the body (129) abstaining or absent. The bill became law on June 11, 1970 (Cohen, 1971:110-111).

Adjudicating Hatred in Canada The hate propaganda articles have stirred an ongoing controversy as to whether or not they represent indefensible and unconstitutional restrictions on freedom of speech. They include (requiring the consent of the Attorney General for prosecution) the following provisions of the Criminal Code: (Section 281.1), "Every one who advocates or promotes genocide is guilty of an indictable offence . . . ." (Subsection 281.2[1]), "Every one who, by communicating statements in any public place, incites hatred against any identifiable group where such incitement is likely to lead to a breach of the peace . . . ." (Subsection 281.2[2]), "Every one who, by communicating statements, other than in private conversation, wilfully promotes hatred against any identifiable group . . . ." Also, the prohibition, almost a century old in Canada, "Everyone who wilfully publishes a statement, tale or news that he knows is false and that causes or is likely to cause injury or mischief to a public interest . . ." (Section 177). These provisions, with their stipulated defences, and a section of the Canadian Human Rights Act dealing with telephone messages (1977),

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form the basis of Canadian hate propaganda legislation. The legislation would inevitably collide with section 2(b) of the young Charter which fundamentally values "freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication." But the Charter also attempts to provide a balanced formula of freedom. And 2(b) must be read alongside the Charter's stress on ethnicity in section 27: "This Charter shall be interpreted in a manner consistent with the preservation and enhancement of the multicultural heritage of Canadians." Finally, these freedoms, like all Charter principles, are less than absolute and are, according to section 1, "subject only to such reasonable limits prescribed by law as can be demonstrably justified in a free and democratic society." However, while the judicial review of words, particularly those of great constitutional portent, does give the courts a definite discretion, it does not always produce meanings that are easily intelligible, precise and consistent. Not surprisingly, the constitutional status of hate legislation, as evinced by tests so far, remains uncertain. Three Court of Appeal decisions, two in Ontario and one in Alberta, demonstrate the alternative routes of constitutional construction. The Ontario Court of Appeal, in the 1987 case of R. v. Zundel? though remanding the case for retrial because of procedural errors, made clear it had no constitutional reservations about the conviction of the defendant under the false news provision (section 177) of the Code. Zundel had circulated a pamphlet that denied the historicity of the Holocaust, and alleged that Jews had conspired to fabricate it for the purpose of financial gain. Freedom of expression, the Court asserted, was "basic to our democratic way of life" and "highly prized" (Zundel:l4Q), but it questioned the scope of this guarantee. It noted several classical defences of free speech, such as its contribution to the search for truth, its role in the operation of democratic government, and its utility for the enhancement of individual development. But rather than dwelling on and elaborating theoretical defences for unfettered speech, the Court chose to draw a distinction between the legal conception of a right and a freedom: A 'right' is defined positively as what one can do. A 'freedom', on the other hand, is defined by determining first the area which is regulated. The freedom is then what exists in the unregulated area, a sphere of activity within which all acts are free of specific legal regulation and the individual is free to choose. The regulated area will include restrictions for purposes of decency and public order, and specifically with respect to the freedom of expression, prohibitions concerning criminal libel and sedition. (Ztmde/: 150-1)

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The test for defining the meaning of the Charter was a "purposive one." The wilful spreading of falsehood, the Court concluded, was inconsistent with Charter aims, because such an activity had little to do with the search for truth, lacked any "social and moral value" worthy of constitutional protection, and would not "aid the working of parliamentary democracy or further self-fulfilment" (Z«nrfe/:155). The Court ruled that section 177 could stand as a valid restriction on free expression, since it was "proportionally" related to a legitimate legislative objective. Eighteen months later the Alberta Court of Appeal in the case of R. v. Keegstra3 rejected any equation of section 281.2 with a valid legislative objective. In quashing the conviction of the Eckville school teacher for inoculating students with overtly anti-Semitic teachings, the Court paid scant attention to the special factual situation of the targeted impressionable youngsters. Kerans J.A. for the Court reasoned firstly that the section created a reverse onus on the defendant. This violated, Kerans stated, the Charter guarantee (lid) of the presumption of innocence, insofar as the defendant was obliged to demonstrate that his statements were true in order to invoke the defense laid out by the Code. Secondly, Kerans attacked the section for requiring conviction, even though a jury may be "convinced that not one person in all of Canada actually came to hate any member of any group as a result of what an accused said, or indeed that there was any likelihood of that" (Keegstra:215). "Therefore," Kerans wrote summarily, "there is no point to my dealing with the facts of this case, or what happened at trial, and I will not do so" (Keegstra:216). Having dismissed the unique facts of the case, as unworthy of judicial attention, Kerans proceeded to articulate an expansive notion of freedom of expression, which in his view, contrary to the O.C.A. opinion, had the status of a "protected right" (Keegstra:229). This freedom, Kerans reasoned, invoking Mill's On Liberty, not only encompassed toleration for dissent, but even gave sanction to the promotion of hatred. The Charter allowed Canadians, Kerans stated gratuitously, "to hate and despise the Charter" (Keegstra:21T), as if hatred of the law and not vulnerable people were the central issue. He suggested proportionality must obtain between the objective of the Code and its restrictions; and this could be gauged by the degree of the harm imposed by hatred. It was his view that pain may be bearable when hatred is rejected by the community, and may thus amount to a mere "psychological pinprick" (Keegstra:23Q). Otherwise, he continued, "significant harm" occurs only when the "hatemonger begins to gain an audience" (Keegstra:23Q). Prior to that condition, lesser levels of harm may be the price of democracy: "citizens in a democratic society must show a

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courage and stoicism in the face of abusive exercise of freedom of expression" (Keegstra:233). Keegstra's "controversial and idiosyncratic views," as Kerans benignly termed them, "expressed dispassionately over many years," may occasionally have been persuasive. But straining to find a silver lining in hate, Kerans concluded wanly that not every dispenser of hate was believable (Keegstra:239). The Alberta Appeal Court, while refusing consideration of the facts, had simultaneously raised a number of factual tests for applying the Charter's guarantee of freedom of speech. In so doing, the Court invalidated section 281.2 of the Code, leaving final disposition of the matter to the Supreme Court of Canada. The Alberta decision was paradoxical. How factual questions concerning measurements of harm could be judicially answered, without notice and scrutiny of the unusual fact situation at hand, Kerans did not bother to explain. Less than two months later, the Alberta decision was followed by an Ontario Court of Appeal ruling that was tantamount to a rejoinder to Justice Kerans' contradictory treatment of facts. In the case of R. v. Andrews et a/.,4 Justice Cory for the Court, with Grange and Krever concurring, affirmed the conviction of two members of the Nationalist Party of Canada for the circulation of proscribed material denigrating Blacks, Jews and other "non-Aryans," under section 281.2 of the Code. The ban on wilful promotion of hatred clearly was the most constitutionally delicate provision of hate legislation, as the Alberta decision had demonstrated. Not only was the section difficult to apply, because of its volitional emphasis, a fact noted by its supporters; it was suspect, as its critics pointed out, because of the absence of any explicit wording which required proof of significant harm or injury. On the face of the matter, section 281.2 could very well be said to prohibit a simple statement of disapproved opinion, a point that had not been overlooked by Justice Kerans. Justice Cory too argued for a liberal interpretation of freedom of expression, asserting that section 2b "must be wide enough to permit persons to set forward new and different ideas no matter how upsetting those ideas may be to identifiable groups" (Andrews:168). He reasoned that while courts in British Columbia and Manitoba had advanced the notion that the Charter had "frozen" traditional Canadian rights and freedoms, other appeal courts in Quebec, Nova Scotia and Alberta had viewed the Charter as creating new possibilities, especially in the area of freedom of expression. The Ontario position, Cory opined, would be to move forward with the dicta of the Supreme Court of Canada in interpreting the Charter in an expansive manner.

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The trial judge, Cory continued, found that defendants had expressed views which constituted sincerely held beliefs. These views Cory described as "rubbish and offal," "malodorous, malicious and [of an] evil nature" (Andrews:W4). These remarks, he reluctantly conceded, do not properly fall within the specific regulated area of 2(b). But the regulation (s. 281.2[2]) nonetheless, he quickly added, read in the full context of the Charter, "was a reasonable limit upon the freedom of expression . . . which is demonstrably justified in a free and democratic society" (Andrews-.nS). Having played the Charter's trump card, Cory then addressed the problem of hatred. "Hatred is not a word of casual connotation. To promote hatred is to instil detestation, enmity, ill-will and malevolence in another" (Andrews:l7ty. He took judicial notice of the history of the Third Reich and reasoned that "genocidal horrors of the Holocaust were made possible by the deliberate incitement of hatred against the Jewish and other minority peoples" (Andrews:17Q). Canada, he stressed, was not impervious to the consequences of the promotion of hatred, "one of the most extreme emotions known to humankind" (Andrews:184). In concluding, Cory stated his objections to the Alberta Appeal Court's decision based on the want of proof that harm had actually occurred. He dismissed this reservation to the Criminal Code, noting that several other provisions (attempted murder, conspiracy, driving with a high blood alcohol content) applied even in the absence of the actual occasion of injury. Such provisions, he reasoned, on the basis of "empirical data," point to the high probability of danger. Likewise, he averred: "the impugned section is not simply paternalistic, well-intentioned, meddling by Parliament, cutting back on free speech for no real reason. It is based upon the hard, chilling facts of history" (.Andrews: 187).

Politics, Philosophy and Truth Canadian hate legislation has provoked wide-ranging criticism. Suggestions have been made for redrafting it, particularly with regard to specific terms such as "wilfully" or "promotes," or for recasting entirely, in a narrower vein, provisions such as section 177 (false news).5 Others would drop the requirement for the consent of the Attorney General before prosecution (House of Commons, 1984). More fundamental objections to the legislation as such have been raised, on the grounds that there is no salutary purpose in restrictions on the freedom of expression. Thus it is argued, for example, that criminal prosecution serves the ends of the hatemonger by spreading his ideas farther, making him a martyr, denying him the chance for catharsis, and the community the opportunity for public rebuke (Arthurs, 1970:1-5).

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In addition, it is asserted that state suppression of speech debases and trivializes social truths by removing vitalizing challenges. Instead of promoting toleration, suppression, so it is claimed, actually encourages ill will; and leaves no group, from seal fishermen to poor widows, immune to the risk of prosecution. Freedom of speech, it is maintained, keeps the use of force at bay, while suppression itself makes violence more likely. The defendants in criminal hate trials may attract more attention than their base messages, and even elicit sympathy as pawns and victims of the all-powerful state. The trial process may afford a measure of dignity to the accused; and where groups such as Jews are accused of extraordinary influence, a not uncommon theme of hate propaganda, the media publicity which illuminates hate trials may lend plausibility to the vision that has been conjured up of a small group able to manipulate the state into doing its bidding.6 Some of the reservations expressed about the disadvantages of state prosecutions attach to all trials. Those which apply particularly to the criminalization of speech are more debatable. To date there have been only a small number of hate propaganda trials, laying to rest for the moment the fear that prosecutions might become endemic. But do such trials work to the advantage of the hater? The most comprehensive empirical study of a hate trial to date (Weinmann and Winn, 1986) does not lend credence to the criticism that prosecution, in terms of its effect on public opinion, is counterproductive. What is most important is the fact that the common concern for the value and integrity of speech consistently informs all criticism of hate legislation. Do the Code's limits on free speech place Canada on the road into intellectual darkness? Do they impede the healthy debate that invigorates parliamentary democracy? Or are these critical concerns misplaced? Do they flow from an inadequate understanding of the relationship between truth and politics, and the respective roles of speech in politics and philosophy? Speech has traditionally been recognized as the architectonic mode of politics. Aristotle argued in the Politics that speech separates man from animals, and alone enables him to reason. He went on to equate speech with action, or the noblest activity of man. But like Plato before him, Aristotle, though preoccupied with the search for justice, did not offer any argument for freedom of expression. And though Socrates in the Apology makes evident his passionate concern for conscience, and freely volunteers to die for it, it is notable that he declines to articulate the right or need for any citizen to speak as he pleases. Admittedly, the classical thinkers were not champions of freedom or democracy, but they did love wisdom. Most significantly, however, they did not believe the

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production of knowledge, or of justice, for that matter, to be dependent on freedom of speech. Indeed, Plato's instruction on the necessity of myth even in the best imaginable regime, indicated that for the classics the requirements for truth in politics were not on the same plane as the relation of truth to philosophy. In short, in the tradition of western politics, both in theory and practice, the relationship of truth to politics was no better than anomalous. Prior to the appearance of Mill's On Liberty in 1859, political philosophy made no cogent or systematic argument for uninhibited speech. Mill's moving defense of free speech and thought invested these ideas with popular rhetorical appeal, as may be seen from the fact that all the three cases previously referred to cited his work. Mill argued for an open marketplace model of speech, limited only by the probability factor of harm. But his model, while lauding dissent and praising freedom, assumed, while never stated explicitly, the creative conditions and energy required for achieving knowledge. Moreover, while stressing the importance of speech and thought to individual self-development, Mill did not establish that freedom of expression was an ultimate political end in itself. Rather than making a democratic case for the importance of freedom of speech, Mill made an elitist plea for the universal good of the pleasures of the mind. Mill would rather be an unhappy Socrates than a pleased fool. But is this choice self-evident? Mill was not prepared to negotiate or balance his personal values with the choices that might be preferred by those not sharing the premises of his lifestyle. His model is therefore not entirely consistent, because, while calling for openness, he did so without endorsing genuine political give and take, and then only on the basis of his exclusive intellectual terms. Mill's most serious error was to underestimate the danger of words. In homogeneous England he assumed a social consensus, which applied to the democratic society described by Tocqueville. What he, as an appreciative reviewer of Tocqueville's work, feared most was conformity. Freedom of speech and thought was held to be its critical antidote. But the civility and stability he feared might give rise to the tyranny of the majority were conditions which operate more aptly in the academy than in society at large. Mill's conception of freedom was better suited to the academy with its unique mission, than to politics, especially of the commonplace irrational and brutal kind that has characterized the twentieth century. Mill's open market model of speech, if grafted upon politics, contained a danger as insidious as the one he sought to obviate. A body politic which operated constitutionally like a "debating club" could not

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logically claim to possess a permanent credo or ultimate set of values outside the process of debate. If the pursuit and free mix of opinions is more important than the political consequences of ideas, what beyond the process can the ultimate commitment of the democratic state be? Why should some values be preferred, and how are those that conflict to be sorted and balanced against one another?7 A society predicated only on debate would have no will to choose and defend preferred values against assaults from nihilists and extremists. Contemporary writers like Richards, who argue that the constitutional guarantee of freedom of expression mandates "state neutrality among forms of conscience and thus preservefs] the ultimate moral sovereignty of persons both over themselves and their political community" (Richards, 1986:168), are unable to reconcile state neutrality with the authority bestowed by the community on elected representatives to enact into law collective political values. Though Mill did not go so far as to believe that opinions such as "corn-dealers are starvers of the poor," ought to be delivered before "an excited mob" (Mill, 1947:55), his exaggerated faith in the efficacy of education and the power of reason inclined him to discount the raw emotive power of words. Less sheltered thinkers like Machiavelli, on the other hand, who described man as "an ungrateful, voluble dissembler," were more acutely aware of the destructive consequences that licentious words have for politics. Hobbes particularly warned of the dangers inherent in the abuse of words. When words are used carelessly by men "to grieve one another," the train of human passion, especially "vainglory," makes a deadly conflagration possible. Were it really the case that reason can be relied on to triumph over passion, then most of the other diverse sanctions of the Criminal Code might eventually be viewed as superfluous. We might with more confidence embrace Richards' optimistic belief in the effectiveness of tolerance and moral discourse to diminish the human capacity for evil: [W]e most undercut, as a democratic community of equal respect, substantive ideologies of racial and other inequalities when our principles extend to exponents of such views the dignifying equal respect for their moral powers as persons. Our practice thus embraces them in the vital, moralizing experience of a community of equal respect that most piercingly displays the nature of its moral community when it respects the conscience of advocates of ideologies at war with equal respect. (Richards, 1986:192)

But history does not suggest that human progress towards virtue and justice is achieved without restraint, great toil and tragic setbacks. Nor has history revealed many, if any, areas where civilized achievement has

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been fostered by the license to say what one pleases, and to denigrate less favoured minority groups.8 Freedom of speech without reasoned restraint is of dubious political utility. As Burke pointed out, intellectual positions presenting themselves as metaphysical truth may be of little value to politics. For this reason the grand philosopher of the British Constitution affirmed the utility of political truths of a different kind, such as habits and inclinations he called prejudice, "which engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue . . ." (Burke, 1961:101). Like the classical political philosophers, Burke reasoned that the problems of politics "do not primarily concern truth or falsehood. They relate to good or evil. What in the result is likely to produce evil is politically false; that which is productive of good, politically true" (Burke, 1962:99). Because there are different orders and applications of truth, the wisdom of constitutional democracy is to abstain from conflating the canons and goals of the academy with the principles and ends of politics. Does legislation proscribing the dissemination of group hatred interfere with freedom of expression as guaranteed by the Charter? Does such legislation compromise the health of the Canadian body politic? How is the speech of a James Keegstra to be judged? He taught a theory of history that emphasized that the Jews were responsible for the First and Second World Wars. Further, he taught that this conspiracy, headed by Jews, was responsible for the American, French, and Russian revolutions. He taught that the Jews were involved in secret societies — the Jacobins, the Illuminati, and Bolsheviks. He linked all these secret societies as part of the Zionist cause. He taught that the banks, the media and the courts were all controlled by Jews and that the Jews were in control of numerous national governments. He also taught that the Holocaust was a hoax. (Elman, 1989:76)9 Is such crass and warped speech merely "controversial and idiosyncratic," or does it represent something more pernicious? In her probing reflections on truth and politics, Hannah Arendt observed that lying was long recognized as a conventional element of the art of politics. It was tolerated partly because it was aimed primarily at the enemies of the state. With the modern development of public and private industries committed to lies, the art of lying violated this fine distinction. Arendt questions whether the cunning liar is readily and invariably exposed in his blatant falsehood, as Mill might maintain, or whether another deadlier threat is imminent. The liar is, Arendt argues, more efficacious than is commonly supposed. "Since the liar is free to

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fashion his 'facts' to fit the profit and pleasure, or even the mere expectations, of his audience, the chances are that he will be more persuasive than the truthteller. Indeed, he will usually have plausibility on his side; his exposition will sound more logical, as it were, since the element of unexpectedness — one of the outstanding characteristics of all events — has mercifully disappeared" (Arendt, 1969:251; cf. Arendt, 1972:3-47). Damage to be assessed far exceeds that of the proverbial pinprick because "all lies, whether their authors know it or not, harbor an element of violence; organized lying always tends to destroy whatever it has decided to negate . . ." (Arendt, 1969:252). This violence, the writer concludes, is not simply a confusion between truth and lies. Much more is at stake. What may be at risk is "the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world . . ." (Arendt, 1969:257). Whatever the past relationship between politics and truth may have been, democratic politics, it is historically clear, cannot proceed without a common matrix of facts or respect for the elemental verities of political life. This willingness to take for granted such political axioms as the equality and dignity of all human beings, must, however, be cultivated and safeguarded from the pernicious assaults of the purveyors of hate propaganda. Besides Canada, eighteen western democratic states have adopted some form of hate legislation. Nevertheless, courts in the United States, given the primacy of the First Amendment and the absence of any constitutional affirmation of multiculturalism comparable to the statement in the Canadian Charter, have tended to look askance at legislation designed to counter public expressions of racism and ethnic hatred.10 The Canadian legislation, as Justice Cory plainly conceded, would not pass constitutional muster in the United States (Andrews: 170-72). In reviewing the constitutionality of hate propaganda legislation, the Canadian Supreme Court must inevitably draw a delicate balance between freedom of speech and other critical societal interests. This will entail a dialectical judgement on the highest themes of politics and law.

NOTES 1 The term is taken from Eric Voegelin to describe regimes based on intellectual systems that lay claim to omniscience and promise secular salvation and deliverance from the "evils of the times" See Voegelin (1968:48-49). 2 R. v. Zundel (1987), 58 O.R. (2d) 129. Cited as Zundel. 3 R. v. Keegstra (1988) 5 W.W.R. 211. Cited as Keegstra. 4 R. v. Andrews et al. (1988) 65 O.R. 2d 161. Cited as Andrews. 5 See Law Reform Commission of Canada (1986:40-41) and (1987:100-101).

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6 Braun (1988:471-513) develops these arguments and others with a fine measure of acumen. 7 This argument is developed more fully by Kendall (1960:972-979). 8 Mill's insistence on the value of the free circulation of ideas, as Magid (1954:43, 55-57) has observed, better serves the purposes of the empirical sciences (natural and social), which are "co-operative" projects, rather than philosophy, which is more of an individual pursuit. 9 For discussion of the background of the Keegstra case, see Bercuson and Wertheimer (1985). 10 The best indication to date is the refusal of a federal appeals court to block the march of a Neo-Nazi group, adorned with Nazi regalia, into the Chicago suburb of Skokie, a town with a predominantly Jewish population. See Collin v. Smith, 1978.

REFERENCES CASES CITED Collin v. Smith (1978), 578 F. (2d) 1197. Gitlow v. New York (1925), 268 U.S. 652. R. v. Zundel (1987), 58 O.R. (2d) 129. R. v. Keegstra (1988), 5 W.W.R. 211. R. v. Andrews et al. (1988), 65 O.R. (2d) 161. ARTICLES AND BOOKS Arendt, Hannah. (1969). "Truth and Politics." Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought. New York: The Viking Press. . (1972). "Lying in Politics." Crises of the Republic. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Arthurs, H.W. (1970). "Hate Propaganda — An Argument against Attempts to Stop it by Legislation." Chitty's Law Journal 18:1 (January), 1-5. Beckton, Clare. (1989). "Freedom of Expression." Gerald A. Beaudoin and Ed Ratushny, eds. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Toronto: Carswell. Bercuson, David and Douglas Wertheimer. (1985). A Trust Betrayed: The Keegstra Affair. Toronto: Doubleday Canada. Braun, Stefan. (1988). "Social and Racial Tolerance and Freedom of Expression in a Democratic Society: Friends or Foes? Regina v. Zundel." Dalhousie Law Journal, 11, 471-513. Burke, Edmund. (1961). Reflections on the Revolution in France. Garden City: Doubleday. . (1962). An Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill.

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Canada, House of Commons. (1984). Equality Now, Report of the Special Committee on Visible Minorities (Recommendation 15). Ottawa: Supply and Services. Canada, Minister of Justice. (1966). Report to The Minister of Justice of the Special Committee on Hate Propaganda In Canada (The Cohen Committee). Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Cohen Committee. See Canada, Minister of Justice. Cohen, Maxwell. (1971). "The Hate Propaganda Amendments: Reflections on a Controversy." Alberta Law Review 9, 103, 110-111. Elman, Bruce P. (1989). "The Promotion of Hatred and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms: A Review of Keegstra v. The Queen." Canadian Public Policy 15 (March), 72-83. Kendall, Willmore. (1960). "The 'Open Society' and its Fallacies." The American Political Science Review 54:4 (December), 972-979. Law Reform Commission of Canada. (1986). Hate Propaganda, Working Paper 50. Ottawa: Supply and Services. . (1987). Recodifying Criminal Law, Report 31. Ottawa: Supply and Services. Magid, Henry. (1954). "Mill and the Problem of Freedom of Thought." Social Research 21:1 (Spring), 43-61. Mill, John Stuart. (1947). On Liberty. New York: Appleton Century Crofts. Mosse, George L. (1964). The Crisis of German Ideology: Intellectual Origins of the Third Reich. New York: Grosset and Dunlap. Poggi, Gianfranco. (1978). The Development of the Modern State: A Sociological Introduction. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Richards, David A.J. (1986). Toleration and the Constitution. New York: Oxford University Press. Rosen, Paul L. (1972). The Supreme Court and Social Science. Urbana: The University of Illinois Press. Shennan, J.H. (1974). The Origins of the Modern European State: 1450-1725. London: Hutchinson. Strayer, J.R. (1970). On the Medieval Origins of the Modern State. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Tocqueville, Alexis de. (1904). Democracy in America, vol. 1. Translated by Henry Reeves. New York: D. Appleton. Voegelin, Eric. (1968). Science, Politics and Gnosticism. Chicago: Henry Regnery. Weinmann, Gabriel, and Conrad Winn. (1986). Hate on Trial: The Zundel Affair, the Media, and Public Opinion in Canada. Oakville: Mosaic Press.

Collective Action in the Age of the Charter Raymond Bazowski

ST. FRANCIS XAVIER UNIVERSITY In an article written shortly before the passage of the Constitution Act, 1982, Peter Russell declared that in Canada there was no informed discussion about the proper purview of courts in a democratic society. As a consequence, Russell said, future court decisions based on the Charter would provide Canadians with a crash course in the promises and perils of judicial policy-making (Russell, 1982:33). After seven years of this crash course, what lessons have we learned about judicial policymaking? The most conspicuous lesson is that, in spite of numerous predictions to the contrary, Canadian courts have shown themselves, in cases covering language rights, procedural rights in law enforcement, and in the recent abortion ruling, to be obliging executors of their heightened power of judicial review. What is still not clear, however, is whether this Charter-enhanced ability of courts to influence the direction of public policy bodes well for Canadian democracy. Assessments of the democratic implications of Charter decisions have been mixed, and this in itself should not be surprising. After all, in this country there have been some long-standing, conflicting views regarding the wisdom of entrenching a constitutional bill of rights. On the one hand, there have been many who voiced apprehensions about the political risks facing an activist court armed with a robust bill of rights. For example, Russell, in the same pre-Charter article, cautioned that a court overzealously exercising its new constitutional powers of judicial review could do a great deal of damage to the democratic quality of our life. The fear which Russell and others harboured was that judges would illicitly, or at least inconsistently, remove matters of policy, best left in the hands of democratically elected legislators, to the politically unaccountable and possibly capricious forum of the courtroom. Such misgivings about potential misadventures of the courts have generally varied in proportion to the strength of the critic's theoretical or practical confidence in the consensual benefits arising from the politics of

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pluralism. For example, a characteristic argument has been that the pluralist process of interest articulation and accommodation, ostensibly at work in the parliamentary arena, is better suited for the politically delicate task of policy formulation than are courtroom forensics. On the other side, there have been many who have longed for a politically emboldened court. Champions of civil liberties, for instance, have traditionally sought legal protection for individual freedoms against the vagaries of democratic majoritarianism. For these defenders of civil liberties, the fear was not that a court empowered by the Charter would supplant legislators as policy makers, but rather, as Walter Tarnopolsky has noted, that they would proceed too cautiously and abide in a practice of deferring to legislatures in matters of human rights (Tarnopolsky, 1983:277). While these two opposing viewpoints continue to inform current commentary on the Charter, it is doubtful whether they capture between them the full complexities of the political issues that have been generated by this document. In this paper I want to explore some of those complexities by addressing a question which I believe cuts across the two opposing positions just outlined. I intend to examine whether collective action, in particular, trade union activity, has been well- or ill-served under the Charter. Before embarking on such an inquiry, we must draw some elementary distinctions. It is pretty well conceded that the Canadian constitution does protect some collective rights in addition to the historically more familiar individual rights associated with liberal constitutionalism. Explicit mention is made in the constitution of the educational rights of linguistic and religious collectivities, of the legal privileges assigned to linguistic groups, and, as well, of unenumerated aboriginal rights. A plausible argument can also be made that the so-called Newfoundland rule in section 6(4), countenancing provincial restrictions of mobility rights where levels of unemployment warrant, amounts to a recognition of the rights of a province conceived of as a collectivity (Elkins, 1989). But however construed, collective rights are not the central or immediate object of this inquiry. It is, rather, the fate of collective action under the Charter which I want to consider. The distinction upon which I rely here is a simple one, yet one which may help to clarify our understanding of constitutional arguments notorious for their analytic tangle. By referring to collective action instead of collective rights, I want to draw attention to that facet of politics which theorists of pluralism have always held to be of prime importance — group activities. Group activities may indeed give rise to claims about collective rights, but such claims can only be made if there are groups pursuing activities typical of them. This may

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seem tautological but such a conceptual precaution is necessary if one ventures into the land of constitutional jurisprudence. In any event, it is the activities of a specific type of group — trade unions — which are at issue in this paper. What bears particular attention, I will argue, are some of the politically problematic consequences which attend the translation of the political realities of group activities into the normative and legal idiom of rights. How have trade unions fared under the Charter? The short answer is not too well. While trade unions had absented themselves from the parliamentary hearings leading up to the 1982 Constitution Act, they were quick to try to seize upon Charter provisions to inoculate themselves against state measures curbing union activities. But in a quartet of well known cases decided by the Supreme Court in 1986 and 1987, trade unions failed to win judicial recognition for any constitutional rights to practise those activities usually associated with collective bargaining. Each of the cases at court entailed some sort of state measure limiting or curtailing customary union ventures. The first of the four cases, Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union v. Dolphin Delivery Ltd.,1 involved a union's right to engage in secondary picketing to deter employer alliances devised to break a strike. The legal dispute began when Dolphin Delivery, doing business with another company which was strikebound, obtained a court injunction preventing secondary picketing of its premises. The case proved to be novel because it was one of the few labour relations disputes in which no statute applied, and which therefore had to be decided by common law. The union appealed the court injunction on Charter grounds, electing to argue that the common law action represented by the court injunction infringed upon section 2(b) guaranteeing freedom of expression. The British Columbia Court of Appeal refused the appeal, with the majority holding that picketing was not "expression" within the meaning of the Charter because it did not conform to a model of rational persuasion. Furthermore, the Court ruled that, even if picketing was accepted as a form of expression under the Charter, it would still be the case that a Court injunction would prove to be a reasonable limitation of such activity, as such limitation is granted in section 1 of the Charter (Mandel, 1989:203-204; Fudge, 1988:86-91). When the case was appealed to the Supreme Court, the Justices took another legal tack in denying the appeal. Writing for the majority, Justice Maclntyre conceded that the ordinary definition of freedom of expression was wide enough to cover picketing. But this did not mean that the Charter afforded protection to picketing in this instance. What needed to be determined, the Justice continued, was whether a court

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injunction limiting picketing could be justified under section 1 of the Charter. Justice Maclntyre found such a justification in the common law principle of the tort of inducing breach of contract, something which harmed a related third party, and which therefore justified the remedy of an injunction. In the end, this particular judicial discovery was not necessary to dispose of the case, for, in his final remarks, Maclntyre J. raised the question of whether the Charter applied to common law cases in the first place. He concluded that common law cases involving actions between private parties did not come within the ambit of the Charter, and so denied the appeal (Dolphin £>e/it;ery:593-604). While Dolphin Delivery ultimately was resolved through a controversial ruling distinguishing public and private spheres of law, it was the Charter which was to take centre stage in the next three labour cases to reach the Supreme Court. In Government of Saskatchewan v. Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union,2 the union, representing striking dairy workers, sought to have government back-to-work legislation invalidated on the grounds that it infringed upon section 2(d) of the Constitution Act guaranteeing freedom of association (Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union, 1987). In Public Service Alliance of Canada v. The Queen,3 the union likewise invoked arguments centring on the freedom of association clause to challenge the federal government's "6 and 5" wage restraint programme which abolished the right to strike and bargain collectively for most public-sector workers for a period of two years (Public Service Alliance of Canada, 1987). Finally, in the Alberta reference case, Re Public Service Employee Relations Act,4 public sector unions that were affected by the provincial government's sweeping restrictions on collective bargaining and the right to strike (imposed by means of an extensive designation of essential services) also sought protection in section 2(d) of the Constitution Act (Alberta Reference, 1987). Although these cases involved different jurisdictions and varying degrees of restrictive legislation, the main legal issue came down to whether the freedom of association clause in the constitution implied any specific constitutional union rights regarding collective bargaining and strike action. And since the Alberta reference case involved the broadest legislative restrictions on unions, the judgement in this case was to govern the judicial responses to the other two cases. The judgement, as we know, proved to be unfavourable to the several unions involved. What is particularly instructive, however, is the way the judgement itself was rendered. In a remarkably brief judgement, written by Justice Le Dain for the majority, two basic reasons were given for rejecting the unions' bid to have section 2(d) interpreted to cover rights to collective bargaining and

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the right to strike. First, it was noted that section 2(d) must be applied to a wide range of associations with differing objectives, and employing a variety of activities to gain these objectives. Recognition of this plural nature of civic associations led the court to conclude that the activities typical of an association are already afforded wide constitutional protection in the other fundamental freedoms, such as the freedom of expression and the freedom of conscience and religion. In this legal construction, then, the constitutional freedom of association is considered an auxiliary to the other fundamental freedoms. To stress this last point, Le Dain J. pointed to the fact that the freedoms for which the unions sought constitutional protection were themselves the product of labour relations legislation, and presumably, one might infer, simple artifices of the state. By interpreting the right of association to be a pendant to the other enumerated fundamental freedoms, and by indicating the legislative origins of specific union rights, Le Dain J. was able to weigh in with a judicial principle which he considered decisive in this instance — the principle of judicial deference in matters of legislative policy. It would seem that the Justices felt that this principle of deference was warranted by the mere fact that any judicial review of such labour legislation would have to take place with due regard for section 1 of the Constitution Act, which explicitly countenances reasonable limitations to the enumerated constitutional rights and freedoms: It is surprising that, in an area in which this Court has affirmed a principle of judicial restraint in the review of administrative action, this Court should be considering the substitution of its judgement for that of the legislature by constitutionalizing in general and abstract terms rights which the legislature has found it necessary to define and qualify in various ways according to the particular field of labour relations involved. The resulting necessity of applying s. 1 of the Charter to a review of particular legislation in this field demonstrates the extent to which the Court becomes involved in a review of legislative policy for which it is not really fitted. (Alberta 7?e/ererjce:391-92)

In a concurring but separate judgement, Justice Maclntyre went still further in an attempt to deny that any constitutional right to group activities could be read from section 2(d). In his view, the Constitution, except in the case of provisions for denominational education rights and aboriginal rights, conferred rights and freedoms only on individuals, not on groups. This led him to envisage the right to association entirely as an individual right: The group or organization is simply a device adopted by individuals to achieve a fuller realization of individual rights and aspirations.

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People, by merely combining together, cannot create an entity which has greater constitutional rights and freedoms than they as individuals possess. Freedom of association cannot therefore vest independent rights in the group. (Alberta Reference:397) Given its individualistic foundation, the right to association, MacIntyre J. argued, could only mean that the state was prohibited from preventing those activities done in association which it was lawful to do as an individual. This paring down of the right of association to a function of the exercise of individual rights still left open the question of the constitutionality of striking. Conceding that an individual did have the lawful right to terminate his or her employment, Maclntyre J. was constrained to assert that collective withdrawal of labour in a strike was not analogous to an individual's cessation of work. The burden of Justice Maclntyre's argument here was that the various statutory measures which gave unions their collective bargaining rights so altered the common law relation between employer and employee that no analogy could be drawn between individual and collective refusals to work. Hence, Maclntyre J. reasoned, whatsoever the legislature gives to unions by way of labour legislation, it is entitled to take back (Alberta #e/erence:411-22). There were, to be sure, two dissenting opinions in these cases. Chief Justice Dickson, speaking for himself and Justice Wilson, did hold that section 2(d) implied rights to collective bargaining and the right to strike. His reasoning is a model of a legal chain syllogism. Allowing that a person's employment is an essential component of his or her sense of identity, self-worth and emotional well-being, the Chief Justice held that the conditions under which an individual worked were important determinants of that individual's dignity and self-respect. Using the notion of dignity and self-respect as an inferred premise, the Chief Justice went on to relate it to trade unions as associations promoting the essential needs and interests of working people. Significantly, Chief Justice Dickson singled out collective bargaining as the primary activity of trade unions: The capacity to bargain collectively has long been recognized as one of the integral and primary functions of associations of working people. While trade unions also fulfil other important social, political and charitable functions, collective bargaining remains vital to the capacity of individual employees to participate in ensuring fair wages, health and safety protection and equitable and humane working conditions. (Alberta Reference:368) And, more important still, the Chief Justice concluded that the right to strike is essential to the very process of collective bargaining:

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Chief Justice Dickson's dissenting judgement can be regarded as a strong rebuke of his colleagues' majority decision, for he saw fit to remark on the consequences of subordinating the freedom of association to the other Charter rights: If freedom of association only protects the joining together of persons for common purposes, but not the pursuit of the very activities for which the association was formed, then the freedom is indeed legalistic, ungenerous, indeed vapid. (Alberta /?e/erence:362-363)

Having granted the unions' primary constitutional argument about section 2(d), Chief Justice Dickson was not prepared, however, to exempt the associational rights to bargain collectively, and to strike, from all legislative regulation. Like the majority on the Bench, he admitted that section 1 sanctioned the use of legislative restrictions on these union freedoms, although the Chief Justice preferred a more rigorous test to determine what constituted reasonable limits. Citing the onus of proof argument he had developed in the case of Oakes (1986) regarding criminal procedures and the presumption of innocence, the Chief Justice insisted that a successful section 1 limitation of Charter rights required that the government clearly prove that a pressing and substantial public interest would be served by the limitation, and that the measures described by such legislative limitation be proportionate to the legislative objective. Applying such a test to the cases at court, Chief Justice Dickson found sufficient evidence of pressing and substantial public interest to justify most of the restrictive measures in the contested pieces of legislation. Thus, while he would narrow the Alberta government's definition of essential services (Alberta Referenced 18-320), he was persuaded in the Saskatchewan dairy workers case that third party harm was significant enough to warrant the back-to-work legislation (Retail, Wholesale and Department Store £/nj'0n:462). As for the "6 and 5" wage restraint programme being challenged by the Public Service Alliance, the Chief Justice accepted the federal government's argument about its fiscal responsibility to contain inflation, even though he acknowledged that the prospective national wage-restraining effects of wage controls in the public service were to be largely symbolic (Public Service Alliance of etime:814-823). These two cases exhibit significant similarities. Both present a generous interpretation of freedom of expression. Both focus on individual choice in the matter of language use. And both converge on their preference for personal bilingualism. In Ford, the Court nullified the provisions

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for the exclusive use of French in commercial advertising, hence allowing other languages in commercial expression. In Devine, the Court did not extend freedom of expression to include the right to express oneself exclusively in the language of one's choice, hence allowing bilingualism with French as the predominant language. In both cases, individual choice is recognized and judged important; but with the allowance that a government can prescribe in commercial expression the inclusion of French. In effect, the Court claimed that regardless of one's geographical location in Canadian civil society, one has the right to express oneself commercially in the language of one's choice. But in Quebec, this right follows a duty to advertise in one of Canada's official languages and the official language of Quebec, namely, French. In sum, with an analysis of section 2(b) and section 3 of the Canadian and Quebec Charters, respectively, the Court followed in spirit the language rights contained in sections 16-23 of the Canadian Charter and section 133 of the Constitution Act, 1867. In a clash between individual rights and a provincial projet de societe, liberalism triumphed over the principle of self-government. In other words, a liberal version of justice, founded on individual dignity and the virtue of inter-personal recognition, trumped the democratic yet exclusionary linguistic policies of the Quebec National Assembly (Greene, 1989:108-109). Because of the Supreme Court's liberalism, the personal variety of bilingualism displaced the territorial variety and commercial expression was granted constitutional standing and protection. I began this essay with a discussion of K.Z. Paltiel's belief that democracy must be wedded to justice. Yet, as an analysis of the Ford and Devine cases indicates, a sense of justice is dependent on the concepts one forms about a moral person, liberty and democracy. Such concepts are debatable; as justice itself is a debatable concept. Paltiel was aware of this problem, in particular with regard to the best form of "social organization . . . to warrant the representation of ethnic minorities and to cater to their cultural-linguistic and religious concerns" (Paltiel, 1987:29). He was also aware that the establishment of one's preferred answer to the problem of a just "social organization" amounts to a political battle for self-recognition. Finally, he recognized that in Canadian politics the causes of particularity and special status are at a disadvantage, especially since patriation. As he knew, a liberal model of rights now determines most of our political culture, to the disadvantage of Canada's national minorities, the aboriginal peoples and les Quebecois.

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I have ventured to show how the spirit of liberalism and individualism were dominant in two recent constitutional cases, possibly the most important in political terms since the Patriation Reference (1981). As well, I have tried to draw out those points on which reasonable persons can differ, on points of language policy and those regarding the extension of the boundaries of a basic right to freedom of expression. In the Ford and Devine cases, some provincial sovereignty was lost over matters of language policy and the extension of fundamental liberties, as many scholars had predicted would happen after entrenchment of the Charter (see Knopff and Morton, 1985:169). Presently, particularity is secured only by the use of section 33 in Bill 178, and at measurable political cost.19 Because of the five-year limit on the use of section 33, the issues of bilingualism and biculturalism will return to the public agenda. At that time, maybe, the debate will focus less on abstract claims to rights, and more on effective policies to preserve and promote the French language. Perhaps by then illiberalism in Quebec will be unsustainable, as the majority of Quebecois realize how commercial their culture has become. In any event, an analysis of the jurisprudence in the Ford and Devine cases shows some room for reasonable disagreement with the Court's views on the extension of a basic right to freedom of expression. If anything, such reflections may cure the popular English-Canadian view that the National Assembly committed a grave injustice by invoking section 33 — likely the most hyperbolic opinion of recent years.

NOTES 1 Ford v. Quebec (A.G.), [1988] 2 S.C.R. 712. 2 Devine v. Quebec (A.G.), [1988] 2 S.C.R. 790. 3 For a summary of these hierarchies, see Beaudoin (1989). It should be noted that, for liberal individualists, this is the worst aspect of Canadian constitutionalism. For an example of this antipathy, directed this time at the Meech Lake-Langevin Accords of 1987, see Kallen (1988). 4 Before this article went to press, the Supreme Court of Canada brought down its ruling in the Mane case. The court ruled unanimously that section 23 (3) of the Charter can be meant to prescribe a certain degree of communal control by a minority language group over school boards. The proviso is that sufficient numbers must warrant such an institutional reform. However, the Court did not specify where exactly lies this threshold of sufficient numbers. Nor did the Court say that communal control must always amount to the creation of a separate school board; it may be sufficient to grant, within existing school boards, proportional representation

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accompanied by some powers (for excerpts of the case, see Le Devoir, 17 March 1990, p. A-9). Hence the Court has gone some way to write communal control into section 23 (3). According to news reports, the Alberta parents who brought this case to the Supreme Court were immensely satisfied. Yet pressure groups who lobby for francophone services outside of Quebec were less sanguine. Without specification of a threshold number, these groups fear that many school boards and provincial governments will continue to follow current policy and refuse to grant autonomy to francophone groups (see Le Devoir, 16 March 1990, pp. 1, 10). For an extensive and critical analysis of existing services for francophones outside of Quebec, see Fontaine (1989). 5 Of course, the Trudeau version of this policy originated in the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism (1963-1967). Moreover, the idea of entrenching a Bill of Rights in the B.N.A. Act was first advocated by thinkers on the left, such as J.S. Woodsworth and F.R. Scott. The latter was a lifelong and influential advocate of entrenchment. For Scott's role on the B. and B. Commission and his influence on Trudeau's constitutional vision, see Djwa (1987:266, 318-337, 384-402, 430-437, 456-457). 6 For a comprehensive discussion of the distinction between negative and positive liberty, see Berlin (1969). 7 Contemporary liberal theorists, such as John Rawls, Bruce Ackerman, Ronald Dworkin and Charles Larmore, have gone so far as to claim that the defining characteristic of the liberal state is neutrality towards unharmful acts in civil society. This includes language use. See Larmore (1987:40-68 at 43). 8 It should be noted that prohibitive provisions on the language of public signs are quite common. For a worldwide survey, see Leclerc (1989). Switzerland is an example of territorial bilingualism, and Swiss jurisprudence accepts the imposition of unilingualism in its German and French cantons, regardless of the violation of a basic right to freedom of expression (Laponce, 1989:8-10). See also Leclerc (1989:297-304). 9 It is noteworthy that this traditional view of a hierarchy of political functions of expression is recognized in Bill 101. Thus, before the amendments of 22 December 1988, article 59 read: L'article 58 ne s'applique pas a la publicite vehicule par des organes d'information diffusant dans une langue autre que le frangais ni aux messages de type religieux, politique, ideologique ou humanitaire, pourvu qu'ils ne soient pas a but lucratif. (Charte de la langue frangaise, in Ge'mar, 1983:annexe D) 10 For Henri Brun's reactions, see Le Devoir, 17 December 1988, A-6. See also Greene (1989:100) and Mandel (1989:35-59, 122). 11 See Greene (1989:86-93, 108). But compare Mandel (1989:184-203, 238). 12 The displacement of republican or civic virtues by commercial virtues is a major problematic in contemporary political theory. It divides numerous scholars: on the one side, civic humanists, such as Benjamin Barber,

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15

16

17 18

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Ronald Beiner, J.G.A. Pocock, Michael Sandel and Charles Taylor, and on the other, advocates of commercial liberalism, such as Milton Friedman, John Gray, F.A. Hayek and Robert Nozick. For reflections on Quebec's modernization, see Dufour (1989) and Gagnon and Montcalm (1990). This includes the bourgeoisie d'affaires. The signs cases and the enactment of Bill 178 split business interest groups in Quebec along linguistic lines, the francophones in majority accepting the invocation of section 33, the anglophones almost unanimously rejecting Bill 178 (see Guay, 1989:157158). Studies of opinion polls conducted between 1979 and 1986 show an even split in francophone opinion on the matter of commercial signs. Nonetheless, responses to the question of bilingualism on signs are greatly dependent on the location, age, educational attainment, level of bilingualism and strata of those polled (see Monnier, 1984:17 and 1986:43-45). By 1987 and throughout most of 1988 polls were showing a marked majority in favour of bilingual signs amongst both francophones and anglophones (Cloutier, 1989a:171-172). But after the judgment and the enactment of Bill 178 in December 1988, a majority of francophones agreed with the Bourassa government's unilingualism policy prohibiting bilingualism on exterior commercial signs (Cloutier, 1989b:189-190). I am not claiming that francophone Quebecers are illiberal in general. The degree of liberality amongst this population is variable depending on the issue, strata analyzed and the political affiliation of respondents. I am only concerned with the specific issue of the laws that order the language of signs. On the general problem, see Johnston and Blais (1988) and Sniderman et al. (1989). Compare Plourde (1988:36) and Pupier (1989). This may have been less a sign of bad tactics than of the Liberal government's actual disagreement with the unilingualism prescriptions for public signs in Bill 101. Such a stand is consistent with their 1985 campaign promise to allow bilingualism on public signs. See Mandel (1989:122) and Levine (1989) and the criticisms of Jacques Rochefort, independent MNA, reported in Le Devoir, 17 December 1988, A-2. Such as the opprobrium of English-Canada, the resignation of three anglophone cabinet ministers, criticisms from the PQ and large demonstrations organized by nationalist groups; giving ammunition to the enemies of the Meech Lake-Langevin Accords; difficulties recruiting candidates in anglophone ridings during the provincial election of 1989; the creation of new protest parties; and the election of four members of the Equality Party to the National Assembly. For good treatments of the repercussions of Bill 178, see Watts (1989:8-18), Comeau (1989:72-74), Pelletier (1989:16-17) and Moniere and Blais (1989:131-137).

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REFERENCES CASES CITED Devine v. Quebec (A.G.), [1988] 2 S.C.R. 790. Ford v. Quebec (A.G.), [1988] 2 S.C.R. 712. ARTICLES AND BOOKS Beaudoin, G.A. (1989). "Droits individuals et droits collectifs." G. Lafrance, ed. tithique et droits fondamentaux/Ethics and Basic Rights. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 224-229. Berlin, I. (1969) "Two Concepts of Liberty." Four Essays on Liberty. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 118-172. Cloutier, E. (1989a). "Les tendances de 1'opinion politique." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1987/1988. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 167-174. . (1989b). "Les tendances de 1'opinion politique." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1988/1989, Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 181-191. Coleman, W.D. (1984). The Independence Movement in Quebec 1945-1980. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Comeau, P.-A. (1989). "Les relations federales-provinciales: 'de paradoxes en impasse'." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1988/1989. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 67-74. Constant, B. ([1819] 1988). "De la liberte des anciens comparee a celle des modernes." Political Writings. Translated and edited by B. Fontana. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 308-328. Djwa, S. (1987). The Politics of Imagination: A Life of F.R. Scott. Vancouver: Douglas fc Mclntyre. Dufour, C. (1989). Le defi quebecois. Montreal: Hexagone. Dufresne, J. (1987). "Lalangue et les droits." Collective. L'Avenir dufranc.ais au Quebec. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 73-80. Fontaine, Y. (1989). "La politique linguistiqne au Canada: 1'impasse?" R.L. Watts and D.M. Brown, eds. Canada: The State of the Federation 1989. Kingston: Institute of Intergovernmental Relations, 137-149. Gagnon, A., and M.B. Montcalm. (1990). Quebec: Beyond the Quiet Revolution, Scarborough: Nelson. Gagnon, A., and K.Z. Paltiel. (1986). "Toward Mattres chez nous: The Ascendancy of a Balzacian Bourgeoisie in Quebec." Queen's Quarterly 93:4, 731-749. Gemar, J.-C. (1983). Les trois etats de la politique linguistique du Quebec. Quebec: Conseil de la langue franc.aise. Greene, I. (1989). The Charter of Rights. Toronto: James Lorimer & Company.

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Guay, J.-H. (1989). "Le patronat." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1988/1989. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 153-159. Johnston, R., and A. Blais. (1988). "Meech Lake and Mass Politics: The 'Distinct Society' Clause." Canadian Public Policy 14, Supplement (September), 25-42. Kallen, E. (1988). "The Meech Lake Accord: Entrenching a Pecking Order of Minority Rights." Canadian Public Policy 14, Supplement (September), 107-120. Knopff, R., and F.L. Morton. (1985). "Nation-Building and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms." A. Cairns and C. Williams, eds. Constitutionalism, Citizenship and Society in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 133-182. Laponce, J.A. (1984). Langue el territoire. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval. . (1989). "Pour reduire les tensions nees des contacts interlinguistiques: solutions personnelles ou territoriales?" Texte presente au colloque, "Vers la reconciliation: droits et politiques linguistiques," a 1'Universite Queen's, Kingston, Ontario, 8 decembre, 1989, mimeo. Larmore, C.E. (1987). Patterns of Moral Complexity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leclerc, J. (1989). La guerre des langues dans I'affichage. Montreal: VLB editeur. Levine, M.V. (1989). "Language Policy and Quebec's visage franqais: New Directions in la question linguistique." Quebec Studies 8 (Spring), 1-16. Mandel, M. (1989). The Charter of Rights and the Legalization of Politics in Canada. Toronto: Wall &; Thompson. Moniere, D., and A. Blais. (1989). "La campagne electorate quebecoise." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1988/1989. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 131-137. Monnier, D. (1983). La question linguistique: I'etat de {'opinion publique. Quebec: Conseil de la langue frangaise. . (1986). La langue d'affichage. Quebec: Conseil de la langue frangaise. Paltiel, K.Z. (1987). "Group Rights in the Canadian Constitution and Aboriginal Claims to Self-Determination." R.J. Jackson, D. Jackson, and N. Baxter-Moore, eds. Contemporary Canadian Politics: Readings and Notes. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 26-43. Pelletier, R. (1989). "La vie parlementaire." D. Moniere, ed. L'Annee politique au Quebec 1988/1989. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 13-20. Plourde, M. (1988). La politique linguistique du Quebec 1977/1987. Quebec: Institut quebecois de recherche sur la culture. Pupier, P. (1989). "I don't exist." Langue et Societe 26 (printemps), 13-14. Sniderman, P.M. et al. (1989). "Political Culture and the Problem of Double Standards: Mass and Elite Attitudes Toward Language Rights in the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms." Canadian Journal of Political Science 22:2 (June), 259-284.

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Taylor, C. (1989). "Ou est le danger?" Liberte 31:3 (June), 13-16. Trudeau, P.E. (1967). Le federalisme et la socie'te canadienne-frangaise. Montreal: Editions HMH. Vastel, M. (1989). Trudeau le Quebe'cois. Montreal: Les editions de PHomme. Watts, R.L. (1989). "An Overview." R.L. Watts and D.M. Brown, eds. Canada: The State of the Federation 1989. Kingston: Institute of Intergovernmental Relations, 3-19. Woehrling, J. (1987). "La reglementation linguistique de Paffichage et la liberte d'expression." Collective. L'Avenir du frangais au Quebec. Montreal: Quebec/Amerique, 82-97. . (1989). "Le jugement de la Conr supreme sur la langue de 1'affichage." Langue et Socie'te 26 (printemps), 12-13.

Ontario's New Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act in Practice Donald C. Rowat CARLETON UNIVERSITY The topic of this chapter would no doubt have pleased Khayyam Paltiel, because he was intensely interested in the improvement of our democratic institutions and procedures. As is well known, Ontario's new right of access to governmental and personal documents is an example of a democratic reform that has been adopted in many western democracies. Perhaps I should first explain why I decided to focus on the system established in Ontario. One reason is that it is very recent. The schemes in Quebec, New Zealand, Australia and its state of Victoria, and the federal scheme in Canada, were all adopted in 1982, while the Ontario scheme was not approved until July 1987, and did not go into effect until the start of 1988; yet it has been in operation long enough for a study of its actual operation to be possible. Another reason is that it differs from the other schemes in important ways. Finally, Ontario is the most populous province and its scheme is bound to influence the provinces that have not yet adopted an access law — PEI and the three most westerly provinces. We should note at the start that Ontario's Act deals with two separate topics: public access to governmental documents, often called freedom of information (or FOI), and the protection of personal information held by the government. The Act is called the Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act. It thus combines two separate streams of reform. Many years ago, when I and others, such as the former MP Jed Baldwin, were advocating laws on freedom of information, there were people, like David Flaherty, a historian at the University of Western Ontario, who were pursuing what they regarded as an entirely different line of reform — the protection of privacy. And the first reforms in these two areas were contained in separate laws. In Scandinavia and the United States, the right of access to government documents came sooner than the protection of privacy, but in Canada and Western Europe privacy came first. In Canada, the Human Rights Act of 1977 included a special

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part protecting privacy, and several European countries passed laws to protect personal information held by computers in both the public and private sectors. The two reform movements were parallel to such an extent that in the U.S. separate acts were passed in the same year, 1974: a reform of the earlier Freedom of Information Act and a new Privacy Act. The principles of access to general and to personal files are closely related, and one of Canada's contributions to these reforms was to integrate the two types of access into the same law. This was done by the federal government and by Quebec in 1982, followed by Ontario in 1987. Australia and New Zealand passed FOI laws in 1982, but Australia did not get a privacy protection law until 1988, and a bill on privacy was not introduced in New Zealand's parliament until 1989 (Hazell, 1989:190). In this chapter I will concentrate on the general access or FOI part of Ontario's law, not only because of my own specialization in this area, but also because FOI has been more controversial. There has been a vigorous argument over its alleged interference with ministerial responsibility, and various schemes have been proposed to deal with this. The protection of privacy, on the other hand, has been a popular motherhood issue, and its principles have been widely adopted without controversy. In their FOI laws, the Commonwealth countries copied the basic principles of the Scandinavian and American schemes. Even the wording of the laws is surprisingly similar. But the Canadian laws, besides combining access and privacy, have made three other improvements over the American FOI and Privacy Acts. First, they have provided freely available indexes of government files. Second, they have provided for what is called "third-party notification," which requires that when there is a request for what may be confidential information given to the government by a third party, the government must consult the third party before releasing it. This avoids the many costly court cases initiated in the U.S. by "third party" businesses which are seeking orders to prohibit the government from releasing information on them that has been requested by their competitors. These cases are often called "reverse FOI" cases. The third Canadian improvement was to provide a special body for appeals against official refusals to release information. This avoids the cost, complexity and delay of appeal to the courts, which are the only avenue of appeal in the U.S. Ontario's plan has been influenced by, and is basically similar to, Canada's federal scheme. But there are some important differences, partly because the Ontario Act was preceded by a thorough Royal Commission report in 1980. Its recommendations heavily influenced the plans in both Ontario and Quebec. Differences can also be explained by the fact that Ontario's plan was delayed until 1987, after the Liberals had

DONALD C. ROWAT 87 come to power, and so was able to benefit from the experience of the earlier schemes. My paper will highlight the most important differences in the Ontario plan from these earlier schemes, both in its legislative provisions and in its actual operation.

Unusual Features of the Ontario Act One way in which the Ontario Act differs from other FOI laws is its treatment of exemptions. A key aspect of all FOI laws is the number and nature of the classes of documents they exempt from the general right of public access. All of these laws have a similar list of exemptions for such matters as cabinet documents and commercial and personal information, but the number and wording of the exemptions differ. Some exemptions are mandatory, requiring all documents of a certain class to be withheld, while others are discretionary and allow a document to be withheld if it falls within a class eligible for exemption, but may require its release if there is an overriding public interest. The federal Act has five mandatory exemptions, and its discretionary exemptions do not have a general provision for release because of an overriding public interest. Ontario's Act is more liberal, because it has fewer exemptions (10 versus 16), of which only three are mandatory (cabinet documents and commercial and personal information), while six others require release if there is an overriding public interest. The Act is not, however, quite as liberal as the laws in Australia and New Zealand, where there are no mandatory exemptions and a wider range of exemptions require release because of an overriding public interest (Hazell, 1989:192). The Ontario Act also differs from these other laws in that it contains no ministerial veto. In deference to the principle of ministerial responsibility, most Commonwealth FOI Acts provide that under certain circumstances a minister or the cabinet may veto the release of documents. In Ontario's law it was not deemed necessary to have such a veto, probably because by 1987 it was realized that an FOI Act does not interfere with ministerial responsibility, but instead helps to enforce it by releasing information needed for proper accountability. Moreover, Ontario's Act goes further than the federal and Quebec Acts in providing for third-party notification. It requires notification not only to commercial firms, but also, in the case of an FOI request involving the release of personal information, to the person concerned; similar provisions are found in the Australian laws (Hazell, 1989:192). Another unusual provision of Ontario's scheme results from the adoption of an unexpected amendment by the opposition; it requires the Act to be extended to local government after three years. However, some of the wording in the Act was not suitable for local bodies. For instance,

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there was the problem of who was to be designated as the "head" of a local institution for purposes of making decisions on the release of documents. After consulting local representatives, the government finally decided to draft a separate act for local government. It was approved at the end of 1989 for implementation in January 1991, and has the same wording as the 1987 Act, except for minor changes to suit local conditions. It includes not only municipalities but also many other local authorities such as school boards and police commissions, and covers an estimated 2,500 local bodies. Ontario is not alone in extending the right of access and the protection of privacy to local bodies. Quebec paved the way by including them in 1982, and New Zealand extended its FOI legislation to health and educational bodies and to local government in 1987 (Hazell, 1989:194). A unique feature of Ontario's Act is its mechanism for hearing appeals. Unlike other FOI and privacy laws, it provides a single commissioner for appeals who has the power to make binding decisions and to require the release of documents. When the issue is whether a record falls within an exemption, this officer can even reverse the decision of a minister. Other Commonwealth systems also have a special appeal body, unlike the U.S. scheme. But for fear of interfering with ministerial responsibility, most of the legislation has only given the appeal body the power to make a recommendation to the minister or head of an institution, like an ombudsman. In fact, several schemes, such as those in Manitoba, the Atlantic provinces, Australia and New Zealand, actually use the ombudsman as the appeal body. Since Ontario has an ombudsman, its government could have taken this route, but chose not to do so. The federal Act of 1982 has set up separate ombudsman-like information and privacy commissioners for appeals. If their recommendations are not followed, it allows a further appeal to the Federal Court for a binding decision. Sweden, Australia (federally), and Victoria give the requester a choice of going either to the ombudsman or to an administrative appeals tribunal which can make a binding decision. In Quebec, appeals go to a three-person commission which, as in Ontario, has the power to make binding decisions. The only further appeal in Quebec and Ontario is to the courts on a question of law, with the grounds for this appeal being narrower in Ontario. Ontario's is the only scheme where the power to make binding decisions is in the hands of a single official, the Information and Privacy Commissioner. By the time the Ontario Act was adopted, the Quebec and Australian laws had been in operation for five years, and had demonstrated that a special appeal body with power to make binding decisions was no

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great threat to ministerial responsibility. This system also has a number of advantages over the two-step appeal system at the federal level. The most important of these is that binding decisions give a definitive interpretation of the law and form a jurisprudence to guide future action by officials and appellants. Because the decisions of the federal commissioners are not binding, and because so few cases are taken as far as the Federal Court, the precise meaning of many provisions in the federal law still remains undetermined. During the first four years of the federal scheme, there were only about 12 substantive decisions from the Federal Court, while in the same period the Australian scheme had 150 decisions from its appeals tribunal, and the Quebec scheme had over 300 from its commission (Hazell, 1989:196). Ontario's Commissioner in his first year alone issued 36 binding orders (Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner, 1989:1). Another great advantage of Ontario's appeal system is that it combines the mediation and decision stages. The first stage of an appeal is for the Commissioner to mediate between the agency and the requester in an attempt to get a settlement satisfactory to both. If that fails, the Commissioner can use the information and documents already collected by his or her office to shift at once to a formal enquiry and make a binding decision. At the federal level, however, if an agency refuses the Information Commissioner's recommendation, the Commissioner does not automatically take the case to the Federal Court, and the appellant is not likely to appeal a second time, having already been obliged to initiate the appeal and assemble the necessary documents, and, probably, to hire a lawyer. The main disadvantage of the Ontario system is that a great deal of power is placed in the hands of one person. A counter-argument, however, is that the Commissioner and his senior staff of specialists act as a team, and usually make collective decisions. In systems providing for recourse to the courts, the judges are often solely responsible for making binding decisions, and therefore they as individuals have great power too. The Commissioner and his staff are as independent as the courts, yet become greater specialists in FOI and privacy law, and in addition have the power to further its objectives. So far we have been discussing the most distinctive features of Ontario's Act. Let us now consider how the scheme has worked in actual practice, and how successful it has been.

The Scheme in Operation Under provisions similar to those of the Federal Act, the general administration of the scheme was placed in the hands of a central agency,

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the Management Board of Cabinet, which corresponds to the federal Treasury Board. The Act was passed in July 1987, at which time the Commissioner was appointed, and it went into effect in January 1988. Despite the short time that both the Management Board and the Commissioner had to prepare for implementation, they appear to have done a remarkable job. Among other things, the Management Board had to run training courses for officials on the revolutionary implications of the new Act, and arrange for the appointment of some 250 information and privacy co-ordinators to handle requests in every provincial department and agency. The Commissioner managed to assemble and train a new staff and organize the office within six months. By now the Ontario scheme has been in operation for over two years, and figures on the number and nature of the requests and appeals made under the Act can be obtained from the first annual report of the Commissioner. Although the second annual report was not available at the time of writing (early 1990), it is possible to discover some significant operating differences from the federal scheme by comparing the first year's figures with those given in the federal annual reports. I have therefore constructed a set of tables comparing the number and nature of the requests and appeals under the two schemes (see Tables 1-12, found at the end of the chapter, after the references). I will comment here on only the most important differences that these data reveal. As always with statistical comparisons, there are problems of comparability. For instance, should we compare Ontario's figures for 1988 with the federal ones for 1988 or for 1983, the first year of the federal plan? The second comparison is probably more meaningful, but in most cases I have given the figures for both years, partly to reveal any trends at the federal level that Ontario might similarly experience. Another problem is that, since the two schemes do not use the same statistical categories or definitions, the figures are not strictly comparable. It would be interesting to make a three-way comparison including Quebec's plan, but Quebec's figures are not comparable with the Ontario or the federal figures. Representatives of the three plans should meet to work out common categories and definitions, so that meaningful comparisons can be made. The federal and Ontario figures are, however, comparable enough to reveal some important differences. Statistical comparisons such as this will not provide many answers, but they do raise some key questions as to why the differences exist. I have been able to compare both the requests for records and the appeals brought to the Commissioners under the Ontario and federal Acts and will use this comparison as the basis for the formulation of questions.

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Table 1 reveals that in the first year of the Ontario scheme the number of requests for general records was over 2,400, greater than that for personal records. In the first nine months of the federal scheme, however, there were only 1,500 requests for general records, compared with over 17,000 requests for personal information. In other words, the requests for general records at the federal level were only 8 per cent of total requests, though by 1988 the number had risen to nearly 9,000, or 13 per cent of total requests. These figures raise some interesting questions. Why is the number of requests for general records so high in Ontario compared with the first year or two at the federal level? Was it because the public in Ontario was more familiar with the concept of freedom of information in 1988 than the Canadian public had been in 1983? And why are requests for personal information in Ontario so low compared with the federal level? The reason may be the heavy concentration of personal requests at the federal level on certain agencies, some of which have no provincial equivalent: National Defence, the Correctional Service, the National Archives, the RCMP, and Employment and Immigration. Since 1983, over 90 per cent of all requests have gone to these five agencies, and nearly half have gone to National Defence alone. Table 2, comparing the types of people who request general records, reveals that in Ontario about 9 per cent are members of the media, approximately the same proportion as at the federal level, while 10 per cent are researchers, compared with only 3 per cent federally. The main difference, however, is with the requests from business, which made up 48 per cent of the federal total in 1988, compared with only 13 per cent in Ontario. These percentages cannot be taken as exact because of the difficulty of identifying the occupation or affiliation of the requester. They do seem to indicate, however, that businesses in Ontario have not yet learned to make much use of the Act. A similar breakdown by type of requester in Australia reveals that MPs make up about 8 per cent of requesters for general records (Hazell, 1989:201). It would be interesting to know whether MPs and MLAs make much use of the schemes in Canada; if so, they should be listed as a separate category. Table 3 indicates that, of the general records requested in Ontario, all or part were disclosed in 64 per cent of cases. This percentage is slightly higher than the percentage in the first year of the federal plan. The federal success rate has increased in recent years, however, and was 76 per cent in 1988. In other Commonwealth plans there has been a similar increase in the percentage disclosed (Hazell, 1989:205). We may therefore expect a similar trend in Ontario as officials become more familiar with the principle of openness and the Commissioner's decisions.

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In the case of requests for personal information, Table 4 shows that, both in Ontario and federally, refusal to disclose occurred in only a very small percentage of cases, and that federally this percentage has declined since 1983 to below one per cent. A comparison in Tables 5 and 6 of the time taken for agencies to complete requests for general and personal records shows Ontario's plan in a favourable light. Both plans require requests to be completed within 30 days unless there is good reason for delay. In Ontario's first year, 74 per cent of general requests and 86 per cent of personal ones were completed within this period. In the first nine months of the federal plan, 79 per cent of requests for general records were completed within 30 days, but the success rate for personal records (69 per cent) was much lower than Ontario's, probably because of the high number of requests and their concentration in a few agencies. A matter for concern at the federal level is that the success rate for completing requests on time has declined drastically to 64 per cent for general records and 60 per cent for personal records in 1988. It would be interesting to know the reasons for these delays. Is it evidence of a change to a more negative attitude by federal officials since the advent of the Mulroney government? Will Ontario's delays likewise increase? Table 7 lists the 15 ministries and agencies in Ontario having the most requests for both general and personal records. It reveals that six agencies received 60 per cent of the requests: Revenue, Correctional Services, Community and Social Services, Health, Ontario Hydro, and the Workers' Compensation Board. Of the total requests, 89 per cent had been completed by the end of the year, but some agencies were slower than others. Of the 15 receiving the most requests, five completed fewer than 85 per cent. These were: Environment, Consumer and Commercial Relations, Correctional Services and Labour. APPEALS TO THE COMMISSIONERS

A comparison of the appeals to the Ontario Commissioner with the requests for access received by departments and agencies is also given in Table 7. It shows that the number of appeals was 7 per cent of the total number of requests for both general and personal records. The appeal rate varied, however, from one department to another. For the departments of the Solicitor General and Labour, the number of appeals was over 20 per cent of requests received, while for Revenue and Government Services, it was only 1 per cent. Departments that had both a low percentage of completed requests and a high percentage of appeals were Labour, Environment, and Consumer and Commercial Relations.

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Table 8 shows that in the first year of Ontario's scheme, the number of appeals on requests for general records was 259, or 11 per cent of the number of requests, while the number of appeals on requests for personal records was only 91, or 4 per cent. Clearly, most of the Ontario Commissioner's work is on FOI appeals. The appeal rates for general and personal records were both higher than in the first year of the federal plan, and the federal appeal rate for general records has since declined. In 1988 it was only 7 per cent (and for personal records it was only 2 per cent). We can perhaps expect a similar or even greater decline of appeals in Ontario as departments and requesters become increasingly guided by the binding decisions of the Commissioner. A rough comparison of the types of people or organizations in Ontario that request general records with the types appealing decisions on these requests is given in Table 9. However, since the categories used by the agencies for requests and by the Commissioner for appeals are different, the figures are not very comparable. The Management Board and the Commissioner should be urged to adopt more comparable categories in order to make this comparison more meaningful. The existing figures show that researchers constitute a much higher percentage of all appellants than of all requesters, while the media and businesses make up a lower percentage of appellants than of requesters. This seems to indicate that researchers are more likely to appeal, while the media and business are less likely to do so. A comparison of the reasons for appeal under the Ontario and federal plans for both general and personal records is presented in Tables 10 and 11, and shows that in about half the cases the reason is that access has been wholly or partly refused, except for personal records in Ontario, where the proportion of appeals for refusals of access is much higher, at 67 per cent. One may ask why should this proportion be so much higher. The second most important reason for appeal in Ontario is a department's claim that no record exists (22 per cent for general records and 16 per cent for personal records), while at the federal level, the second major reason is delay (in about 40 per cent of all appeals). In the case of general records, another important reason for appeal in both schemes is to be found in the fees charged for searching for records or reviewing them for secret material that must be severed. A significant comparison can be obtained by calculating the percentage of cases in which the Ontario and federal Commissioners upheld or partly upheld an appeal. However, their use of different categories in their annual reports means that the percentages are not strictly comparable. Moreover, the Ontario report does not separate the appeals on general and personal records. To make the percentages of appeals upheld

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more comparable, we need to subtract the appeals that were withdrawn, abandoned or found to be outside the Commissioners' jurisdiction. If this adjustment is made to Table 12, the Ontario figures show that only 39 per cent of the remaining appeals on general and personal records were wholly or partly upheld in 1988, compared with 44 per cent at the federal level. Recall that in Ontario the numbers of requests for general and personal records are nearly equal, while in the federal scheme requests for personal records are seven times greater than those involving general records. This distorts the comparison of decisions on appeals for the combined totals, because the relatively low federal percentage of appeals upheld with respect to personal records lowers the percentage for the combined total. The federal figure for appeals on general records that were wholly or partly upheld is 47 per cent. Even though the overall percentage of appeals upheld in Ontario is not much lower than this, it does seem to indicate that the appeal system in Ontario is less favourable to appellants, especially for general records. Is this because the Ontario Commissioner is more careful and conservative because he knows that decisions will be binding? Perhaps the federal Commissioners are stronger advocates for release because they know that a recommendation which goes against the interest of the government can be overturned by the minister concerned.

An Overall Assessment The time has now arrived to conclude with an overall assessment of the Ontario scheme. How successful is it in general and in comparison with other FOI schemes? Advocates of a strong FOI law, like myself, are likely to be too critical because we consider most schemes to be too restrictive, especially in the number and nature of their secrecy exemptions. For instance, Ken Rubin, a public interest researcher in Ottawa who has made many requests under the Ontario Act to test its limits, wrote a piece for the Toronto Star that virtually described the scheme as a failure, and criticized the Commissioner for his conservative interpretations of the Act (Rubin, 1989). Some of the Commissioner's decisions do indeed seem rather conservative: for instance, he ruled that the salaries of senior public servants cannot be revealed and that the names of requesters can be revealed, even if the requesters fear retribution from their employers. In general, however, Ontario's scheme is no more restrictive than most others. To be fair, we must judge it against the secrecy that existed before, and in this light it has certainly been a success. For instance, the media have made good use of the Act to get important information. News stories about Ontario frequently mention nowadays that the

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information was obtained under the FOI Act. Two outstanding examples have been the release of market value assessments in Metropolitan Toronto, and of documents in the Patti Starr case, popularly known as the "Starr Wars." In the Ontario scheme's first year, some 2,000 requests for general records had been processed by the end of the year, and all or part of the information was disclosed in 1,300 of these cases. This information would not have been disclosed without the use of the FOI Act. In addition, the very existence of the Act means that more information is given out in response to informal requests. Ontario's scheme is therefore a success in the same sense that all FOI schemes are a success. They implement an important improvement in democratic rights: the right of the public to know. Far from interfering with ministerial responsibility, they improve a government's accountability to parliament through the required release of information about its actions. And the cost is very small compared with a government's total budget, or even compared with the amount it spends on pouring out its own torrent of publicity. Experience with such schemes elsewhere shows that the attitude of officials gradually shifts toward greater openness, so that more and more information is freely released without formal requests. A decline in formal requests may therefore be a sign of a scheme's growing success. Similarly, refusals and appeals are likely to increase because, since everyone knows the rules, formal requests will be made only in difficult borderline cases. Such a result may occur sooner in a scheme that has binding decisions on appeals like Ontario's, because the quickly growing case law soon defines the types of document which can be legitimately released. How successful is Ontario's unique system for handling appeals? An excellent recent comparative study of the FOI laws in Australia, Canada and New Zealand concludes that an appeal tribunal or commission that issues binding decisions is superior to an ombudsman or an ombudsmanlike commissioner (Hazell, 1989:195-96). The schemes in Australia, Quebec and Ontario have shown that a system of binding decisions on appeals does not interfere with ministerial responsibility any more than an ombudsman does. My conclusion, therefore, is that the provinces which do not yet have an FOI Act should adopt a law which includes such an appeal system. Its advantages are so great that even the provinces that have already adopted FOI laws, and also the federal government, should seriously consider shifting to the Quebec or Ontario model. The question would remain whether a plural commission is better than a single commissioner. My own preference is for a plural commission because of

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the concentration of power and the greater possibility of bias in a single commissioner. The other provinces should also consider extending their scheme to local government, as Quebec and Ontario have done. But the extension of the Ontario Commissioner's power to municipalities may create a serious problem since binding decisions will add to the province's control over local government and will in this way lessen municipal autonomy. This vast extension in scope may also overload the Commissioner, and the lack of knowledge of local conditions may mean that some decisions will be inappropriate. What is the solution to this problem? Should there instead be a separate commissioner for local bodies, one who has only the power to make recommendations? I hope that my questions and suggestions will lead to some new proposals, because those of us who are engaged in trying to find ways to improve democratic institutions need all the help we can get.

REFERENCES Canada Information Commissioner. (1985). Annual Report 1983-84- Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. . (1989). Annual Report 1988-89. Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. Canada Privacy Commissioner. (1985). Annual Report 1983-84- Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. . (1989). Annual Report 1988-89. Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services. Canada Treasury Board Secretariat. (1989a). Access to Information Act and Privacy Act Annual Report 1987-88. Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services. . (1989b). Access to Information and Privacy Bulletin, Ottawa: Supply and Services. Hazell, Robert. (1989). "Freedom of Information in Australia, Canada and New Zealand." Public Administration 67:2 (Summer), 189-210. Ontario Government. (1987). Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act, 1987 and Ontario Regulation 532/87 (as amended to O. Reg. 677/ 87). Toronto: Queen's Printer. Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner. (1988). Key to the 90s: Privacy and Information Access. Toronto, November. . (1988-89). Newsletter. Vol. 1, Issue 1 to Vol. 3, Issue 3. Toronto. . (1989) Annual Report 1988. Toronto. Ontario Ministry of Community and Social Services. (1988-89). Key Notes: Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy. Toronto.

DONALD C. Ho WAT 97 . (1989). Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Annual Report, January 1-December 31, 1988. Toronto. Rubin, Ken. (1989). "Freedom of information law fails 1st-year test." Toronto Star, February 14, A-15.

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE Table 1 Requests Received for General and Personal Information under the Access and Privacy Laws of Ontario and Canada Ont. 1988

Number Canada 1983* 1987

Ont. 1988

Percentage Canada 1983 1987

1988 1988 General Records 1513 12.8 2432 7301 8853 50.8 8.1 12.9 Personal Information 2352**17109 49626 59631 87.2 49.2 91.9 87.1 Total 4784 18622 56927 68464 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0

*In this and succeeding tables, 1983 covers only nine months (July 1, 1983 to March 31, 1984). **Includes 14 requests for correction of personal information. Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:12), Canada Treasury Board Secretariat (1989a:10, 16; 1989b).

Table 2 Types of Requesters for General Records Ontario and Canada (in percentages)

Ontario Individual Business Researcher Media Association Other (or Unknown)

Total

1988 47.7 12.6 10.4 9.4 4.9 15.0 100.0

Canada 1987 27.2 48.2 3.1 9.3 7.6 4.6 100.0

Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:20), Canada Treasury Board Secretariat (1989a:ll).

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Table 3 Disposition of Completed Requests for General Records Ontario and Canada

Ont. 1988 855 444

Percentage Number Canada Canada Ont. 1988 1983 1987 1988 1983 1987 1988 496 2542 3677* 41.8 38 .6 43.3 43. 4 21.7 19 .6 34.3 32 8 252 2012 2776

All disclosed Disclosed in part Subtotal: All or 748 4554 6453 63.5 58.2 77.6 76.2 part disclosed 1299 Not disclosed 29 25.5 19 .7 12.2 249 263 253 or non-existent 521 Withdrawn or 11.0 22 .0 10.1 20. 8 abandoned 283 1050 1764 224 0 99.9**99.9 **99.9* 100. 8466 Total 2044 1286 5867 *Includes 1380 (16%) treated informally. **Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Sources: Same as Table 1.

Table 4 Disposition of Completed Requests for Personal Information Ontario and Canada

Ont. 1988 1512 477

Number Canada 1983 1987 1988 8377 31202 36043 2388 10760 12155

Ont. 1988 68 6 21 7

Percentage Canada 1983 1987 1988 61.8 65 0 64 1 17.6 22 4 21 6

All disclosed Disclosed in part Subtotal: All or part disclosed 1989 10765 41962 48198 90.3 79.4 87.4 85.7 Not disclosed 1360 210 6 8 10.1 04 212 or non-existent 149 0.4 Withdrawn or 7848 30 abandoned 14 0 10.6 12.1 1430 5828 65 Total 2203* 13555 48002 56256 100. 1**100.1*"99.9* 100. 1** *Excludes 13 requests for correction. **Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:16), Canada Treasury Board Secretariat (1989a:6).

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE Table 5 Time Taken to Complete Requests for General Records Ontario and Canada (in percentages)

1 -30 days 31 -60 days 61 or more days Total

Ont. 1988 74.0 15.3 10.6 100.0

1983 78 8 14 9 63 100. 0

Canada 1987 1988 69.6 63.7 15.3 15.1 15.0 21.2 99.9* 100. 0

*Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Sources: Same as Table 1.

Table 6 Time Taken to Complete Requests for Personal Information Ontario and Canada (in percentages) Ont.

1-30 days 31 - 60 days 61 or more days Total

1988 85.5 10.6 3.9 100.0

1983 68.6 17.7 13.0 99.3*

Canada 1987 1988 65.6 60.0 20.8 27. 13.3 12.2 99.7* 100.0

*Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Sources: Same as Table 1.

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Table 7 The Fifteen Ministries and Agencies in Ontario Receiving The Most Requests for General and Personal Records Showing the Number Completed and Appeals, 1988 Rec'd Completed Appeals Compl'd as a % of Received 96.2 6 786 756

1 . Revenue 2. Correctional Services 777 3. Community and Social Services 362 4. Health 351 5. Ontario Hydro 323 6. Workers' Compensation Board 264 7. Attorney 139 General 122 8. Labour 122 9. Transportation 10. Solicitor General 120 115 11. Education 12. Consumer and Commercial 110 Relations 13. Government Services 104 14. Archives of Ontario 98 15. Environment 96 Subtotal 3889 895 Other 4784 Total

Appeals as a % of Received 0.8

632

59

81.3

7.6

342 318 285

25 45 8

94.5 90.6 88.2

6.9 12.8 2.5

233

11

88.3

4.2

130 98 110

21 27 12

93.5 80.3 90.2

15.1 22.1 9.8

112 110

29 8

93.3 95.7

24.2 7.0

91

11

82.7

10.0

103

1

99.0

1.0

86 81 3487 773 4260

6 13 282 68 350

87.8 84.4 89.7 86.4 89.0

6.1 13.5 7.3 7.6 7.3

Source: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:13-14, 24).

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE Table 8 Appeals to the Information and Privacy Commissioners and as a Percentage of Requests Received Ontario and Canada

Ont, 1988 General Records Personal Information Total

Number Canada 1983 1987 1988

259

150

480

91 350

266 416

1176

696

Percentage of Requests Ont. Canada 1988 1983 1987 1988

577* 10.6

1050 1627

3.9 7.3

9.9

6.6

6.5*

1.6 2.2

1.4 2.1

1.9 2.4

*2811 were received but 2235 concerned a series of related requests made to one department, so have been counted as one appeal. Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:26), Canada Information Commissioner (1985, 1989), Canada Privacy Commissioner (1985, 1989).

Table 9 Types of Appellants Compared with Types of Requesters for General Records Ontario (in percentages) 1988

Appellants Individual Researchers Business Media Agent Association Other (or Unknown)

Total

52.1 18.5 8.1 7.4 6.9 * 6.9

99.9**

Requesters 47.7 10.4 12.6 9.4 * 4.9

15.0 100.0

* Category not used, so figure not given. **Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Source: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:20, 30).

DONALD C. ROWAT Table 10 Types of Decisions on Requests for General Records Appealed to Commissioners Ontario and Canada 1988 Number Appealed Canada Ont. Access refused in whole or part No record exists Fees Delay deemed refusal Time extensions Other Total Appeals

134 61 43 **

328 **

38 151 88 37 642

7 38 283*

Percentage by Type Ont. Canada 47.3 21.6 15.2 ** 2.5 13.4 100.0

51.1 ** 5.9 23.5 13.7 5.8 100.0

*Total number of decisions, since some appeals involved more than one decision. **Category not used, so figure not given. Sources: Ontario Information Commissioner (1989:27), Canada Information Commissioner (1989:38).

Table 11 Types of Decisions on Requests for Personal Information Appealed to Commissioners Ontario and Canada 1988 Number Appealed Ont. Canada Access refused in whole or part No record exists Time extensions or limits (delays) Correction Other Total Appeals

64 15 3 5 9 96*

Percentage by Type Ont. Canada

503 **

66.7 15.6

48.9 **

414 17 94 102a8

3.1 5.2 9.4 100.0

40.3 1.7 9.1 100.0

*Total number decisions, since some appeals involved more than one decision. **Category not used, so figure not given. Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner 1989:27), Canada Privacy Commissioner (1989:30).

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE Table 12 Dispositions of Completed Appeals to Commissioners on Requests for General Records and Personal Information Ontario and Canada 1988

Ont. Appeal unheld or partly upheld Appeal not upheld Other (withdrawn, abandoned, etc.)

Number Percentage Canada Ont. Canada Total Gen '1 Pers. Total Gen'l Pers.

67* 107

712 891

24

67

Total Completed 198 1670

285 325

434 566

33.8 * 42.6 54.0 53.4

44.4 50.6

42.2 55.1

4.0 5.0 2.7 32 28 12.1 99.9 *100. 0 100. 0 100. 0 642 1028

*Includes cases at inquiry stage where head's decision not upheld or only partly upheld plus those listed as "settled," on the assumption that the appellant received a more favourable decision in these cases. **Does not add up to 100.0 due to rounding of decimal figures. Sources: Ontario Information and Privacy Commissioner (1989:28, 29), Canada Information Commissioner (1989:38), Canada Privacy Commissioner (1989:30).

Ill Rights and Representation: Meech Lake and the Charter

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Limited Government versus the State: Meech Lake and the Moral Grammars of Choice* Richard Nutbrown UNIVERSITY OF WATERLOO "Politics," Michael Oakeshott has argued, "is the activity of attending to the general arrangements of a set of people whom chance or choice have brought together" (1967:112). In light of the extraordinary political changes taking place in Eastern Europe and elsewhere, this view of politics seems rather staid and unspirited. But Oakeshott's point is worth repeating: as a learning process deeply rooted in the particular historical circumstances of a people, ordinary politics is a matter of intimations. It is the activity of translating and inscribing the allusive fluctuations of everyday collective existence into familiar and routine terms of reference. Politics, in other words, is a kind of bricolage. It is a way of making do in previously unencountered situations by tracing the unfamiliar to established patterns and recognized contexts. I would like to thank my colleagues at the University of Waterloo for their comments on an earlier draft of this chapter, in particular Terry Quaker of the Political Science Department, and Bill Abbott and R. Scott Stewart of the Philosophy Department. I am especially grateful to Michael Oliver of Carleton University for the insights he provided during discussions following the presentation of this paper and in subsequent correspondence. Finally, I think Khayyam Zev Paltiel, to whose memory this book is dedicated, would have questioned the communitarian model of political society advocated here. From his own painful experiences at the hands of religious bigots, he well understood that, when left unchecked, the "will of the people" can be as tyrannical and intolerant as the actions of the most vicious despot. Still, he too believed that linguistic, religious and cultural differences of the type that have historically separated Canadians can only be accommodated in a federal state that recognizes the distinctiveness ot 'egional aspirations, especially those of the Quebec community. Neither, I believe, is irreconcilable with the communitarian model. Where we would agree, I think, is on the need to criticize the elitist and undemocratic history of constitution-making in this country, and in particular the view that elites alone ought to decide Canada's constitutional future.

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For Oakeshott, then, ordinary politics is a cautionary and conservative endeavour. It is the activity of attending to the common stock of accustomed meanings, to established social conventions and institutions, and to the collective inheritance they represent. This is also what the concept of a "living" constitution is intended to convey. A constitution, according to this view, is not a settled account of relationships between citizens, or between citizens and government, but a set of shared understandings and practices that has become embedded in the evolving habits, mores and customs of a people (Cairns, 1977:98). And inherent in this view is an important caution as well: because politics is so deeply rooted in past practices and the way they are commonly understood, we should be very circumspect when contemplating constitutional reform. On rare occasions, however, a society may be called upon to participate in events that disturb the repressed silences and opposing viewpoints lurking within its constitutional arrangements. A period of change and extraordinary politics ensues, in which old animosities often rekindle and new anxieties surface. But it can also be a period of reflective politics in which individuals are directly confronted with the age-old concerns of political philosophy: how can collective life be best organized and how ought one to live. The Meech Lake debate was just such an occasion in Canada; it involved choice and, most fundamentally, it involved choosing among contending public philosophies about the best way of organizing a federal society. In the period leading up to the demise of the Accord a number of leading Canadian scholars argued that what was at issue in this debate were two conflicting models of political society. The debate, so it was suggested, pitted the British tradition of individual rights and limited government against Catholic or corporatist collectivism and statism. The fact that most of these observers endorsed the British model need not detain us here. In retrospect, however, the more important fact is that both of these conceptions form part of what Quentin Skinner has called the dominant ideology of Western political thought, namely, the "juridical" view of political society, wherein the modern state, not the body of citizens, has come to be regarded as the focal point of political thought and action and the true sovereign power in the modern world (Skinner, 1978; Tully, 1988:17ff). Viewed from this perspective, the Meech Lake debate was about the choice of a juridical order that could best accommodate the regional and linguistic differences that divide Canadians. But it involved more than this: it was also about the expectation that individuals will conduct themselves in ways that legitimate that order. This chapter is concerned with the latter aspect. It develops two different models of liberal constitutionalism but, what is more important, it seeks to demonstrate that each invokes a

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significantly different normative vocabulary, or what comes to the same thing, a distinct moral syntax of choice.

Constitutions as Performative Speech-Acts As a constitutional document, the Meech Lake Accord was about political foundations, especially the constraints and compromises of this country's development as a sovereign state. But it was also about new beginnings too, about the manner in which we were expected to order and conduct our collective affairs in the future. In recent years, the formal study of constitutionalism has concerned itself almost exclusively with the meaning and interpretation of constitutional laws, conventions and associated legal practices. A constitution, however, does more than simply describe the legal and institutional framework of a country. It also censures, enjoins, approves and arranges the forms of private interaction. In this sense it is the "highest law of the land" from which other laws, rules and regulations acquire their particular justification. This chapter is not concerned with the judicial implications of the Meech Lake Accord, a task best left to constitutional lawyers and commentators, but with the normative message it communicated about what it has meant, and what it should mean, to be a Canadian citizen. To do this, I want to apply a few insights from language philosophy to the study of constitutions, especially the view that a constitution, as a speech-act analog, commits a people to definite forms of political life and, at the same time, serves as the principal medium in and through which citizens are intended to understand, and participate, in these forms. This is the normative dimension of constitution-making. From the perspective of speech-act theory, a constitution may be conceived of as an "illocutionary act or performative" (Searle, 1972; Austin, 1962; Habermas, 1979). In simpler terms, expressions such as state, assert, command, demand, order, and others, "do things in saying something." They are not just words or symbols, but actionspecific utterances that perform a "regulative" or rule-oriented function. They provide human actions with normative justification by appealing to an established framework or system of shared norms and meanings. How they are understood, in other words, arises from the fact that they take place "against a background of recognized values and norms, roles and institutions, rules and conventions" (McCarthy, 1978:311). We can, therefore, evaluate the Tightness or wrongness of such speech acts, and arrive at a rational agreement, only by taking account of the normative background. For example, to consent to obey a rule, commandment, directive, and so on, means to accept the view that the regulative speech

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act in question conforms to recognized standards of correctness or appropriateness, and that these standards are consistent with established normative conventions. The problem is, however, that we must recognize and understand the system of shared meanings in order to assess the normative validity of a particular regulative. In the case of the Meech Lake Accord, I want to argue, two different normative frameworks could be referred to, one which was consistent with the older British model, and another which pointed to a radically different view of political society and how individuals ought to conduct themselves as citizens. Let us take the example of the performative "I promise." To say "I promise" places me in a definite relation to a hearer who understands my intention to do something "for you" and, unless otherwise informed, the listener assumes the validity of my assertion as part of the speech-act commitment. The act of promising, in effect, is performed in its actual utterance. Otherwise stated, the intention of the promisor is expressed in the virtual act of saying "I promise" and the promisee can expect, or knows, or believes that the promise will be kept. The relation promisorpromisee is rarely contractual in the strict legal sense, e.g., it is seldom governed by external sanctions, but is really a pact between two or more parties that is regulated by self-imposed normative commitments. As a form of linguistic action, promising takes place in a context that requires competent speakers and a recognition of reciprocity or equality of participants: the promisor expresses an intention to do something for someone, and the promisee anticipates that the action will be performed. To be succinct, the meaning of "I promise" — a simple, common speech act experienced by most of us — is predicated on the assumption that human beings are, or can be, competent and responsible moral agents. As I argue below, the speech-act commitments of promising form part of a normative context that is central to one version of the concept of a "social contract," a concept which, in turn, is the ethical foundation of modern democratic forms (Arendt, 1966:168ff). While Oakeshott is obviously correct in accentuating the role of chance or choice in the formation of a constitutional society, political will and force are also equally important. As Jacques Derrida points out, the language of all modern constitutions, in spite of such highsounding phrases as "we, the people," always conceals the extra-legality (and perhaps illegality) of the original performative act of imposing a set of formal rules upon a people. Not all performatives, Derrida notes, are "happy" (1987:18). The problem, however, is not that all constitutions originate in the exercise of positive force, and oftentimes in actual violence; on the contrary, as Rousseau long ago reminded us, the problem is one of making these rules legitimate, or in other words, establishing

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a political context within which they are accorded a measure of consensual agreement and normative justification (1978:46). And this also explains why Marx, following Rousseau and the classical tradition of civic republicanism, argued that the genus of all modern constitutional forms is democracy, or self-regulation in and through popular political participation (1977:28).l The argument of this chapter is that the Meech Lake Accords involved more than a choice between two different conceptions of what constitutes legitimate political authority. To put this in the language of speech act theory, my concern here is not with the imposition of "constitutive" rules that may or may not redefine the general character of our institutional arrangements, e.g., federal-provincial fiscal relations, Senate and Supreme Court appointments, immigration policy, and other juridical instrumentalities. I am more interested in the "regulative" or normative context of constitution writing, that is, in the concept of citizenship the Accord intended for Canada. If we are to be commanded to live together by the performative force of constitutional pronouncement, then at the very least we should, as a diverse people who have shared a common constitutional history, confront the normative dimension of constitutional reform. "We live," Sidney Low noted perceptively, "under a system of tacit understandings. But the understandings are not always understood" (Rose, 1989: Preface [np]).

Limited Government: The Moral Grammar of Decision Modern constitution writing in the West has drawn on two quite different conceptions of the constitutional founding of a political community: the older Anglo-American conception of "limited government" and the modern Continental conception of "state" (Tumlir, 1986:214ff). Each conceives of the people, rights, justice, equality, and the purpose of political organization in fundamentally different terms. And each appeals to a discrete "moral grammar of choice" (Thompson, 1987:32). Finally, to extend this line of argument, each represents a qualitatively different conception of liberal democracy. In sum, each model invokes a distinct normative conception of the best polity. While both are employed analytically as ideal theoretical types in this discussion, it should be clear that in practice they are difficult to distinguish, because together they form part of the system of tacit understandings that make up the changing face of contemporary liberalism. In spite of this, the analytic models do provide a fitting ideological context within which to evaluate the normative dimension of the Meech Lake Accord. The decidedly Lockean influence of the modern conception of limited government has long been recognized by students of political history.

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Briefly, it is the older liberal view according to which the overriding purpose of government is to limit the private costs of public organization to matters of common defence and preservation of property. This it seeks to do in two ways: first, by providing for adequate legal representation of property interests in the decision-making process, most notably to protect the "Industrious and Rational" (i.e., the propertied) from the "Fancy and Covetousness of the Quarrelsom and Contentious," or the unpropertied (Locke, 1960:333). On this account, representative institutions are intended to curb a regime's discretionary power to legislate against the existing arrangement and specification of private property rights. Secondly, it seeks to institutionalize substantive and procedural individual rights against political encroachments into decisions affecting personal choice, particularly as they may affect the ownership and disposition of property. In terms of this older liberal view, there is very little to distinguish between political and economic rights; in fact, political rights were thought to derive their legitimacy from the naturalness of an imprescriptible right to private appropriation of social wealth. Together, these two delimiting characteristics, i.e., limited elite representation in the law-making process, and economic property rights, including the right to unlimited private accumulation, form the bases of the decision rules of the Anglo-American model of constitution writing. The limited government view betrays an essentially negative conception of the purpose of government, and a narrow procedural view of representative or limited democracy. Thus, for example, such common characteristics of liberal democracies as "the rule of law," "due process," the separation and consolidation of formal political authority in representative institutions, and the provision of abstract rights, are not intended, unlike the "state" perspective, to serve a positive role in the integration of communities. To the contrary, for proponents of the older laissez faire view they form part of a normative and institutional framework that is essentially retributive and exclusionary in its general approach to matters of social order. This model assumes an already integrated "nation" — with, e.g., shared norms and demographic characteristics — to which a set of legally binding instruments need only be applied for the legitimate exercise of political power. The purpose of government, then, is to establish a decision context within which the right to unfettered pursuit of private property is secured primarily through the fear of public censure or punishment of those who would obstruct application of the rules. Accordingly, to be a citizen means to possess the equal right and freedom to appeal to basic decision rules affecting personal choices and to have penalties applied. Even citizenship, in the

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final analysis, is reduced to a matter of private choice (I may, for example, take my possessions or capital elsewhere if conditions are deemed more advantageous, or if penalties are more stringently enforced). One of the most enduring Anglo-Canadian myths follows from the belief that capital identifies with the English language, and that the threat of its flight from Quebec will, in the end, resolve the national problem. It is a naive and simple-minded belief which fails to recognize that the rights of capital will remain secure in North America independently of the language in which it circulates. Neither the exclusionary rights of private property nor the existing social division of wealth in Canada or Quebec were ever threatened by the Meech Lake Accord. This view of citizenship is far removed from what Charles Taylor calls the "civic humanist" (or classical) idea that participation in decisions affecting the well-being of the community is a necessary condition of our humanity, or, in other words, to be fully human one must take part in the public affairs of a constitutional polity (1985:245).2 It is perhaps worth noting that the classical view regarded the human capacity to develop a "moral sense," or a species-specific capacity for moral judgement, as the defining characteristic of humans as opposed to other species. With the emergence of the possessive individualist or atomist conception of society, however, the notion of a "social contract" between autonomous self-maximizers overshadowed the classical view of civic participation. To recall our previous account: the Lockean social contract presents the founding of a political society as a variant of the "prisoner's dilemma": individuals resign some of their natural liberty to an external sovereign power in return for a secured right to life and property. Human beings cooperate only to the extent that such cooperation limits potential individual losses, or enhances possible gains. In effect, limited cooperation gains for us the right to be left alone to decide and pursue our preferences, to appropriate what we see fit in the quantities desired, to have transgressors punished, and to be free of political interference; in other words, not to have the will of another imposed on us. Only when, and if, these conditions are met is obedience owed to government. In the absence of some measure of religious or civic-minded prudence in such matters (e.g., Work Ethic, prohibitions against waste, self-imposed limits on accumulation, and so forth), the limited government model is, in reality, the Hobbesian "war of all against all." To be succinct, this model of a "social contract" founds government on an instrumental decision to limit the public sphere to the protection of civil interests. It does this by establishing limited representative institutions, the purpose of which is to act as a procedural mechanism for ensuring that the social means of production continue to be governed by private property rights.

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The moral grammar of the limited government conception is unequivocally decisionistic. It appeals to a formal conception of moral judgement in which all choices are seen to involve potential costs and benefits to the decision-maker. From this perspective, decision-making is the relative capacity of a more or less well-informed and rational individual to equate present costs with expected benefits at the margin. Here the resources and preferences of the decision-maker (i.e., what one wishes to gain and what one is willing to forsake), and the calculative risks that these may entail, constitute the normative framework of the decision situation. The moral grammar of decision is not overly concerned with the harm or good an option may do to others, nor need it be so concerned as long as the preference conforms to recognized law and/or the personal values of the decision-maker. The principal concern of the decision model is the protection or satisfaction of some particular interest, and this could very well be a preference for compromising the expectations of another. The role of government, therefore, is to secure a decision context within which the procuring and preserving of civil interests is in principle unrestrained by anything other than the values, talents, and possessions of contracting individuals. The history of the modern concept of limited government is, of course, intimately connected with the early development of market capitalism, the predominant concern of which was to safeguard newly won property rights against undue political interference. And property rights do indeed effectively limit the rule of government. Of these limiting characteristics, the most fundamental arises from the fact that the moral grammar of decision makes it impossible to adjudicate between individual claims of interest and of need. This is because it refuses to recognize that decision-makers are embodied; that is, it does not acknowledge that physical, intellectual, psychological, social, economic, and other imperatives affect the context of our normative evaluations. Instead, it regards personal decisions as essentially matters of subjective rational choice, best left for resolution by a free, self-equilibrating market. As a result, a government's discretionary power to redistribute productive resources or to intervene otherwise in the market mechanism in order to satisfy substantive needs is regarded as a power that must be severely curtailed. The notion of rights that emerged from this older liberal perspective conceived of justice and equality almost exclusively in terms of private property, and the privileged rights of social exclusion that follow from this view of human relations. No clear distinction could be drawn therefore between private interest and public good. As a consequence, the liberal notion of justice, particularly the utilitarian variant, came to mean the free exchange of equivalents between contracting individuals,

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while equality has become primarily the procedural right to appropriate, alienate, transfer or trade such equivalents at will. Originally intended to protect the new minority of liberal capitalists against religious intolerance and the indifference of landed wealth or royal prerogative to productive capital, these new conceptions sought to wipe clean the slate of tradition and social custom as the foundations of political rule. Human relations, in other words, are held to be best governed when ordered by calculative practical reason, or the effective weighing of private costs against public benefits, within the context of universally applicable decision rules, or individual rights. To conclude this brief sketch, the limited government model of constitution writing is predicated on the view that the best possible regime is one in which all matters of public import, including in particular the protection of minorities, are subordinated to private property rights.

The State: Moral Grammar of Action With the intensification of economic crises in the 20th century, and the ascendency of the new economic philosophy of Keynesianism, the model of limited government dedicated to "life, liberty and the pursuit of property" fell into intellectual disfavour. A new version of the liberal model began to emerge, normative elements of which are traceable to Continental theories of the state. Hegel, for example, ridiculed the underlying ethical assumptions of the limited government model, arguing that its sole purpose was to act as an intermittent welfare agent while presiding over the extravaganza of "wont and caprice" he called civil society (1967:122ff). And Marx, following Hegel, demonstrated that individuals in such polities are constantly torn between the particularist demands of private interest (civil society) and a universal need for social incorporation into the broader community (state). Their solution was the modern notion of a positive, activist "state" committed to the view that political rule is intended to organize collective life in a more harmonious and rational fashion. This was to be accomplished by mediating the tensive socio-economic relations of civil society. Proponents of the state model dismiss the Lockean conception of a "social contract" grudgingly entered into by self-sufficient possessors of individual property rights. In its stead, they regard the development of the modern interventionist state as a positive human achievement, in which the antagonistic effects of property relations can in principle be reconciled by collective actions directed at the well-being of the whole community. The new welfare liberalism of the period following World War Two, while rejecting strong socialism, represented an uneasy mixture of marketoriented values and state intervention. On the one hand, the normative

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commitment to individual property rights remained strong; on the other, there emerged a hybrid conception of civil or human rights. These are difficult to define in precise terms because, as quasi-collective rights, they recognize the state's duty to set minimal standards of fairness for the whole community while, at the same time, they retain the legal status of individual rights. Because of this ambiguity, their effectiveness has been limited, mainly because both the courts and the legislatures have employed these rights, and the claims to collective entitlements that derive from them, as a procedure to satisfy or pacify powerful interest groups. As we will see, the effect of this development has been to lower the status of the once inviolable principle of the individual's right to property, without however, evolving new instruments to safeguard ordinary citizens against powerful lobbies or bureaucratic interference. The concept of human or collective rights requires the application of a qualitatively distinct moral grammar. It is not a moral grammar of decision but of action (Thompson, 1987:32). To illustrate this, let us return to the example of promising. A promise is an archetype of a particular kind of choice wherein I resolve "to do something for, not to someone." Unlike the decision model, it represents a kind of choice that is ethically oriented and reflective, not calculative. To do something for someone is a reflective choice to act in consort with others and, as such, requires recognition of human responsibility for possible outcomes of one's actions, especially of those that may cause harm to others. In this it appeals to our human capacity to act as moral agents, or what is the same thing, it appeals to our ability to reflect upon and evaluate alternative (and often competing) conceptions of the public good, and to act accordingly. The analogy with speech-act theory follows from this: the moral grammar of action requires a normative context which respects 1) the potential normative competence of each to act as reflective moral agents, and 2) the essential equality of each agent to participate in the collective determination of what constitutes the public good, that is, to evaluate the Tightness of certain actions by appealing to recognized norms and values, and to co-operate in arriving at a rational agreement. The difference between the moral grammars of decision and action rests on the question of responsibility for the potential harm or good an action may cause to others. Let us take the following example: "I promise to do x," From the perspective of decision theory, the decision to act (or not) is morally justified in so far as the anticipated action conforms to regulative rules which allow me to protect, enhance, divide or trade my private property rights at will. The decision "to do x or not" is straightforward: are the immediate risks or costs marginally greater or not than the potential satisfaction or gain I or the promisee might

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enjoy? The values brought to this calculus are, in the final analysis, the decision-maker's alone. The moral grammar of action, however, poses the choice in qualitatively different terms. In doing something "to someone" I merely confirm my limited negative freedom; in doing something "for someone" I confirm my freedom as a morally responsible human agent. The point to draw from this is that the modern concept of the state founds political authority on the reflective self-realization of our freedom in and through our participation in moral choices, and not on a hypothetical resignation of private freedom to a non-contracting third power, or juridical sovereign. Our political rights and obligations, in other words, are moral, not prudential. Moreover, the concept of the state recognizes collective actions purposively intended to establish common standards of social justice as the true source of sovereignty within the constitutional state. There can be no uncommitted third party overseeing the public good. The notion of a founding contract associated with the state embodies a concept of social choice that is akin to the act of promising. It commits individuals to perform certain actions, the performance of which requires recognition of the fundamental equality and mutuality of expectations of participants. In a word, it is not a legal contract, but a virtual pact of each with all that founds and constitutes the people as the state (Ricoeur, 1965:252). Thus, for example, rules such as not smoking in public places, leashing of domestic animals, not driving while intoxicated, and others, all appeal to the moral grammar of action. Their purpose is not to override personal preferences, though this may be the end result in individual cases, but to lead us to act in such a way that our actions take account of the potential harm or inconvenience our activities may cause others. Human rights are similarly conceived. They presuppose that the constitutional state may legitimately act to influence collective behaviour. For proponents of this model, the legitimacy of state actions follows from a particular conception of consent: not consent based on an exchange of brutish lawlessness for personal security, but a promissory commitment to participate in the formulation of rules and to respect the laws of one's own making. Human rights imply a decision context in which an option, to be morally justified, must take into account the responsibility of the decision-maker for the potential harm an action may bring about. That is, human rights are not oriented towards penalties, but towards civic responsibilities or public duties. It would be inaccurate to suggest that the development of the modern welfare state represents a radical break with the Lockean tradition. The differences are of degree, not kind; but they are crucial. From the

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"state" perspective, for example, the purpose of a constitutional polity is to reconcile and integrate individuals into a political community. The concept of social welfare is central to this view. While contemporary libertarians and other like-minded neo-conservatives dismiss this conception as either ill-founded or unnatural, what political theorists call the "welfare function" is the cornerstone of the modern concept of state. It is the view that in performing actions directed at the good of all, i.e., at outcomes intended not to harm others (especially the least advantaged), I realize and confirm my freedom as a full member of a rational community. Welfare liberalism, then, unlike socialist state forms, represents a reversal rather than a departure from the Lockean scheme: by not disadvantaging others, I do not disadvantage myself. While the state perspective places a greater emphasis on participatory democracy, it does not lead to the formulation of an obligation on citizens to take an active role in public life. The emphasis is essentially normative. It simply means that the individual rights each of us enjoy are inseparable from our moral obligations as members of a community to ensure that collective decisions 1) respect the mutuality of expectations of all members, and 2) do not disadvantage the less privileged. In performing our civic duties, we realize our individual rights. As a result, the state model of rights, particularly political rights, does not conceive of liberty as a private possession, as something of mine; rather, rights are regarded as communal achievements. The uneasy mixture of private property rights and human rights in modern liberalism is clearly evident in contemporary Anglo-American political theory. For example, since the publication of his highly influential A Theory of Justice (1971), John Rawls has tried to come to grips with these different perspectives by appealing to both Continental ethical rationalism (deontology, or duty-based moral theory) and traditional market individualism. His two principles of "justice as fairness" are: (1) Each person has an equal right to a fully adequate scheme of rights and liberties, which scheme is compatible with a similar scheme for all. (2) Social and economic inequalities are to satisfy two conditions: first, they must be attached to offices and positions open to all under conditions of fair equality of opportunity; and second, they must be to the greatest benefit of the least advantaged members of society. (Rawls, 1985:227-228)

Rawls argues that the first principle must take "lexical priority" over the second, in effect, that private property rights must take performative precedence over communal needs and collective expectations (O'Hagan,

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1988:187). Enough has already been written about the theoretical tension between Rawls' individualist theory of justice and his communitarian conception of social life. My concern here is more general. The tension in Rawls is, I think, far more reflective of the ambiguous state of contemporary liberalism itself, particularly the tension between limited government and state conceptions of the best possible regime. Unlike the limited government model, however, the state perspective need not be committed to market individualism as the only viable paradigm of either social wealth creation or public order; in fact, the state model presupposes collective management of common affairs including, when and where necessary, state planning of a mixed economy. For several practical reasons, the principle of redistributive justice gained ascendency over private property rights in the middle period of this century. One of the most obvious reasons for this was the enormous expansion of the social means of production in the post-war period. This development, in turn, increased the fiscal capacity of the welfare state to manage more effectively the tensions resulting from market-induced social inequalities. As long as the aggregate accumulation of social wealth increased, as it did for most of this period, liberal societies could accommodate the conflicting viewpoints of both models without much practical difficulty. A consensus had developed that, ceteris paribus, it was generally a good thing to redistribute social wealth in favour of the less advantaged, and that this could be accomplished without adversely affecting the existing specification of private property rights. The state system expanded exponentially, and so too did the costs of government, to a point where virtually all spheres of social life became directly or indirectly state-regulated. More recently, however, the welfare state has found it increasingly impossible to mediate the myriad, and often competing, demands of redistribution and capital accumulation, or to balance the antagonistic social pressures they generate. In the idiom of the New Right, the liberal democracies have entered a period of "systems overload" or "excess of democracy" that requires a drastic retrenchment of public spending, and an even more radical ideological change in the liberal consensus. The old theoretical tension between individual rights and collective responsibilities has resurfaced in the everyday affairs of the liberal democracies. With it, a new form of "group politics" also emerged in which claims-groups mobilize around collective rights to economic fairness and universal entitlements, but which operates in a manner increasingly regulated by the moral grammar of decision. This new politics poses a real dilemma: on the one hand, the moral grammar of decision demands a decision context governed by a strong legal commitment to

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the inviolability of individual property rights. But the ascendency of collective rights has eroded a good deal of the authoritativeness of these claims, especially in the courts. On the other, the moral grammar of action requires a moral sense of mutual responsibility and a substantive commitment not to disadvantage wilfully others in the pursuit of particular interests. Increasingly, claims to collective entitlements are being employed as a purely procedural technique for the satisfaction of particular group interests. The decision as to who gets to claim such rights, however, is no longer a question of social justice: it has become a matter of political power, of effective mobilization and political will. One of the major victims of this development has been the concept of fairness itself. It now amounts to little more than satisfaction of the group's interests regardless of the effects this may have on others. To achieve satisfaction means to be recognized as a legitimate particular interest. And this means power. As a result, the welfare state has evolved into an unseemly spectacle of discrete interest groups all vying for limited social resources. Most often they operate in isolation from each other and insulate themselves from popular scrutiny. Their appeals to fundamental principles of justice are, to say the least, self-promoting, especially since most would deny these selfsame rights to opposing groups. And ordinary citizens, mediated by these powerful lobbies and segregated from public discussion by a Byzantine array of bureaucratic structures, have been further atomized and disenfranchised. This new political configuration is a world the Meech Lake Accord did nothing to confront.

Meech Lake and the Moral Grammars of Choice How do a deeply-divided people live together after history and circumstance have settled that they must? The Meech Lake Accord, according to Peter Hogg, a leading Canadian constitutionalist, "reconciled the government of Quebec to the Constitution Act, 1982" (1988:i). Among other things, to reconcile means to "make whole again" or to harmonize. The underlying assumption in this language is essentially normative: without Quebec's participation, the Canadian constitution was incomplete, in effect, a part was missing and should be reintegrated, so that the Canadian "family" or community would be made whole again. For Hogg, as for many others, acceptance of the Accord was a national moral obligation to Quebec (1989:A-7).3 As with all obligations, however, the moral grammar of choice we employ in our decision-making, and the normative framework within which we evaluate the Tightness of our choices, are critically important.

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Let us take the simple example of two people deciding to live together, the particular reasons for which we can leave to chance, e.g., economics, location, occupancy rate, or other. From the perspective of the moral grammar of decision, the agreement to live together will involve decision rules intended to demarcate and limit clearly each individual's sphere of activity. Rules governing rent and related finances, living arrangements, domestic chores, additional residents, and so on, as well as a general veto over rule changes or rule additions when there is no consensus, will normally form part of the original contract. The decision, in other terms, is to constitute a common living space within which each will be equally free to pursue any or all interests without interference, provided that the basic rules are not abridged. And, it follows, failure to comply with the contracted rules will result in either a decision to leave or the penalty of being required to vacate. This, for example, is precisely the view that Quebec's business elites, aided and abetted by an ideologically motivated federal government, adopted throughout the Meech Lake debate. From the perspective of the moral grammar of action, however, the option is not simply to create a living space advantageous to both parties, but to create what we call a community. Decisions affecting each, therefore, will not be governed by rules intended to secure individual self-interest; on the contrary, the goal will be to arrive at consensual agreement to general rules directed at the organized well-being of the community. In the Canadian case, however, this is far more difficult to realize because of fundamental regional, cultural and linguistic differences, and the deep-rooted antipathies they often arouse. But it is not impossible. More significantly, though, there is a widespread belief among Canadian elites that it is more important to manage these differences nationally than to allow their expression, and that notables alone ought to take charge of the organization of the Canadian state. There seems little recognition of the fact that the system of elite accommodation so painstakingly constructed over the last century is a far greater threat to national reconciliation than the development of a less centralized federal state, especially since federalism tends to be regime-specific rather than citizen-oriented. The second of these two solutions would at least address the immediate concerns of people's actual lives, in the language that expresses their aspirations, and within a political space in which they feel a common sense of purpose and a shared loyalty. It should be evident that the Meech Lake Accord was far more oriented toward the limited government model, and therefore to the moral grammar of decision. In actuality, eleven men decided to live together, and the rest of us, or so Hogg argued, had a moral obligation to accept

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their particularly limited vision of Canada. The Meech Lake Accord said a good deal about our public institutions and the juridical instrumentalities of government. But it said nothing about what it means to be a Canadian, that is to say, about our normative responsibility, as citizens, not to disadvantage others in the exercise of civil liberties.4 There is much in the chance and choice of Canadian history that ought to be attended to and safeguarded for future generations; there seemed to be little recognition of this in the contemplated constitutional reforms. As citizens, we were asked to accept that expediency in the face of seemingly intractable linguistic and regional differences justified compliance with a model of political society that had little to do with either democracy or justice. This was simply not good enough, either as an argument for popular assent to the Accord or as a measure of our common heritage. While the Meech Lake Accord has been interpreted as a document favouring collective rights, and thus consistent with modern constitutional developments in liberal democracies elsewhere, it nevertheless appealed to the moral grammar of decision. This moral grammar, I find, is fundamentally divisive; politically and economically, it recognizes only winners. More importantly, the Accord was the expression of an elite accommodation model of limited public representation that was intended as an act of settlement between the powerful and powerless, rich and poor, capital and labour. In the present context, this represented a transfer of individual property rights — which seemed so natural and justifiable in the context of Locke's agrarian world of small landholders — to a modern corporate universe that exercises unlimited rights to private accumulation, free from political authority and public scrutiny. Like the governments they influence, modern corporations are secretive, exclusionary and often corrupt. The Meech Lake Accord applied to a similar model of political society. It was the product of a mind-set that disparages public discussion, that seeks to accommodate and consolidate the already powerful, and, in the case of redistributive programmes, to relieve the federal state of its fundamental moral obligation to secure common standards of social justice and economic fairness. The most basic moral obligation owed to Quebec, and to the rest of the country for that matter, is the commitment to achieve a political community in which the local, proximate concerns of the least advantaged set the national agenda for public policy. In the absence of such a promissory trust, and the democratic instruments required to give it performative force, the Meech Lake Accord failed all Canadians, especially those who

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continue to believe that national standards of economic and social justice are commensurate with the development of a less centralized federal state.

NOTES 1 As Marx says: "Democracy is the solution to the riddle of all constitutions. Here the constitution is constantly, not only in itself and essentially but also in existence and reality, brought back to its real basis, the real man, the real people, and set up as its own work. The constitution appears as what it is, the free product of man . . . . In a democracy the constitution, the law, and the state itself are only a self-determination of the people, . . ." (1977:28, 29). 2 Taylor summarizes this tradition's conception of the good as follows: "The citizen republic is to be valued not just as a guarantee of general utility, or as a bulwark of rights. It may even endanger these in certain circumstances. We value it also because we generally hold that the form of life in which men govern themselves, and decide their own fate through common deliberation, is higher than one in which they live as subjects of even an enlightened despotism" (1985:245). 3 "The main reason to ratify Meech Lake is that it satisfies a moral obligation to Quebec that goes back to the referendum on sovereignty-association held in 1980" (Hogg and MacPherson, 1989.-A-7). 4 As Charles Taylor argues: "The community is not simply an aggregation of individuals; nor is there simply a causal interaction between the two. The community is also constitutive of the individual, in the sense that the self-interpretations which define him are drawn from the interchange which the community carries on. A human being alone is an impossibility, not just de facto, but as it were de jure. Outside of the continuing conversation of a community, which provides the language by which we draw our background distinctions, human agency of the kind I describe . . . would be not just impossible, but inconceivable" (1985:8).

REFERENCES Arendt, Hannah. (1966). On Revolution. New York: Viking Press. Austin, J.L. (1962). How To Do Things With Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cairns, A.C. (1977). "The Living Constitution." J.P. Meekison, ed. Canadian Federalism: Myth or Reality. London: Methuen, 86-99.

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Derrida, Jacques. (1987). "The Laws of Reflection: Nelson Mandela, In Admiration." J. Derrida and Mustapha Tlili, eds. For Nelson Mandela. New York: Seaver Books, 11-42. Habermas, Juergen. (1979). Communication and the Evolution of Society. Translated by Thomas McCarthy. London: Heinemann. Hegel, J.W.F. (1967). The Philosophy of Right. Translated with Notes by T.M. Knox. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hogg, Peter. (1988). Meech Lake Constitutional Accord Annotated. Toronto: Carswell. Hogg, Peter, and James MacPherson. (1989). "A Precious Commodity. Why Meech Lake Should Be Ratified." Globe and Mail, November 16, A-7. Locke, John. (1960). Two Treatises of Government. Edited with an Introduction by John Laslett. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marx, Karl. (1977). Karl Marx, Selected Writings. Edited by David McLellan. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McCarthy, Thomas. (1978). The Critical Theory of Juergen Habermas. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Oakeshott, Michael. (1967). Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays. New York: Methuen. O'Hagan, Timothy. (1988). "Four Images of Community." Praxis International 8:2, 183-192. Rawls, John. (1971). A Theory of Justice. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. . (1985). "Justice as Fairness: Political Not Metaphysical." Philosophy and Public Affairs 14:3, 223-251. Ricoeur, Paul. (1965). History and Truth. Translated with an Introduction by Charles Kelbley. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Rose, Richard. (1989). Politics in England: Change and Persistence. London: Scott, Foresman/Little, Brown. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. (1978). On the Social Contract. Edited and translated by Judith Masters and Roger Masters. New York: St. Martin's Press. Searle, J. (1972). "What is a Speech Act?" Pier Paolo Giglioli, ed. Language and Social Context. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 136-154 Skinner, Quentin. (1978). The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, Vols. 1 and 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, Charles. (1985). Philosophy and the Human Sciences. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thompson, Paul B. (1987). "Collective Action and the Analysis of Risk." Public Affairs Quarterly 1:3, 32-42. Tully, James. (1988). Meaning and Context, Quentin Skinner and His Critics. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Tumlir, Jan. (1986). "The Possibilities of a Constitutional Reconstruction." Issues of Liberty, Yearbook 1986. Paris: Libro Aperto International, 206230.

From the Constitution Act, 1982 to the Meech Lake Accord, 1987:

Individual Rights for All versus Collective Rights for Some

Michael D. Behiels UNIVERSITY OF OTTAWA The partisan and passionate debate surrounding the Meech Lake Accord of 1987 was due, in large measure, to the fact that it was dominated, in the words of Alan Cairns, by "special interest advocacy that is sustained by the driving ambitions of governments and by private interests with stakes in the constitution" (Cairns, 1989:32). The very structure of our Constitution ensures a conflict between competing vested interests. The amending formula, which is controlled exclusively by the first ministers, pits governments and their legislatures against one another. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, which provides protection for specific groups of citizens as individuals and as collectivities, pits them against governments and legislatures which determined the process and the substance of constitutional reform, including the Charter itself. All of these public and private special interest groups, to a lesser or greater degree, expend enormous time and energy trying to determine who has the legitimate right to speak, on what topic and in what manner. In short, the structure of the debate legitimizes the "insiders" while disenfranchising the "outsiders" (Cairns, 1989:22-23). The Meech Lake Accord, because it was essentially an attempt to constitutionalize collective rights for provincial governments and, in particular for the francophone nationality of Quebec, is a classic example of this dynamic. The premiers and the Prime Minister who signed the Accord refused systematically to allow their citizens to address in a serious and effective fashion the problems they perceive with the Accord's excessive enhancement of provincial powers. Secondly, since the question of collective rights for Quebec's francophone nationality was associated with the eventual expansion, via the courts, of the Quebec government's prerogatives, anyone questioning the "distinct society" clause for Quebec was immediately characterized as "anti-Quebec." In this undemocratic manner, most, if not all, of the Accord's critics were effectively eliminated from the debate. Given this dynamic, it is small wonder that

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the Meech Lake Accord came to take on a bad odour of illegitimacy, a development that became increasingly more difficult for the Accord's supporters to dispel. By June 1990 this perception of illegitimacy allowed Elijah Harper to veto the Accord in the Manitoba legislature. During the prolonged debate leading up to the Constitution Act, 1982, one of the central issues that divided the proponents and the critics of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms was the thorny question of reconciling the entrenchment of individual rights for all and collective rights for some in a reformed constitution. Proponents of and active participants in the creation of the Constitution Act, 1982, while agreeing that it addressed neither the demands of the Quebecois neo-nationalists nor those of a reinvigorated, aggressive provincial rights movement, maintained that it went to the heart of a more fundamental dimension of nation building — the autonomy and the rights of the individual citizen. "The new Constitution," wrote Romanow, Whyte and Leeson, "with its charter of rights, forges a pattern of political participation for citizens to vindicate their interests, and forestall majoritarian tyranny, by enforcing standards of political decency." Nevertheless, these authors also warned that the Charter was a fragile achievement easily threatened by a reassertion of the inertia of the past. It required nurturing and sustenance by the vibrant but still emerging culture of political participation (Romanow, Whyte and Leeson, 1984:xx). As we all know, the Parti Quebecois's struggle for political independence in the form of sovereignty-association was first rejected by a majority of Quebec's citizens in 1980 and then by the architects of the Constitution Act, 1982. These developments did not, by any stretch of the imagination, end the historical struggle of the Quebecois nationalists for greater political autonomy for the province of Quebec or by the Quebecois separatists for complete independence for Quebec. Indeed, Premier Levesque's refusal to give his consent to the Constitution Act, 1982 demonstrated clearly the fundamental nature of this crisis of divergent societal models for achieving equality. At the very heart of Rene Levesque's intransigent rejection of the national government's proposals for a renewed Constitution was the Parti Quebecois's ideological and political commitment to political independence for Quebec. In fact, Donald Smiley expressed the central concern of the critics of the Constitution Act, 1982 when he declared that it was a "dangerous deed" because "the act of changing the elements of the constitution embodying the powers of the provinces was a betrayal of the commitments made to the Quebec electorate in 1980 and created new hazards in the relations between Quebec and the wider Canadian community" (Smiley, 1983).

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Similarly, other collectivities remained profoundly dissatisfied with their lack of recognition in the Constitution Act, 1982, but for reasons different from those of the Quebecois independantistes. Groups such as the aboriginal peoples, linguistic minorities and the ethnocultural communities fought long and hard, not for the secession of their respective communities from Canada, but rather for their full-fledged incorporation into the fabric of the Constitution and the Canadian society as distinctive and valuable collectivities. What this paper intends to demonstrate is that the commitment of our political elites to a liberalizing Charter of Rights and Freedoms,1 focused primarily on the attainment of the rights of the individual, has proven to be limited. The Charter's laudable goal, which had the support of the majority of Canadian citizens, was constrained and circumscribed from the outset by the longstanding historical commitment of certain political and socio-cultural constituencies to the entrenchment of collective rights. The origins of this development resided in the existing political culture which found its way, in part, into the Charter itself. By the mid-1980s, the premiers were sufficiently confident that they could, with the help of the Prime Minister, further undermine the liberalizing nature of the Charter. When one takes a bird's eye view, the Meech Lake Accord of 1987 is, in fact, a powerful constitutional assertion of the political elites' commitment to the principle of collective rights: the rights of what are defined as Canada's two founding peoples, the French and the English, and the rights of the provinces.

The Constitution Act, 1982 The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms is, in many ways, a bold and innovative experiment. The Charter, while constitutionalizing individual rights for all Canadians, does make a valiant attempt to reconcile and harmonize the concepts of individual rights for all and collective rights for certain specific groups in Canadian society. In the first place, the fundamental freedoms, democratic rights, mobility rights, legal rights, and equality rights outlined in sections two to fifteen of the Charter are not deemed absolute rights. They are constrained and limited in several important ways by various concepts of collective and societal rights. In fact, section 1 reads: "the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms guarantees the rights and freedoms set out in it subject only to such reasonable limits prescribed by law as can be demonstrably justified in a free and democratic society". This section can, and will, no doubt, be used by governments, with the help of the Courts and in the interests of certain well-defined and accepted collectivities, to place reasonable limits upon individual freedoms.

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The Charter also recognizes and reinforces the rights and special legal status of certain minority groups, that is, the right of an individual to be treated differently on the basis of membership in a specific minority group. In the first instance, section 93 of the Constitution Act, 1867 recognizes the rights of the Catholic and Protestant denominations to an educational system based upon their respective religions. Section 29 of the Charter reaffirms this collective right. In the second instance, section 133 of the Constitution Act, 1867 spells out certain language rights for Canada's two predominant French-speaking and English-speaking communities. These language rights are reaffirmed and expanded in sections 16 to 24 of the Charter, which deal with the official languages of Canada and minority language educational rights. Thirdly, Canada's aboriginal communities were granted by Parliament a special legal status under section 91(24) of the Constitution Act, 1867, a status which was amply reaffirmed in both section 25 of the Charter and section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982. Finally, the individual equality rights outlined in section 15(1) of the Charter can be overridden by government-sponsored "affirmative" action" programmes on behalf of certain groups designated as "disadvantaged" (Morton, 1985:71-72). The aboriginal communities, the linguistic minorities and the ethnocultural groups which received a certain level of collective recognition in, and legal status via, the Constitution Act, 1982, remained determined to achieve greater collective recognition and legal status in any future constitutional discussions (Milne, 1989:169-176). Nevertheless, the dominant issue that prevented the separatist government of Rene Levesque from signing the Constitution Act, 1982 was the federal government's refusal to negotiate some form of sovereignty-association for the French-speaking nationality of the province of Quebec. Similarly, the Quebec government of Robert Bourassa has refused to sign the Constitution Act, 1982 because it lacked a constitutional provision acknowledging that Quebec is a "distinct society" with the mandate to preserve and promote the "distinctness" of the majority francophone nationality of that province (Milne, 1989:176-181).

The Meech Lake Constitutional Accord, 1987 THE TWO NATIONS CONCEPT ACHIEVES CONSTITUTIONAL RECOGNITION

Since the Tremblay Report of 1956 the concept of two founding nations has been at the heart of the modern constitutional debate between the political and intellectual representatives of Quebec's francophone majority and those of English-speaking Canada. All schools of

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Quebecois neo-nationalists, federalist and separatist, have been intransigent in their demand that any constitutional renewal must incorporate the formal recognition of the province of Quebec as the homeland of the French-speaking nationality in Canada (Behiels, 1989b:139-141). The Quebecois neo-nationalists condemned the Constitution Act, 1982 because it entrenched the concept of pan-Canadian linguistic dualism and minority rights via the Charter. The Meech Lake Accord proposed a very different model of social and political organization. Section 2(l)(b), recognizing "that Quebec constitutes within Canada a distinct society," and section 2(3), stipulating that the "legislature and the Government of Quebec" have the responsibility "to preserve and promote this distinct society," were a direct attempt to entrench the Canada/Quebecois binational, territorial model of dualism.2 This clause was not just a symbolic preamble, as was originally proposed by all three national parties and the Quebec government of Robert Bourassa. Instead, what emerged out of the late night discussions at Meech Lake was a powerful, yet undefined, constitutional interpretative clause that instructs the Supreme Court to interpret the entire Constitution, except sections 25 and 27 of the Charter, in the light of the "distinct" nature of the province of Quebec. While section 2(l)(a) affirms the linguistic duality outlined in the Charter as a fundamental characteristic of Canada, section 2(2) of the Accord instructs the Parliament of Canada and the provincial legislatures merely to preserve this linguistic duality. In fact, one constitutional expert, Bryan Schwartz, contends that these clauses could have been construed in such a way as to insist that the role of legislatures of the English-speaking provinces is to keep them that way (Schwartz, 1987:12). In sum, the symmetry of the pan-Canadian bicultural model is replaced by an asymmetric model which links the francophone nationality of Quebec with the province of Quebec and its government. It was this fusion of the province and the nationality via the Meech Lake Accord which, according to Professor John Whyte of Queen's Law School, threatened the fragile fabric of national unity (Whyte, 1988:11-19).3 THE FRANCOPHONE MINORITIES REACT TO MEECH LAKE

The 1980s were not charitable to Canada's linguistic minorities. While French immersion programmes for English-speaking children grew by leaps and bounds, the francophone minorities struggled valiantly for the application of section 23 of the Charter. Meanwhile, Quebec's Englishspeaking community continued to fight some of the "unconstitutional" features of Bill 101 as well as the government's proposed legislation reorganizing Quebec's denominational school system along linguistic lines.4

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Had the Meech Lake Accord been ratified, it is this author's contention that the 1990s would have reserved an even rougher ride for those minorities, and this despite the Supreme Court's very recent but surprisingly broad interpretation of section 23 of the Charter, a ruling which will force recalcitrant provinces to provide linguistic minorities with some management rights over their own school boards (Make v. Alberta, 1989). It has taken a generation for francophone minorities to come to the realization that their futures cannot be guaranteed by the constitutional agenda of the Quebec government or the Quebecois neo-nationalists.5 In 1985 the PQ government, followed by the newly-elected Liberal government of Robert Bourassa in 1986, promised to seek the strengthening of francophone minority rights in the Constitution. Most of the pressure was coming from the Federation des francophones hors Quebec, created in 1975, whose constitutional objectives had been well publicized (Federation des francophones hors Quebec, 1979). At the centre of the FFHQ's constitutional proposals was the recognition of the "droits collectifs des minorites de langues officielles," via the recognition of Canada's two official language communities (Federation des francophones hors Quebec, 1979:29-42). In 1981, the FFHQ reiterated before the Joint Committee of the Senate and the House on the Canadian Constitution its commitment to the concept of two founding nations based, not on the political duality of Quebec/Canada, but rather on the duality of two pan-Canadian communities, francophone and anglophone (Federation des francophones hors Quebec, 1980:27). In the hectic months leading up to the Accord, the FFHQ and its provincial affiliates lobbied actively to get the premiers and the Prime Minister to provide constitutional recognition for the existence of francophone and anglophone linguistic communities in the proposed reforms. The FFHQ achieved a partial, yet short-lived, victory with the provisional draft produced at Meech Lake which contained clause 2(l)(b), recognizing the existence of French-speaking Canada and English-speaking Canada as a fundamental characteristic of Canada. Following strong criticism from former Prime Minister Trudeau and many other critics, the clause in the legal draft produced for the signatures of the first ministers at the Langevin meeting on June 3, 1987 referred instead to French-speaking and English-speaking Canadians (Foucher, 1989:11). To put it mildly, the FFHQ and its provincial affiliates were very disappointed and disgruntled. However, the FFHQ accepted the principle of recognizing Quebec as a distinct society and its president focused his criticism on clause 2(l)(a), which failed to recognize the concept of linguistic communities, and clause 2(2), according to which the role of the Parliament of Canada and the provincial legislatures was to

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"preserve the fundamental characteristic of Canada," defined in terms of individuals.6 George Ares, president of the Association canadiennefranqaise de I'Alberta, was unwilling to be so accommodating. In his view, the Accord was a disaster for all francophone minorities. He condemned the Accord for defining linguistic dualism in terms of the political duality of Quebec/Canada rather than the pan-Canadian dualism of communities, francophone and anglophone. The latter principle, he argued, would strengthen bilingualism and weaken the concept of language based on territory (Ares, 1989). A number of developments in 1988 forced the FFHQ to harden its position on the Accord. In 1988, the Saskatchewan and Alberta governments decided to rescind pre-1905 statutes which defined their provincial courts and legislatures as bilingual and which the Supreme Court had found to be still valid. Furthermore, the Quebec government joined the Alberta government in its opposition to the court case launched by forty Franco-Albertan parents demanding financial and administrative control of their own schools under section 23 of the Charter (Cleroux, 1989; Le Blanc, 1989:20).7 These events, coupled with a much closer analysis of the precise language of the Accord by constitutional experts like Pierre Foucher (1989:23-41), prompted the FFHQ to reconsider its unconditional support for the Accord and to demand that changes be made before its final ratification. Francophones outside Quebec remain divided on the thorny question of "distinct society" status for the province of Quebec. Nevertheless, they are still firmly convinced that the survival and expansion of their own communities resides in a carefully calculated and acceptable juxtaposition of individual rights for their members and collective rights for their communities, beginning with the majority francophone community of Quebec. ETHNOCULTURAL MINORITIES: THE STRUGGLE FOR CONSTITUTIONAL EQUALITY

The attitude of Canada's ethnocultural community leaders and their national organization, the Canadian Ethnocultural Council, towards the Meech Lake Accord was marked by emotions ranging from ambivalent acceptance to hostile rejection. Thor Broda, speaking on behalf of the Ukrainian Canadian Committee, declared: We cannot support a Constitution that ignores the multicultural reality of Canada, one whose underlying rationale is the outdated and discredited concept of two founding nations. A country that gives greater rights to its citizens based on their belonging to ethnic groups that came to Canada sooner is not our vision of what Canada is or should be. We are all immigrants or descendants of immigrants. We

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It is only in the past decade that the Canadian ethnocultural movement has been in a position to pursue the goal of collective equality for the numerous ethnic communities that have managed to put down their roots in the Canadian society since the days of Wilfrid Laurier at the turn of the century. The shift from a focus on individual rights for members of ethnic groups to collective rights is a reflection, in part, of the fact that the first objective was achieved in the Constitution Act, 1982. Section 15(1) of the Charter provides constitutional protection against discrimination on the basis of ethnic origin, while section 27 states that the Charter "shall be interpreted in a manner consistent with the preservation and the enhancement of the multicultural heritage of Canadians." This achievement came after a decade of lobbying and last-minute pleading before the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons in October 1980, and before the Cabinet in November 1981, after section 27 had been dropped during the final meeting of the first ministers (Hudson, 1987:64-72). While pleased with the gains of 1982, many commentators argued persuasively that the equality provisions of the Charter did not provide any protection for the collective rights of the ethnic communities. Section 27 was a "motherhood" clause, according to Evelyn Kallen, because "the provisions of the Charter favouring majority ethnic rights over minority rights serve to perpetuate the vertical mosaic. Thus the multicultural dream of an egalitarian mosaic remains a dream deferred" (Kallen, 1987:127-128). In fact, the Canadian Ethnocultural Council (CEC), the national lobby for over thirty ethnic organizations, has struggled valiantly, but for the most part unsuccessfully, since its inception in 1980 to gain constitutional recognition for the collective educational, language and religious rights of the ethnic communities. In its quest for collective rights, the ethnocultural community's leaders have run smack into a deeply embedded belief that there exists in Canada a hierarchy of collective rights, based upon Canada's long-established vertical mosaic, to borrow the term of John Porter. Furthermore, according to this belief, only the collective rights of those groups at the top of the hierarchy, namely the anglophone and francophone communities, deserve constitutional entrenchment (Porter, 1965; Kallen, 1982). Given the Canadian Ethnocultural Council's stated objectives, it is easy to understand the ambivalence of its reaction to Meech Lake. The CEC was quick to endorse "the need for the 1987 Constitutional Accord, especially as it relates to Quebec's involvement." But the CEC then went

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on to remind the government that "bringing one sector of Canadian society into the Constitution must, however, not take place at the expense of another . . . that equality for one must equally ensure equality for all" (CEC, 1989:336). In its brief to the Special Joint Committee, the CEC made some seventeen recommendations, many of which, had they been accepted, would have completely undermined the interpretative powers of the distinct society clause as well as several other provisions of the Accord. The CEC and its affiliates demanded that section 2(1) (a) be amended to include multiculturalism on a par with linguistic duality as a fundamental characteristic of Canada. While the Accord's section 16 immunizes section 27 of the Charter from the linguistic duality/distinct society clause, the CEC argued that this was unacceptable because it created a hierarchy of rights in the Constitution. While the interpretative multiculturalism clause of the Charier applied only to the Charter, the entire Constitution, once the Accord was ratified, would have to be interpreted in a manner that recognizes linguistic duality and the distinct society of Quebec. This hierarchy, the CEC declared, relegates multiculturalism to the "back of the bus." The Charter, stripped of the "notwithstanding" clause, had to be given priority over the entire Constitution in order to ensure true equality for all Canadians, as individuals and as members of communities (CEC, 1989:338-348). Evelyn Kallen, a human rights specialist, found little of redeeming value in the Accord. In her view, the document was highly regressive, in that it served "to further augment constitutionally established status inequalities between and among ethnic and non-ethnic minorities in Canada" (Kallen, 1989). THE ABORIGINAL COMMUNITIES AND SELF-GOVERNMENT

Canada's aboriginal leaders, since the 1970s, have been the most outspoken and most articulate advocates of the principle of constitutionalizing collective rights for their respective communities. During and after the 1982 Constitution Act, all four national organizations fought hard for a series of constitutional conferences on aboriginal issues, particularly the complex and thorny issue of self-government. This process came to an abrupt and unsuccessful halt in March 1987, just a month before the premiers and the Prime Minister assented to another vague and controversial collective principle, the "distinct society" of Quebec. It is not surprising then, that the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), the Metis National Council (MNC), the Inuit Committee on National Issues (ICNI) and the Native Council of Canada (NCC) immediately voiced their shock and dismay at what they considered a second betrayal by the Prime Minister and the premiers. Yet, hoping desperately to be reintegrated into the constitutional reform process, the aboriginal associations

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refused to burn their bridges with the government of Brian Mulroney. They saw considerable benefit in accepting in principle Quebec's five demands, especially the distinct society clause, which entailed the concept of increased self-government for Quebec's francophone nationality. They prepared a manifesto which drew attention to the Accord's adverse impact upon aboriginal peoples and outlined changes that would allow the accommodation of aboriginal objectives without derailing the process of constitutional reconciliation with Quebec.8 This is not the place to review the long and protracted struggle of Canada's aboriginal peoples to preserve their collective special status as outlined in section 91(24) of the Constitution Act, 1867 and the Indian Act of 1876. The Canadian Bill of Rights of 1960 was perceived as a threat to that special status until the Supreme Court ruled in favour of the precedence of the Indian Act over the Canadian Bill of Rights. After the Charter, the Indian Act was amended in 1985 to end sexual discrimination while preserving a modified special status (Behiels, 1989a). Nevertheless, by the 1970s the aboriginal associations in the north and on the prairies had come to believe that the defence of the status quo was not going to ensure their survival in an increasingly hostile and competitive social, economic and political environment. Furthermore, they concluded that the traditional approach would not guarantee a rapid and successful outcome of their numerous outstanding land claims. The national aboriginal organizations set themselves two related goals. They lobbied very hard for the right to be integrated, in a meaningful, nonthreatening and constructive fashion, into the Canadian constitutional reform process as full-fledged political actors. They partially achieved this goal but only for a very short time. Between 1978 and 1981 they were granted observer status. After several months of intensive lobbying in Canada and Great Britain, preceding the Constitution Act, 1982, the aboriginal associations won the role of full participants during a series of four aboriginal conferences held between 1983 and 1987. Their second goal was the entrenchment of aboriginal and treaty rights, as well as a more clearly defined special status for aboriginal peoples. Once again, the aboriginal associations gained only a partial victory. In 1982, section 25 of the Charier protected all existing aboriginal rights as well as any rights acquired by way of land claims settlement. Yet, during the four aboriginal constitutional conferences, the aboriginal associations failed to achieve a redefined and expanded special status in the form of aboriginal self-government. It is this unfinished agenda that is the driving force behind the aboriginal associations' strategic and tactical approaches to the Meech Lake Accord (Sanders, 1983; Hall, 1984).

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All of the national aboriginal associations presented briefs to and appeared before the Special Joint Committee and the Senate Committee as well as before the three provincial legislative committees in Ontario, New Brunswick and Manitoba. The thrust of their respective critiques was that the Accord, in both process and substance, ignored the existence of Canada's aboriginal peoples. They called for the recognition of aboriginal peoples as distinct societies that constitute a fundamental characteristic of Canada.9 But most of all the aboriginal spokespeople objected vigorously and loudly to a process of executive federalism that virtually froze them out of any meaningful participation in constitutional reform. They denounced the extension of the unanimity formula to federal institutions and the creation of new provinces because this, they contended with considerable justification, would make the achievement of self-government virtually impossible. The failure of the premiers and the Prime Minister to renew section 37(1) of the Constitution Act, 1982 had brought an end to the unique and dedicated process of aboriginal conferences. The aboriginal associations protested that under a ratified Meech Lake Accord they would have to secure unanimous approval from the first ministers, in the first place to get onto the constitutional agenda and then again to have their proposals for self-government ratified. In a desperate attempt to rectify the damage, the Native Council of Canada proposed a companion resolution, one which would restore the dedicated aboriginal amendment procedure, thereby assuring aboriginal participation in second-round conferences. This proposal fell on deaf ears, demonstrating the marked decline of the aboriginal organizations' political influence over the constitutional process (Bruyere, 1988:66-72). The aboriginal leaders were able, nonetheless, to reassert their political influence via the Manitoba legislature when the only aboriginal MLA, Elijah Harper, refused the unanimous consent necessary to enable the Meech Lake Accord to be tabled, discussed, and approved.

Conclusion This analysis of the Meech Lake Accord and of the critiques of various vested interest groups reveals an interesting dynamic. All of the groups understood immediately that the central purpose of the Accord was the affirmation of collective rights, first those of the provinces and secondly those of the francophone nationality of Quebec. Given the Accord's objective, is there any wonder that unanimity was achieved, at least initially, by all the premiers who participated in constructing the deal? Furthermore, it is not overly surprising that various other collectivities, the francophone minorities, the ethnocultural communities and the aboriginal people, supported in principle and in practice the recognition of

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Quebec as a distinct society via a powerful interpretative clause. What is evident from the statements and submissions of these various organizations is that they were hoping that this precedent would help them achieve a similar form of collective recognition. In my view, this dynamic should give cause for concern. It should lead us to question the wisdom of entrenching collective rights in our constitution. In the first place, when such collective rights are associated with increasing the powers of the provinces at the expense of those of the federal government, it constitutionalizes the concept of Confederation as a compact of provinces. When the concept of collective rights identifies a given province with a majority nationality by means of a "distinct society" clause, as in the case of Quebec, it constitutionalizes the concept of two founding nations, francophone and anglophone. This bi-nationalism threatens the rights of ethnocultural minorities as well as individual rights in the province of Quebec. At this juncture, any further extension of a range of educational, social, and political collective rights to linguistic minorities, to ethnocultural communities, and to the aboriginal peoples has the potential to engender numerous conflicts between these respective groups as well as a clash between the individual and community rights of the members of each of these communities. The adjudicative role of the Supreme Court would become overly burdensome and the judicial system's integrity would be sorely tested. Fortunately, now that the Meech Lake Accord has died, we are in a position to reconsider this approach to constitutional reform and return to first principles based upon a lucid vision of the kind of country and society the vast majority of Canadians would like to build for themselves and their children. It is the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms that best expresses that vision for the vast majority of Canadians. Politicians who play with the Charter do so at their peril.

NOTES 1 For a discussion of the intentions of the Charter's framers consult Chretien (1990). 2 For a copy of the Meech Lake Accord consult Behiels (1989b:539-546). 3 Whyte (1989:11) points out that section 2(4) — the no derogation clause •— will not adversely affect the intent of sections 2(l)(b) and 2(3), which is to "permit the recognition of new constitutional authority for language policies." 4 See "Special Report: 25 Years After the B and B Commission," Language and Society, no. 27 (Summer 1989): R-l to R-44.

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For an excellent overview of this subject consult Foucher (1989). See FFHQ (1987). These parents eventually won their case before the Supreme Court. For a copy of this manifesto, see the Assembly of First Nations (1987). See Inuit Committee on National Issues (1987), Metis National Council (1987), Assembly of First Nations (1987) and Native Council of Canada (1987).

REFERENCES CASES CITED

Mahe v. Alberta, Judgement of the Supreme Court of Canada, March 15, 1990. File No. 20590.

ARTICLES AND BOOKS Ares, George. (1989). "The Accord Abandons Canada's Battered and Defenceless Minorities." Michael Behiels, ed. The Meech Lake Primer. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 219-224. Assembly of First Nations. (1987). "Brief to and Testimony Before the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, No. 9, August 19. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 49-68. Behiels, Michael D. (1989a). "Aboriginal and Northern Rights: Integrating the First Peoples into the Constitution. Introduction." Michael Behiels, ed. The Meech Lake Primer. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 407-421. , ed. (1989b). The Meech Lake Primer. Conflicting Views of the 1987 Constitutional Accord. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press. Bruyere, Louis. (1989). "Aboriginal Peoples and the Meech Lake Accord." William Pentney and Daniel Proulx, eds. Canadian Human Rights Yearbook /Annuaire canadien des droits de la personne, 1988.Ottawa: Les Presses de 1'Universite d'Ottawa, 49-79. Cairns, Alan (1989). "Ritual, Taboo, and Bias in Constitutional Controversies in Canada, or Constitutional Talk Canadian Style." The Mabel F. Timlin Lecture, University of Saskatchewan. Canadian Ethnocultural Council. (1989). "A Dream Deferred: Collective Equality for Canada's Ethnocultural Communities." Michael Behiels, ed. The Meech Lake Primer. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 335-348. Chretien, Jean. (1990). "Bringing the Constitution Home." Thomas Axworthy and Pierre Elliott Trudeau, eds. Towards the Just Society: The Trudeau Years. Toronto: Viking, 282-309. Cleroux, Richard. (1989). "Non-Quebec francophones contemplate lonely future." Globe and Mail, June 23. Federation des francophones hors Quebec. (1979). Pour ne plus etre . . . sans pays: Une nouvelle association pour les deux peuples fondateurs. Ottawa.

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE . (1980). "Statement to the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the Canadian Constitution." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 13, November 26. Ottawa: Queen's Printer.

. (1987). "Statement to the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 3, August 5. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 5-23. Foucher, Pierre. (1989). "L'Accord du Lac Meech et les francophones hors Quebec." William Pentney and Daniel Proulx, eds. Canadian Human Rights Yearbook/Annuaire canadien des droits de la personne, 1988. Ottawa: Les presses de 1'Universite d'Ottawa, 3-47. Hall, Tony. (1989). "What are We? Chopped Liver? Aboriginal Affairs in the Constitutional Politics of Canada in the 1980s." Michael Behiels, ed. The Meech Lake Primer. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 434-438. Hudson, Michael R. (1987). "Multiculturalism, Government Policy and Constitutional Enshrinement — A Comparative Study." Canadian Human Rights Foundation, ed. Multiculturalism and the Charter: A Legal Perspective. Toronto: Carswell, 59-122. Inuit Committee on National Issues. (1987). "Brief to and Testimony Before the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 3, August 5. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 23-32. Kallen, Evelyn. (1982). "Multiculturalism: Ideology, Policy and Reality." Journal of Canadian Studies 17:1 (Spring), 53-58. . (1987). "Multiculturalism, Minorities, and Motherhood: A Social Scientific Critique of Section 27." Canadian Human Rights Foundation, ed. Multiculturalism and the Charter: A Legal Perspective. Toronto: Carswell, 123-137. . (1989). "The Meech Lake Accord: Entrenching a Pecking Order of Minority Rights." Michael Behiels, ed. The Meech Lake Primer. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 349-369. Le Blanc, Jean-Claude. (1989). "A Turning Point for Francophone Parents and Their Children." Language and Society 27. Metis National Council. (1987). "Brief to and Testimony Before the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 9, August 19. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 28-48. Milne, David. (1989). The Canadian Constitution. From Patriation to Meech Lake. Toronto: Lorimer. Morton, F.L. (1985). "Group Rights Versus Individual Rights in the Charter: The Special Cases of Natives and the Quebecois." Neil Nevitte and Allan Kornberg, eds. Minorities and the Canadian State. Oakville: Mosaic Press, 71-86.

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Native Council of Canada. (1987). "Brief to and Testimony Before the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 12, August 25. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 95-120. Porter, John. (1965). The Vertical Mosaic. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Romanow, Roy, John Whyte, and Howard Leeson. (1984). Canada . . . Notwithstanding. The Making of the Constitution 1976-1982. Toronto: Carswell/Methuen. Sanders, Douglas. (1983). "The Indian Lobby." Keith Banting and Richard Simeon, eds. And No One Cheered: Federalism, Democracy and the Constitution Act. Toronto: Methuen, 301-324. Schwartz, Bryan. (1987). Fathoming Meech Lake. Winnipeg: Law Research Institute. Smiley, Donald. (1983). "A Dangerous Deed: The Constitution Act, 1982." Keith Banting and Richard Simeon, eds. And No One Cheered: Federalism, Democracy and the Constitution Act. Toronto: Methuen, 74-95. Ukrainian Canadian Committee. (1987). "Brief to the Special Joint Committee of the Senate and the House of Commons on the 1987 Constitutional Accord." Minutes of Proceedings and Evidence, no. 7, August 13. Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Whyte, John D. (1988). "More Than Small Change: The Meaning of Meech Lake for the Canadian Polity." The UNB Law Journal 38, 279-287.

The Meech Lake Impasse in Theoretical Perspective Kenneth D. McRae CARLETON UNIVERSITY In spite of notable efforts by medieval theologians and modern constitutional lawyers to render their respective crafts esoteric, some things remain fundamentally simple. That is to say, their essentials can be understood by lay people possessing a little detachment and good will. Among these simple matters we may rank the basic relationship between Francophones and Anglophones in Canada, which appears reasonably clear to most informed observers outside the country, but which is obscured for many Canadians by the shadows and myths of the cave society in which they pass their lives. My main argument in this paper is that the current Meech Lake crisis — and I use this loaded word deliberately — may be best understood as a conflict between differing perceptions and ideals of Canada held by Anglophones and Francophones. Further, I believe that the crisis could be lessened through a fuller understanding of the implications of these perceptions, though I must confess to pessimism as to the learning capacity of my fellow citizens. Before analyzing the Canadian situation, however, I should explain what kind of models I have in mind. Much of my own recent work on plurilingual and multilingual societies has been clarified, enlightened, and inspired by two recent models of comparative political systems, the consociational model developed by Arend Lijphart and other scholars, and the control model suggested by Ian Lustick. The consociational model, as developed by Lijphart, is a theory of conflict regulation in divided or segmented societies which is effected through negotiated, deliberate accommodation among elites. Its four main characteristics — grand coalition, mutual veto, proportionality, and segmental autonomy — are sufficiently well known not to require further elaboration here (Lijphart, 1977:ch. 2). The control model, as developed by Ian Lustick, calls attention to an alternative model of conflict management in some divided societies where one group is clearly dominant over another or others. Lustick

KENNETH D. McRAE 141 identifies seven basic differences between consociational and control systems (1979:330-32). Briefly summarized, control systems: 1. allocate resources according to the dominant group's perception of its own interests rather than through inter-elite negotiations aimed at finding a common denominator; 2. develop linkages between segments that are exploitive or "penetrative" rather than negotiated bargains or exchanges; 3. do not exhibit the hard bargaining between elites that is characteristic of consociational systems; 4. use the official regime as an agent of the dominant segment rather than a neutral umpire between segments; 5. legitimate the political order in terms of the values and norms of the dominant group rather than by references to the common welfare of each segment; 6. display basic asymmetries rather than symmetry in inter-elite relations, and encounter more serious problems in preserving relations among elites than in maintaining intragroup cohesion; 7. are symbolized by the metaphor of a puppet on a string rather than by one of balance or equilibrium. Lustick's article is both elegant and useful as an exercise in comparative analysis. Despite its utility it has been cited relatively infrequently in subsequent literature, possibly because it is more important as a descriptive model than as a normative one. Since I have written more extensively of these two models elsewhere (McRae, 1990), I shall not elaborate on the theoretical aspects here. It is worth remembering, however, that these models can be institutionalized and put in practice in a variety of ways. Here the consociational model in particular faces important choices that may be crucial to its success or failure. As Arend Lijphart (1980:xvii) has remarked in a discussion of minority rights: My main conclusion is that the key to the fair treatment of minorities is the combined application of power-sharing and autonomy. The ideal is a democratic regime in which minorities can participate fully in decision-making at all levels and in which they have exclusive power in those areas which can be defined as regarding only their own interests.

In my view, the heart of the Canadian problem and the current Meech Lake impasse, not to mention similar problems in some other countries, lies here. The key question is the appropriate combination of the device of power-sharing (which Lijphart is using here in the narrow sense1 as

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synonymous with rule by grand coalitions operating in a central political arena) with thé device of segmentai autonomy (as exemplified in thé Canadian context mainly by decentralization in thé fédéral system). The continuing task of policymakers is to combine thèse éléments in acceptable proportions, and this may vary from case to case, from décade to décade, and even from issue to issue. The two theoretical models hâve been applied to thé Canadian setting by several earlier authors. Among others, consociationalism has been used — sometimes as an explanatory model, sometimes as a normative one — by Sid Noël (1971), by Donald Smiley (1977), by Arend Lijphart (1977:119-29), and by myself (1974; 1975). It has also been applied to individual provinces (Aunger, 1981; Staples, 1974) or to thé position of aboriginal groups (Asch, 1984). This model was also used by Khayyam Paltiel himself, who was among thé first to apply it to thé Israeli political system (1975). Similarly, thé control model has been applied to thé Canadian setting by Gordon Cannon (1982). Cannon's argument is interesting for its division of thé Canadian expérience into historical stages, characterized in succession by consociationalism during thé Union period before 1867, by a control system under thé fédéral constitution after 1867, by érosion or breakdown of this control system after 1960, and by thé first steps towards a more consociational restructuring after 1976. Much of Cannon's argument is persuasive, and his theoretical framework appears to fit thé broad outlines of Canada's historical development more closely than previous attempts. Its most obvious weakness, in my view, lies in treating thé Canadian system as a single case, as a unified political arena, which is to ignore thé potential for diversity and for some consociational tendencies implicit in federalism. I personally would accept Cannon's broad diagnosis that thé fédéral régime from 1867 to 1960 can best be interpreted as a smoothly functioning control model, and that thé Quiet Révolution was (among other things) thé first sustained expression of détermination by Québec Francophones to change thé system. A brief review of thé period since 1960 may provide a context for our current policy options. The position of Francophones in thé Diefenbaker government was distinctly marginal, and thé présence of thé control model at thé fédéral level up to that point seems clear beyond argument. The situation changed slightly during thé Pearson years, and more markedly during thé Trudeau régime, when powerful Francophone ministers from Québec occupied some major économie portfolios for thé first time, together with thé prime ministership. It can be cogently argued that thé Trudeau period represents thé émergence of a consociational political model characterized by effective power-sharing in a

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central political arena. But two qualifications must be added. First, this system remained informal and uninstitutionalized — except as to official language policy — and it therefore rested on the influence and capability of the ministers involved. Second, it overrode and bypassed the claims of an important segment of Francophone opinion represented by Quebec nationalists, while also provoking regional disaffection among Anglophones in Western Canada. Political opinion in Quebec is at times quite remarkable for its display of dual loyalties and even seemingly incompatible loyalties. The same electorate that sent overwhelming numbers of Trudeau Liberals to Ottawa also backed Parti Quebecois majority governments provincially in 1976 and 1981. These pequiste governments, by their own choice, remained outside the constitutional process involving constitutional patriation and adoption of the Charter of Rights, but as a result of the Supreme Court decision of September 1981 that ruled against the requirement of unanimity, they were unable to delay or block the process by a provincial veto. The outcome — patriation without Quebec consent — was understandable and even excusable in the circumstances, but it was also regrettable and dangerous in the longer run. The non-adherence of the Quebec government to the 1982 Constitution meant that a very substantial and influential segment of Francophone opinion in Quebec was left "outside" the Constitution in a formal sense. The long-run danger was that this nationalist-separatist segment, which represented roughly half of the total Francophone vote at the 1980 referendum, could in certain circumstances become the base for mobilizing a decisive majority of Quebec voters. The federal Trudeau Liberals reacted to Quebec nationalists with confrontation and a certain condescension. It was only natural, and wholly predictable, that these same nationalists, regardless of their provincial party loyalties, would fall into a broad alliance with the federal conservatives. It was equally predictable that the federal Conservatives would firm up this alliance with a platform emphasizing reconciliation rather than confrontation, and that electoral arithmetic, once Trudeau's personal charisma was removed, would return Quebec decisively to the Conservative fold at the federal election of 1984. The advent of the Mulroney regime, however, signalled subtle changes in the system. The new Quebec ministers, as a group, brought more modest political backgrounds and lower profiles to the federal scene. They were significantly less committed to centralized federalism. Despite superficial appearances, the Trudeau-era consociational model of

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high-profile power-sharing in a central arena could hardly continue after 1984. Further, the election in 1985 of a more accommodating Liberal government in Quebec meant that conditions at both federal and provincial levels had become favourable for negotiations to complete the constitutional process left unfinished in 1982. The Meech Lake Accord is the outcome of these intergovernmental negotiations, which extended from the fall of 1986 to June 1987. Far from being a bilateral agreement, however, the Accord is an example of one of the rarest phenomena in Canadian politics, a unanimous agreement of eleven first ministers. From the academic sidelines, it is easy to criticize the Meech Lake accord on grounds of both procedure and substance. From a procedural standpoint, it is, of course, a product of intricate inter-elite bargaining, both political and bureaucratic, carefully crafted, complex — and dull to read. The point is that this is the usual Canadian way. No one in Canada has so far found a more democratic method. To my knowledge, no multilingual country and no plural society anywhere has devised a more democratic alternative, though Switzerland combines an even more highly developed system of inter-elite cooperation with a democratic safety valve in the popular referendum. One special problem in the functioning of the Canadian system, as I wrote some years ago, is a chronic lack of cohesion between political elites and their mass support. This means that when inter-elite agreements are negotiated among electorally backed elites, there is no guarantee that these agreements will be accepted or ratified by rank-and-file voters (McRae, 1974:252-53). This structural weakness of the Canadian system was on this occasion aggravated by a major political blunder. The first ministers who signed the Meech Lake agreement disregarded the advice of their officials and grossly overestimated their own political longevity by agreeing on a three-year time limit for its legislative ratification. It is no coincidence that all three of the premiers opposing the accord as the deadline approaches in 1990 were not among its original signers in 1987. The three-year time limit for ratification allowed sufficient time for extensive mobilization of English-Canadian opinion against the perceived decentralizing tendencies of the accord. Deplorable as this may be for the political management of language conflict, the ensuing debate has produced copious evidence of the mentality of Anglophone Canadians on this question. What stands out first in an impressionistic reading of this material is the prevalence of majoritarian attitudes. A typical "grass-roots" letter from Edmonton comments: The vast majority of Canadians do not want any province to have special status that sets it apart from the others. We don't want it! Can anyone get that through their heads?

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Granting Quebec special status will lead to the Balkanization of Canada. . . . . . we don't want people or provinces in our country who don't want to be Canadians first, last and foremost. (Financial Post, November 28, 1989)

A more academic letter from Ottawa remarks in similar vein: "If the 'will of the majority' is good and beneficial for all the peoples of Eastern Europe, it certainly is good and beneficial for all Canadians" (Globe and Mail, January 18, 1990). Since I am no great admirer of Rousseau, it is by no means clear to me that the "will of the majority" — if indeed one can be found — is good and beneficial for the Soviet Union today, or Yugoslavia, or Czechoslovakia, or the Baltic republics, to select only a few examples, nor do I consider it an appropriate basis for settling Quebec's relationship within Canada. My own studies of several plural societies over many years suggest that any appeal to majority rule generally means that somebody's rights are in imminent danger of being overridden. However, explicit appeals to majority rule are not very frequent. The argument is more often expressed in terms of universalist values, such as equal rights for all, freedom of expression, or national unity. "This is not an anti-French sentiment," stated a collective letter addressed by supporters to Clyde Wells, "rather we are for equal rights for all Canadians regardless of language, ethnicity, cultural or minority differences . . . . We are the silent majority who are finding our voice in this issue" (Globe and Mail, January 10, 1990). "What Canada wants," announces another letter confidently, "is equal rights and responsibilities for all Canadians" (Financial Post, January 1, 1990). These examples, taken from the debate over the past year, could be multiplied almost endlessly. Typically, many of these examples disclaim any hostility to Quebec or to Francophones — provided that these groups accept the norms defined by the majority. For anyone familiar with Canadian history, the repeated refrain of equal rights for all has an ominous ring to it. I must draw attention to the sinister parallel between the Meech Lake debate of the last two years and the events of 1888 to 1890, when the Jesuit Estates bill, which was passed by the Quebec legislature in 1888, and which concerned only Quebec, evoked a hysterical anti-Catholic and anti-French reaction across English-speaking Canada. The resulting formation of the incongruously named Equal Rights Association became the springboard for a successful Protestant Anglophone attack on the separate school system and on official-language duality in Manitoba (Miller, 1979; Clark, 1968). The

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necessary provincial legislation was introduced and passed exactly a century ago, in the session that ran from January to March of 1890. As we digest the news this week of the latest activities of the Association for the Preservation of English in Canada and the resolutions intended to establish municipal unilingualism in Sault Ste. Marie and Thunder Bay, we might reflect on whether Anglophone Canada has advanced beyond the mind-set of Manitoba in 1890. My purpose, however, is not to remind you of anniversaries that would, if it were possible, better be forgotten, but to make a theoretical comment that is no less sombre. What strikes me in the arguments by many Anglophone opponents of Meech Lake is the persistence of attitudes that display, unconsciously and naively, all or most of the identifying characteristics of Lustick's control model. From the vantage point of this Anglophone vision of Canada, resource allocation in the political system should remain largely federal, and at this level Anglophone interests usually predominate; intersegmental linkages would be created largely through federal channels, and they too would reflect the imbalance of numbers; hard bargaining between elites would be rare, because Francophones would lack a secure constitutional base to work from; the official regime, including both federal institutions and federal norms for provinces, would similarly reflect Anglophone predominance and outlook; legitimation of the political order would be largely or solely in terms of Anglophone values, stressing individual rights, linguistic laissez-faire, integrative multiculturalism, and national unity; finally, the central symbol or metaphor would be one of national unity rather than partnership or duality, of Quebec as a province within Confederation rather than a society with distinctive cultural values. The very least that one can say is that this Anglophone view of Canada comes closer to a control model than to a consociational one. In my estimation, the time for this model has run out. Indeed, its impending demise was visible in the 1960s. It is totally at odds with current self-images of most Francophone Quebecois. Nevertheless, I believe it remains central for the rank-and-file, non-elite, "silent-majority" opposition to Meech Lake. No doubt most Anglophones remain genuinely unaware of the features of their model which are unacceptable to Francophones, but the latter have been quite explicit in their recognition and rejection of it.2 There has thus emerged a large and dangerous gulf that is no less dangerous because of widespread public ignorance or indifference on both sides concerning what the accord actually says. It is not my intention in this paper to examine the detailed content of the Accord. Much of the voluminous discussion of the text up to now seems unduly narrow and legalistic, and ultimately sterile. Some of it

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has run to gross exaggeration and talk of worst-case scenarios. Much of it has been more speculative than analytical. I remain sceptical as to whether future court decisions on cases and circumstances still unknown can be accurately foretold, even by the legal brilliance of a Clyde Wells. Let us concede, however, the view of most opponents that the net effect of Meech Lake is to strengthen or reassert the position of the provinces in the federal system. As a declared admirer of the Swiss constitution, I am not especially disturbed by this prospect, but I also believe that judicial interpretation is generally more responsive to changes in the social and political environment than to the exact wording of texts. Much of the debate over the finer legal and constitutional points of the Accord has obscured what the Meech Lake exercise is really about. In my view, three elements are paramount. In the first place, it is an exercise in symbolic recognition, a recognition of Canada's duality and of Quebec's role in representing that duality, a completion of the 1982 constitutional reform, but also a constitutional fulfilment of the "equal partnership" announced in the terms of reference of the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism as long ago as 1963.3 Second, the Accord represents a modest expression of reciprocal trust and commitment between Quebec and Anglophone Canada. It is often forgotten or glossed over that the Accord represents not only Canada's recognition of Quebec but also Quebec's commitment to Canada. The undertaking is reciprocal, and as Thomas Courchene has pointed out, non-adoption of the accord would give Quebec much more leeway to pursue distinctive policies than it would have if it were adopted (Courchene, 1989). This means that those who oppose Meech Lake for its decentralizing tendencies may well be working against their own expressed goals of centralization. Needless to say, some of the positive effects of this exercise in mutual commitment seem likely to be eroded by the rancorous tone of the current debate. Finally, the effect of the distinct society clause seems intended, among other things, to put a stop to the fundamentally insulting notion that English Canadians, through the federal government or otherwise, ought to be watchdogs and monitors of Charter rights within Quebec and defenders of Quebec's Anglophones. The prevalence of this attitude is perhaps one of the ugliest and surest indicators of the persistence of a control model. Here one can recall the comment of a Swiss parliamentarian and activist who fought for a separate Jura canton: Jean Wilhelm wrote in 1965 that "the Jurassians will only become true friends of the Bernese when they no longer have the unnatural feeling that the Bernese are their masters" (cited in McRae, 1983:37).

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In reaching agreement over a Meech Lake text, painful compromises were required of all parties. This is the very nature of bargaining of any kind whenever significant disagreements are present. Consociational bargains are recognizable by their tendency to satisfy none of the parties involved. The aim is to arrive at an agreement minimally acceptable to all, and in theory a balanced consociational bargain should inflict the same degree of pain or dissatisfaction on all participants, regardless of their relative size or bargaining strength. Conceptually, no bargain of this type can be expected to "satisfy" all negotiating parties, and to think otherwise is to be unrealistic. Consequently, a modified Meech Lake agreement that would be satisfactory and acceptable to English Canada generally — even assuming this were possible — would in all likelihood become less acceptable to Quebec and would tend to perpetuate the control model. By and large, consociational agreements are not embraced with enthusiasm. They have to be promoted and sold vigorously by the elites that make them. As was suggested earlier, the long-term outlook for maintaining a control system in Canada is not promising. In the first place, it cannot be justified normatively. Secondly, even at a descriptive level it is becoming less and less reconcilable with an increasingly dynamic and self-confident Quebec society. Theoretically speaking, then, we are left with the consociational alternative.4 The Meech Lake Accord represents one such consociational alternative, a readjusted federalism founded on a combination of symbolic dualism, some power-sharing elements (appointments to the Senate and the Supreme Court), and some strengthening of provincial autonomy (opting-out-powers with financial compensation, guarantees concerning immigration). This provincial autonomy is further reinforced by the notwithstanding clause of the 1982 Constitution. It is true that some of these changes merely formalize or entrench existing practices or tendencies. Still, the most obvious advantage of the Accord over other options is its lengthy preparation and the large element of elite consensus already expressed in its favour. There is, however, another theoretical alternative, another consociational option, which would emphasize less decentralization and more systematic power-sharing between Anglophones and Francophones in a more centralized federal arena. As noted earlier, this option emerged briefly under Pierre Trudeau. Conceivably, it might be revived under Jean Chretien, the new leader of the federal Liberal Party, should he win the next federal election. If Meech Lake should fail or be rejected, the Canadian federal system might muddle on without a clear direction for some time, or it might vacillate from one model to another, but one

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probable outcome of such drift would be further alienation and distancing of the Quebec political system from the Canadian federal system. If Canadians wish to become more serious about an alternative, centralized consociational model, I suggest that it would have to become more formally institutionalized in its arrangements for power-sharing. This option might involve some or all of the following features: 1. A federal Cabinet based on Quebec/non-Quebec or Francophone/ Anglophone parity, similar to the Belgian model.5 Since Canadian electoral results are not always propitious for such a formula, further changes might be needed in the electoral system, or in conventions of Cabinet selection. 2. A federal public service based on a similar parity or near-parity at the most senior levels, again on the Belgian model. 3. A reformed Senate that modified the triple-E formula with an extra or a different E, namely, equality between its Quebec and nonQuebec members, or possibly between Francophones and Anglophones according to some agreed interprovincial formula. 4. A Supreme Court based either on parity between common-law and civil-law judges, or on separate panels for common-law and civil-law cases. Even under such a parity-based system it seems probable that the provinces would seek a role in Senate and Supreme Court appointments, and even with rigorous, guaranteed dualism at the centre, the special role of the Quebec government would hardly disappear. The mere outline of this hypothetical alternative model will probably suggest by itself that it would not work in our case. It reminds us too much of the deadlocked structure that marked the last years of the Province of Canada, or of the fragility of dual institutions in Manitoba. It would doubtless intensify current Anglophone alienation, particularly in the West. In my estimation, such a system would be more than likely to antagonize both Francophones and Anglophones, and to provoke a reaction of decentralization. Even in historically centralized Belgium the rigorous legal entrenchment of dualism in the central government has not deflected the centrifugal pressures which over two decades have driven the system towards decentralization and federalism. My inference from this is that more formal power-sharing in central institutions is not a workable alternative to the type of decentralization envisaged by Meech Lake. It would mean for both groups a heavier burden, greater constraint, less freedom, and less satisfaction. I suggest that many of those who object to Meech Lake have not thought through

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the full implications of more centralized alternatives that respect dualism. In a word, if we renounce the control model and consider only the range of available consociational models, as I firmly believe we must if we wish to maintain Canada as one country rather than two, the Meech Lake Accord or something very similar to it will be seen as the best deal currently available. Further, this offer, like other things in life, may be good for a limited time only.

Postscript — June 1991 The above text was delivered at the Paltiel Conference on February 9, 1990, and it reflects the press debate and public attitudes shortly before the final rejection of the Meech Lake Accord. I have let the text stand exactly as it stood on that day, subject only to completion of a few missing dates or references and correction of a few mechanical slips. No doubt some of its points could have been stated better or more clearly — and I thank several colleagues for their help in pointing this out — but on balance I think it is better to retain the original text without changes than to rework it with the benefits of hindsight in a political climate that has changed almost beyond recognition. As events of the past sixteen months have shown, the consequences of rejection were profound, far more profound than most observers could rationally have predicted before the deadline. Yet at the moment of writing it was absolutely clear that these consequences could only be negative, and probably very negative, for Quebec-Canada relations. It has not been pleasant, over the past year, to see one's worst visions turn into even worse realities, to watch one's most vivid nightmares grow even more terrifying in the light of day. Cassandra's unhappy fate was to prophesy truly but not to be believed. The full extent of this calamity, however, has been muted and obscured by the fact that in the post-Meech trauma many Canadians have simply given up on the idea of the tolerant, pluralistic Canada that they shared a mere twelve months ago. There is a paradigm for our current situation, developed in Barbara Tuchman's brilliant study The March of Folly (1984). She defines the concept of folly crisply and rigorously: it is the irrational pursuit of policy that runs demonstrably against one's own self-interest. A further necessary condition is that a clearly stated policy alternative must be simultaneously available. One of her most telling examples is Britain's loss of the American colonies in the 1770s, when a fatal combination of aristocratic pride, inflexibility, disdain, ignorance, and incompetence overrode the advocacy of Edmund Burke and others in favour of a conciliatory course. An eerily parallel example, encountered in my own recent

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research, was Imperial Russia's slow alienation, and eventual loss, of the Grand Duchy of Finland through a similar combination of defective leadership qualities reinforced by rising Russian nationalism. This Russian case is all the more remarkable in that some Tsarist parliamentarians even cited the American case but failed to draw from it the obvious lesson that could have saved their cause. These two cases are pregnant with meaning for the current Canadian crisis, though one may add the valid comment that folly was not a total monopoly of the enemies of Meech Lake. Oddly enough, the accord was defeated almost accidentally, after a clumsy amendment procedure had come very close to success. Nevertheless, in a badly designed machine the failure of a single component can wreck the entire system. If Canada should fail to survive the next few years as a political entity, historians will seek the causes not so much in the dream of Quebec nationalism as in the failure of our collective political leadership to find a place for this nationalism within a tolerant Canada. One year after the defeat of the Accord, it may not yet be too late to abandon a course guaranteed to be fatal to Canada, but the will and capacity to do this are so far not in sight. Herein consists Canada's own peculiar contribution to the march of folly.

NOTES 1 In recent work, Lijphart uses "power-sharing" in a wider sense as synonymous with consociationalism generally (1990: 508). 2 Francophone works rejecting a centralized model of Canada are too numerous for listing here, but those who recall earlier polemics will recognize other depictions of the control model in the so-called "Quebec reserve" theory, or in Andre Laurendeau's image of le roi negre (Cook and Behiels, 1976: 178-81). 3 In this perspective, one might argue that Meech Lake falls considerably short of the "equal partnership" ideal, reflecting the practical compromise that it is. 4 I do not include here other more integrative options such as the mosaic or melting-pot or assimilative models, because I assume them to be even less acceptable to most Francophones than a control system, which after all allows some group autonomy and at least possibilities for more. 5 The idea of cabinet parity for Canada has been tentatively raised already (Covell, 1989:146). For more details on the Belgian model, see McRae, 1986.

152 DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE REFERENCES Asch, M. (1984). Home and Native Land: Aboriginal Rights and the Canadian Constitution. Toronto: Methuen. Aunger, E.A. (1981). In Search of Political Stability: A Comparative Study of New Brunswick and Northern Ireland. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press. Cannon, G. (1982). "Consociationalism versus Control: Canada as a Case Study." Western Political Quarterly 35, 50-64. Clark, L., ed. (1968). The Manitoba School Question: Majority Rule or Minority Rights'? Toronto: Copp Clark. Cook, R., and M. Behiels, eds. (1976). The Essential Laurendeau. Toronto: Copp Clark. Courchene, Thomas. (1989). "Limits will be pushed further without Meech." Financial Post, November 14, 16. Covell, M. (1989). "Ambiguous Majorities: Language Use and Political Institutions in Canada." A. Renaud, ed., Demolinguistic Trends and the Evolution of Canadian Institutions. Montreal: Association for Canadian Studies, 141-55. Lijphart, A. (1977). Democracy in Plural Societies: A Comparative Exploration. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. . (1980). "Minority Rights, Autonomy and Power-Sharing." G. Ashworth, ed., World Minorities in the Eighties. Sunbury: Quartermaine House, x-xvii. . (1990). "The Power-Sharing Approach." J.V. Montville, ed., Conflict and Peacemaking in Multiethnic Societies. Lexington and Toronto: Lexington Books, 491-509. Lustick, I. (1979). "Stability in Deeply Divided Societies: Consociationalism versus Control." World Politics 31, 325-44. McRae, K.D., ed. (1974). Consociational Democracy: Political Accommodation in Segmented Societies. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. . (1975). "The Concept of Consociational Democracy and its Application to Canada." J.G. Savard and R. Vigneault, eds., Les etats multilingues: problemes et solutions. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval, 245301. . (1983). Conflict and Compromise in Multilingual Societies. Volume 1, Switzerland. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. . (1986). Conflict and Compromise in Multilingual Societies. Volume 2, Belgium. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. . (1990). "Theories of Power-Sharing and Conflict Management." J.V. Montville, ed., Conflict and Peacemaking in Multiethnic Societies. Lexington and Toronto: Lexington Books, 93-106. Miller, J.R. (1979). Equal Rights: The Jesuits'Estates Act Controversy. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press.

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Noel, S.J.R. (1971). "Consociational Democracy and Canadian Federalism." Canadian Journal of Political Science 4, 15-18. Paltiel, K.Z. (1975). "The Israeli Coalition System." Government and Opposition 10, 397-414. Smiley, D.V. (1977). "French-English Relations in Canada and Consociational Democracy." M.J. Esman, ed., Ethnic Conflict in the Western World. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 179-203. Staples, J. (1974). "Consociationalism at Provincial Level: The Erosion of Dualism in Manitoba, 1870-1890." K.D. McRae, ed., Consociational Democracy: Political Accommodation in Segmented Societies. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 288-99. Tuchman, B.W. (1984). The March of Folly: From Troy to Vietnam. New York: Knopf.

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IV Clientelism, Patronage, and Corruption

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The Origins of Canadian Politics Gordon Stewart MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY When historians begin talking about political culture real social scientists are inclined to wince. To take a political culture approach even to modern politics is full of problems; to attempt a historical account of the evolution of a particular polity's culture is fraught with so many serious methodological questions that it seems wiser, and certainly safer, to avoid the challenge altogether. In his 1983 survey of the discipline of political science, Dennis Kavanagh, of the University of Nottingham, sets out the dilemma well. Kavanagh provides a minimalist definition of political culture, first devised by Talcott Parsons and Edward Shils in the early 1950s, and endorsed a decade later by Gabriel Almond and Sydney Verba. According to this conventional view political culture is a set of propensities or a particular pattern of orientations (Kavanagh, 1983; Parsons and Shils, 1951; Almond and Verba, 1963; Almond, 1980). But Kavanagh agrees with the criticism made in 1980 by Almond that "the consensual propensities attributable to culture . . . have led to problems and dissatisfaction." As Kavanagh notes "it is the fact that culture at some times shapes political structures, while in turn being affected by the structures, that makes it so difficult to isolate the political culture as an independent factor" (Kavanagh, 1983:74) Kavanagh's solution to this problem is an ambivalent one. On the one hand, he recommends reducing the focus of studies designed to delineate political culture and thus make any proposition susceptible to empirical testing. On the other hand, he concedes that large-scale analysis covering extended periods of time has often led to significant and lasting conceptual breakthroughs in many fields. "We must acknowledge," Kavanagh concedes, "that the sense of imagination and the speculative spirit have been crucial for the emergence of the major orienting concepts in the social sciences" (Kavanagh, 1983:200). A similar stance is taken by Michael Whittington of Carleton University in his assessment of the state of political culture studies in Canada. Whittington

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repeats the main criticism directed at political culture generalizations: that they are so inclusive that it is difficult to study them empirically. But like Kavanagh, he then admits that long-range studies are an essential element in the ongoing attempt to characterize how politics works at different times and places. In Whittington's view, "despite these very real limitations and even if we are unable to do the kind of systematic and comprehensive research that would give us a full picture of the Canadian political culture, we should continue to use the approach macroscopically, for it is an analytical tool that gives us the conceptual perspective to integrate all the partial and piecemeal research flowing from other approaches to Canadian politics" (Whittington, 1983:142) It is in this spirit that the following case about the origins of Canadian politics is made. While Kavanagh and Whittington are both addressing issues of concern to current political science and do not broach the problem of dealing with the historical development of political cultures, the concerns they raise about non-verifiable generalizations also apply to that enterprise. There is the additional danger in historical case studies that the analysis may become reductionist. Clearly the political culture of modern Canada has been moulded by many economic, institutional and social factors that were undreamt of in eighteenth-century British North America. It would be absurd to claim that a closure was put on certain options because of the nature of political life at the starting point. Nevertheless, it is reasonable to hypothesize that there may be certain characteristics of Canadian political culture that do have deep historical roots and that can be traced back to the distinctive way in which early political formation took place in Canada. The argument made in this paper is that between 1760, when Canada was conquered by Britain, and 1867, when the modern Confederation was formed, political orientations were forged that had a permanent impact on the nature of Canadian political culture. This is not to say that the major features of the contemporary political landscape in Canada can be explained as a consequence of circumstances in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, but simply that this critical formative period established a set of propensities that can still be identified as familiar features of modern Canadian political culture. The intensity and particular manifestations of these features have been comprehensively altered by the array of new forces that have had an impact on modern Canadian society and politics, but the features themselves were created in a particular set of historical circumstances. To study the origins of any phenomenon is always hazardous because the issues raised are so large and conclusions are often difficult to prove, but the exercise is invariably

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informative, as it heightens awareness of some enduring patterns in the political world in which we live today. There are three characteristics of modern Canadian political culture that I would like to single out for attention in terms of this hypothesis. The first is the strength of the executive in Canada and its provinces. Political scientists in Canada treat this almost as a commonplace truth. Ken Naegele has observed in this context that "Canadian political society has . . . stressed order, loyalty and deference to government more than popular assent. Rather than life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the need has been peace, order and good government" (Naegele, 1961; Whittington, 1983:137). The manner in which the Canadian constitution (the 1867 British North America Act) has been dealt with since its repatriation in 1982 illustrates the status of executive power in Canada. Negotiations between the Prime Minister and the provincial premiers (the "First Ministers" as the Guide to the Meech Lake Constitutional Accord calls them) have been the focus of debate and decision-making. The 1987 Meech Lake Accord is an agreement arrived at by executives. In a recent survey of Canadian opinion, Thomas Courchene, director of the School of Policy Studies at Queen's University, has pointed out that in these fundamental discussions about the future of Canada, the federal and provincial legislatures have played a small role. The Prime Minister, the cabinet and the ten provincial premiers, according to Courchene, have largely usurped Parliament's policy-making functions (Janigan, 1989:59). In the same vein, Wilson and Dwivedi (1982) have drawn attention to the size and uncontested legitimacy of the administrative state in Canada. Dwivedi points out the contrast between the United States and Canada in this respect. In the United States debate on the phenomenon of government growth and reach in society is dominated by critical or suspicious attitudes, but this is not so in Canada. "Thus while Americans have extensively debated the advent and nature of their administrative state, in contrast Canadians have been less concerned about their ubiquitous government" (Wilson and Dwivedi, 1982:4-5). The authors go on to make the broader point that Canada stands out as an exception to the general pattern of state development in nineteenth century democratic polities. Most liberal democratic governments before the Great Depression were reluctant to reach into and act upon society. To be sure, there was considerable variation in the extent to which they did reach into society, but, according to Wilson and Dwivedi, most governments hesitated before moving beyond some very limited interventions to maintain peace and order and provide minimal services to the public. Canada was an exception to this pattern. From the outset the Canadian

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government played a significant interventionist role in economic life. As Alexander Brady has phrased it, "the role of the state in the economic life of Canada is really the modern history of Canada" (Brady, [1950] 1976:28). The physical challenges facing Canada in the nineteenth century — a small, divided population with a struggling economy and a difficult geographical setting — created the environment for a positive state in an era of laissez-faire and thus made Canada quite distinct from Britain and the United States (Wilson and Dwivedi, 1982:6-7). A second characteristic of modern Canada to which I would like to draw attention is the pervasive presence of patronage. In his Spoils of Power: The Politics of Patronage (1988), Jeffrey Simpson has provided a comprehensive and illuminating overview of this feature of the Canadian political landscape. Simpson notes that "although many writers have commented on the importance of patronage to understanding Canadian political culture, curiously few have written extensively about it" (Simpson, 1988:2). Academic observers have made related points about the omnipresence of patronage. Hodgetts and Dwivedi (1974:1) remark that "governments are the largest employers of the community's labour force." Dwivedi, in his analysis of the rise of the administrative state in Canada, traces some of the contours of the system that encouraged patronage to thrive. In 1867 Canada had a population of about 4,000,000. There were five governments for this population and 3,000 jobs in the federal bureaucracy. By 1911, Canada's population of 7,000,000 was governed by ten administrations and there were 25,000 federal employees — one for every 280 Canadians. Dwivedi repeats the point that this growth can be explained in terms of the nation-building tasks assigned by politicians to the bureaucracy, but he agrees with Simpson that this setting provided a hothouse environment for the deployment of patronage. "Whatever trends towards self-aggrandisement that existed in the federal bureaucracy," he notes, "seem to be largely attributable to political interference after each election. As the Canadian Monthly of November 1876 so graphically put it: serve the party day and night, secure us an electoral triumph by fair means or foul, and you shall be quartered for life on the public treasury" (Wilson and Dwivedi, 1982:8-9). Patronage, of course, is not unique to Canada. It exists in one form or another in many societies and cultures across time and geography. Indeed, the field of studies in patronage and related phenomena, usually described as "clientelism" by specialists, is a thriving one, confirmed by that reliable marker of scholarly fashion, a special conference at the Villa Serbellini in Italy funded by the Rockefeller and Ford Foundations. S.N. Eisenstadt and Luis Roniger, both at the Hebrew University

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in Jerusalem, remind us that in recent years political clientelism has emerged as a major growth point in social science analysis. The topic was originally conceived in rather narrow terms, as a way to study political machines and boss-dominated politics in urban settings, but it has long since left that parochial perspective behind to become a major avenue of analysis into the relationship between politics and development round the world, especially in African, South American and Asian societies (Eisenstadt and Lemarchand, 1981:1, 271). Much of the recent applied literature is cited in Kettering (1988), in an article which concentrates on the role of regional notables in 17th-century France, but which also examines similar patron-client mechanisms in 19th-century Egypt. In this globe-spanning comparative setting, Canada's political patronage seems rather tame and functional. However, the point is not that Canada's political patronage deserves attention because it is "worse" than other varieties, but simply that it exists and that its origins ought to be traced by the same methods as those used by historians to examine the origins and transformation of social classes or economies or political ideologies. In the other cases discussed in Eisenstadt and Lemarchand (1981), scholars attempt to identify the conditions in the polity, whether it be Peru, Turkey, France or southern Italy, which have produced a particular variant of clientelism, patronage and other forms of brokerage relations. This feature of Canadian politics should receive similar treatment. A third characteristic of Canadian political culture to be considered is the tendency towards strong leadership. This is obviously connected with the previous two points. Although qualifications would have to be made with respect to the effectiveness of various Canadian leaders and the relationship that existed between leaders and circumstances at any given time, it is a reasonable proposition that Canadian history has been marked by a series of strong leaders. Prime ministers such as John A. Macdonald (1867-73, 1878-1891), Wilfrid Laurier (1896-1911), William Lyon Mackenzie King (1921-1930, 1935-1949), Louis St. Laurent (1948-1957), and Pierre Trudeau (1968-1979, 1980-1984) at the federal level, and dominant provincial leaders from Oliver Mowat to Maurice Duplessis suggest that this may be an aspect of Canadian political development worth assessing in terms of origins. Bearing in mind these three modern characteristics — the strength of the executive, the pervasiveness of patronage, and the tendency towards strong leadership — let us turn to the historical analysis of the origins of Canadian politics. There are three sets of scholarly literature useful for this task. The first is recent work on eighteenth-century British society and politics (Clark, 1985; Brewer, 1989; Bayly, 1989), while the

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second is political science literature on political patronage. In the latter category Martin Shefter's comparative study (1977), which advances a "critical experience" theory, is most useful when applied to the Canadian case. The third set is recent work by Canadian scholars and includes S.J.R. Noel's meticulous account (1990) of the origins and development of political patronage in Ontario between 1791 and 1896. The British literature is significant because it shows the vitality of the state in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The traditional interpretations by Canadian historians of this early period were based on the view that British metropolitan administrations and their colonial counterparts in British North America were in a moribund condition between the 1790s and the 1830s as they dug in their reactionary heels and fought off the forces of reform. Clark's case is an iconoclastic one; he asserts that our modern understanding of the eighteenth century has been distorted by the historians of the 1960s and 1970s, such as E.P. Thompson, whose preoccupation with the origins of modern social formations and values led to an under-appreciation of the strength of the Anglican, monarchical state. Like their nineteenth-century Whig predecessors, who viewed the eighteenth century as beset by old corruption before the reform era of the 1830s swept the cobwebs away, the historians of the 1960s and 1970s failed to comprehend the eighteenth century in its own terms. Clark chides other historians for ignoring "the behaviour and beliefs of the ordinary, the normal, the established." He accumulates evidence to prove the popularity of traditional values and traditional structures. He draws attention to lower-class Anglicanism and urges us to realize that the ancien regime was not on the edge of extinction. Eighteenth-century England "was Anglican, it was aristocratic, and it was monarchical." Moreover, this regime, far from losing its self-confidence in the latter part of the century, was actually solidifying its hegemony. "The ancien regime," Clark insists,"became steadily stronger in its own terms in the half century after the American revolution" (Clark, 1985:7). Clark's thesis is very much dependent on cultural evidence, and has one reviewer complaining that Clark "buries us in bishops" as he introduces an avalanche of Anglican divines to tell about their world (Black, 1988:45). But the main point made by Clark is supported by a different kind of research undertaken by John Brewer. In The Sinews of Power, Brewer uses hard-won statistical information to delineate the growth of the British fiscal-military state in the eighteenth century. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Britain was on the margins as a military power in Europe. She missed the military revolution that led to the emergence of huge armies on the continent. But after 1688 Britain's

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position was transformed until she became, by the late eighteenth century, the major military power in Europe. The periods of wars with France, beginning in 1688 and continuing through to 1783 (1689-1697, 1702-1713, 1739-1763, 1775-1783), forced Britain to develop a state apparatus to secure and disburse revenue, man and deploy Europe's largest navy and acquire and maintain colonies. The system required heavy taxation, effective central administration and a new fiscal system of debt management and regular parliamentary participation in government. It achieved legitimacy, Brewer argues, because the role of the Commons after 1688 enforced accountability on the governments of the day (Brewer, 1989:xiv-xix, 3-25). Brewer acknowledges that his view of the rise of the British state seems in conflict with the picture of eighteenth-century England as a little-governed realm when compared with the continental monarchies. But he tackles that problem by pointing out that there are two aspects to the state. In its internal manifestation the state did not grow and reach into society (except to tax), but the growth came in those agencies that looked outward to the theatres of war and the colonies. Brewer also calls on Michael Mann to help sort out this issue. In a paper on "the autonomous state," Mann has proposed a distinction between a regime strong in despotic power but weak in infrastructural power and a regime with the opposite characteristics. In the latter case the regime may well have strict limits surrounding it, but in what it is entitled to do it may be strong in infrastructural power, capable of pursuing its goals with great effect (Mann, 1986; Brewer, 1989:xix). This was the case in eighteenth-century Britain. The regime was not despotic. The crown and its ministers had to work everything through Parliament, where they frequently encountered opposition. But within those constraints Britain developed an enlarged and effective state apparatus. This scholarship on eighteenth-century Britain has important ramifications for understanding the forces at work in early Canada. The regimes set up in 1791 were miniature versions of the buoyant fiscalmilitary state that had emerged in Britain. They were not odd pieces of reactionary flotsam left on colonial shores but self-confident taxing and administering agencies deriving their authority from the most successful European state of the day. The fact that all governors down to the 1830s were military officers suggests the affinities of these local regimes to Brewer's fiscal-military state centred in London. Bayly's work sustains this view by placing institutional and political developments in the Canadas in the context of a vigorous imperial expansion from Upper Canada, to the Cape and India. "In most parts of the empire," Bayly

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points out, "the power of the colonial executive had been enhanced. Governors fortified with joint civil and military command had been raised above their quarrelsome councils . . . . A new ethos of imperial service had been created and institutions such as Haileybury College and Fort William College in Calcutta or the Anglican universities of Canada had been established to inculcate its values" (Bayly, 1989:5-6, 9, 94, 111). Martin Shefter's theory on the origins of political patronage can be usefully linked to these historical works (Shefter, 1977:403-451).1 Shefter begins by observing that theories of political patronage enjoying greatest currency are sociological in approach. An axiomatic assumption is that voters with particular social characteristics are likely to demand patronage or to be in a position where they are dependent on patronage. This supposition underpins the neo-classical theory of patronage, which holds that political parties function like companies in neo-classical economic theory: they are compelled to respond to forces in the marketplace. The demands emanating from voters or constituencies are determined by social background and cultural heritage. In this scheme of things groups predisposed to seek patronage are immigrants, displaced peasants and the poor. Middle-class and industrial working-class voters are more likely to respond to programmatic benefits. But there are problems with this classification. Shefter points out, for example, that the Italian Communist Party (PCI) in Bologna relies heavily on immigrants from the countryside yet administers Bologna with less recourse to patronage than towns run by Christian Democrats. Workers in industrial cities in late nineteenth-century Europe responded to ideological or programmatic parties while the workers in contemporary American industrial cities were mobilized by conservative patronage machines. Shefter also points out that the Democratic parties in Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota tend to be issue-oriented while Democratic parties relying on the same social base in Indiana, Ohio and Illinois tend to be job-oriented. These examples suggest that "the behaviour of political parties is not strictly determined by the composition of their popular base" (Shefter, 1977:408). These problems in the neo-classical theory are caused by the assumption that political preferences of voters exist prior to and apart from alternatives that are presented to them in the electoral arena. Shefter compares this assumption to the view in neo-classical economic theory that autonomy of preferences drives the economy. Shefter's alternative explanation of political patronage has five elements. First, "the way in which the members of a social group will react to electoral appeals of various sorts is a function of how that group was initially mobilized into the electorate" (Shefter, 1977:411). Second, "the circumstances of

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a party's origins — whether or not it enjoyed access to patronage at the time it first undertook to mobilize a popular base — can crucially influence the party's subsequent behaviour" (1977:411). Third, "parties cannot have access to patronage if the public service is protected by civil service laws. Leon Epstein argues that patronage plays a lesser role in the party politics of European nations than it does in the United States because political parties emerged in Europe after the adoption of civil service laws, while they emerged in the U.S. prior to the adoption of such laws. Therefore, politicians in Europe did not have access to patronage during the era of party building" (1977:412). Fourth, the previous point must be qualified by noting that civil service laws in themselves are not a sufficient protection against patronage — "these must be backed by a constituency that is powerful enough to prevail over competing forces." There must be what Shefter calls "a constituency for bureaucratic autonomy" (1977:412-413). The fifth element concerns leadership. "Whether a party will or will not be crucially dependent upon the distribution of patronage to maintain its hold upon its supporters is a function of how the leadership of that party initially established linkage with the popular base" (1977:414). It is not necessary to accept wholesale Shefter's argument that "the circumstances under which a party first mobilizes a mass following has enduring implications for its subsequent behaviour" (1977:417) to see how applicable it is to the Canadian case. While civil service laws began to be passed in 1870, they were not backed by an effective constituency until the early decades of the twentieth century, when the educated elite around the University of Toronto and Queen's University began to have an impact on the upper reaches of the public service. As late as 1914 George M. Wrong, head of the history department at Toronto, could write that "there is no doubt that Canada is corrupt, more corrupt I fear than any other self-governing part of the British Empire" (Wrong, 1914). Both the Conservative and the Reform parties mobilized mass support in the 1830s, 1840s and 1850s, when there was no protection for the civil service. Indeed, in both Canadas politics centred round the struggle to control patronage. Macdonald's leadership certainly set an example in this regard. He worked tirelessly to build mass support for the new Conservative party at a time when the public service was completely open to patronage. S.J.R. Noel's work on clientelism in Upper Canada and Canada West before 1867, and in Ontario down to 1896, offers an excellent opportunity to test some of these propositions empirically. Noel's thesis is that a political culture developed in this region between the 1790s and 1830s in which clientelism was a central feature. His achievement is to connect

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this phenomenon firmly to the land distribution system. The way in which land was controlled by imperial officials who served in the colonial administration, and by local notables who had access to these officials, created a context in which the ordinary population had to participate in a supplicating mode to get ahead. The system was transformed in the Union period by economic growth (in railways, canals, and commercial enterprises) into a complex world of brokerage politics. Thus, in Canada, political parties emerged in which networks of patronage and obligation were fundamental components. Noel makes insightful observations on the evolution of this system. John Sandfield Macdonald, for example, living in a world in which economic growth was not assured, judged success as keeping patronage networks intact and in fighting trim for elections. By the 1870s, with the prospect of solid demographic and economic growth, the Ontario Premier Oliver Mowat saw patronage as an instrumental part of the economic development process in the huge province (Noel, 1990). These three different literatures can now be brought to bear on general conditions during the hundred years between the British conquest of Canada in 1760 and the achievement of Confederation in 1867.2 A series of converging factors led to the emergence of strong executives in these remaining British colonies. The first point to note is that throughout the French colonial period there had been no representative institutions in Canada. The French Canadian habitants who became subjects in a British colony after 1760 had no traditions that would encourage them to challenge the power of the new British administration. This acceptance of rule from above was encouraged for the first thirty years after the conquest because the new British regime went out of its way to accommodate its Catholic subjects. Between 1760 and 1791 the colony was run by a governor and an appointed council. These traditional attitudes towards government, combined with the economic and social conditions prevailing in Quebec during much of the nineteenth century, produced a characteristic political culture in Quebec. In a recent analysis of this culture Ralph Heintzman has described it as being shaped by the "dialectic of patronage." The mass of French Canadians earned their living through agriculture. The normal route of upward mobility was through the professions rather than the world of commerce. Middle-class Quebecois entered the liberal professions of notary, priest, doctor and lawyer. They also entered politics and turned to administrations for posts and income. "By the end of the nineteenth century," writes Heintzman, "there was a widespread feeling that the political process had become, above all else, a device for exploiting the resources of government for personal advantage" (1983:16).

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The presence of loyalist settlers fleeing the revolution forced Britain to re-evaluate her Canadian policy. These English settlers were used to representative institutions and the British government assumed they had a right to them, as had the former colonies east of the Appalachians. However, the British thought that a cardinal error in their American colonies had been that the assemblies were given too much power. The 1791 Canada Act, which set up the constitutions in the two new colonies of Upper and Lower Canada, was deliberately designed to keep as much power in the hands of the governor and the appointed councils as possible. Provision was made for revenue from imperial authority to lessen potential dependence on the assembly. There was even provision for an hereditary upper house to duplicate the House of Lords in England. As Clark notes, the Canada Act was a self-conscious effort by the Pitt cabinet to put in place in North America a permanent version of the Anglican, aristocratic state. "Colonial policy," observes Clark, "could sometimes make the underlying aim of a government more explicit than could domestic policy. The Canada Act of 1791 was the answer of Pitt and Grenville not only to the American but now also to the French revolutionary constitution; it was an affirmation of their commitment to an Anglican aristocratic establishment at home . . . . It was in the debates on the Canada Act that Burke broke with Fox over events in France" (Clark, 1985:216). A telling part of British policy with respect to Canada was the passing of the Quebec Revenue Act in 1774 (14 George III, c.83) which provided revenue to the Canadian governors from an imperial statute. This act continued in force after the 1791 division into Upper and Lower Canada, and helped to pattern the conduct of governors who did not pay much attention to the assemblies. As Governor General Dalhousie remarked, as late as 1820, during the struggle between himself and the assembly over finances, "government has the purse and revenue in hand to pay its way." In the end the assemblies were able to assert their power, but it took decades of wrangling, and armed uprisings in 1837, to force attention to the issue. During the almost eighty years following the British conquest of Canada the governors and their officials had exercised executive power while paying minimal attention to the assemblies. As a result the executive acted as an administrative oligarchy. As the reformers in Lower Canada complained, officials did not regard themselves as responsible but functioned as "gens de place" — placeholders who could not be touched by the assembly. In contemporary Britain, while cabinet ministers still shared some of these characteristics, their business had to be managed by securing a majority in the Commons. The characteristic behaviour of senior officials in the Canadian colonies

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was noticed by Lord Elgin when he became Governor of the Union of the Canadas after 1848. The 1791 constitution deliberately established a system that "excluded every member of the cabinet from the legislature." In consequence, there was "little to secure the co-operation of the legislative and executive powers." Once the administrations of Upper and Lower Canada had begun to function they behaved in the same way as the metropolitan fiscal-military state described by Brewer. All governors and lieutenant-governors down to the 1830s were military officers. They undertook, especially in Upper Canada, to manage society and the economy. The biggest economic enterprise in the colonies was expenditure related to military matters. Groups of notables connected to the administration invested in road and canal building as part of a development policy tied into the imperial trading system. The entire St. Lawrence valley was an imperial road into the interior of North America. In this context Canada's development was distinct from that of the American colonies and the United States. Recent work summarized in the overview of the British Atlantic colonial economies by John McCusker and Russell Menard (1985), has emphasized the contrast between colonial economies that were driven by internal commercial growth and those which continued to depend heavily on the shipping of staples back to Britain. The local colonial administrations and those merchants and landowners with access to them were the leading players. Thus the material conditions of the Canadas reinforced the bias given to Canadian political culture by British constitutional and political policies since the Conquest. The basic question of land distribution further intensified these trends. Noel's careful analysis of the land system in Upper Canada further demonstrates how patronage worked itself into the Canadian polity. In the decades of settlement from the 1790s to the 1860s, the surveying, holding and selling of land were largely controlled by the governors, the legislative council members and the local notables who had access to the imperial administration. Because growth was connected to administrative power, the executives were able to govern with limited attention to the assemblies' battles to change things, which were centred around the control of patronage. The study of Lower Canada by Wallot and Paquet (1973) draws attention to this fundamental fact. The extensive power of the executive did lead to problems, as those who were excluded began to mount an effective opposition. This phenomenon first became apparent in Lower Canada, where the French Canadian control of the assembly enabled them to put pressure on the ruling groups from the early years of the century. In Upper Canada it took until the late 1820s for the Reformers to organize sufficient strength

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in the assembly. But this opposition was circumscribed by the circumstances of British North America. The radical option of republicanism was tainted by the neighbouring presence of an expanding and aggressive United States. Solutions had to be worked out within the British colonial setting. Reformers were fighting for access to the system, not for its destruction. This can be seen clearly in the writings of Lord Durham, who was sent over by the Whig government in London to report on conditions in the Canadas in the aftermath of the 1837 uprisings. Durham appropriated many of the ideas of local reformers, particularly those of the Baldwins. In proposing changes Durham insisted that he "would not impair a single prerogative of the crown. On the contrary I believe that the interests of the people of these colonies require the protection of prerogatives which have not hitherto been exercised." Robert Baldwin explained that he did not wish to solve Canadian problems by reducing the power of government. He wished "to see a strong Government established, not like those in neighbouring states blown about by every wind and bowing before every storm but one that anchored in the affinities of the people would be enabled to ride triumphantly over every adverse wave."3 The result of this dynamic is that Canada presents a paradigm for Shefter's critical experience explanation of patronage. Both sides viewed patronage deployment as essential to their existence. It was the instrument enabling the Tories and Conservatives to keep themselves in power before 1837, and, after 1840, to keep themselves in power in the new democratic setting. The Reformers, for their part, abandoned radical options after 1837 and fought within the system to win office and use office to distribute posts and jobs to their supporters and so finally undermine the old regime. All this was taking place at a time when the public service was not protected by a constituency interested in its efficiency for its own sake. It was also taking place at a time when the governments of the day were heavily involved in underwriting canal and railroad building. Thus patronage became pervasive and legitimate. So much so, in fact, that Macdonald could declare openly that "in the distribution of government patronage we carry out the true constitutional principle that whenever an office is vacant it belongs to the party supporting the government" (Stewart, 1986:67). Moreover, in the course of this bitter struggle, the leaders who took over from the governors during the 1840s assumed many of the Crown's prerogatives. In the fight against the radicals and reformers, governors had routinely intervened in the electoral process to shift boundaries, change polling places, interfere with voters' lists. To sustain their conservative councils in the years 1840-45, governors had allowed their council

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members to use these powers. As Louis Turcotte observed of Governor Metcalfe, the governor "descendit lui-meme dans 1'arene politique pour defendre sa conduite et gagner des partisans" (Stewart, 1986:53). During the 1841 election, Governor Sydenham had altered constituency boundaries and changed polling stations to cause difficulties for his Reform opponents. When ministers took over after 1848 they believed they had the right to use such tactics to influence elections. Macdonald did this systematically. In 1884 he referred to his manipulation of the franchise, which gave the party more influence over the voters' lists, as "the greatest triumph of my life" (Stewart, 1986:70). The nationalist historiography from the 1950s to 1970s in Canada portrayed Macdonald as a farsighted nation builder with his eyes set on the future. But, like most of us, Macdonald marched into the future with his eyes on the past. Goldwin Smith, former regius professor of history at Oxford, got it right in 1883 when he remarked of Macdonald that he was "an artificer who, in the course of a long career has acquired a thorough knowledge of all the men, interests and passions with which he has had to deal, uses that knowledge with considerable skill and shrinks from the employment of no means of influence, while, like Walpole, he remains personally pure" (quoted in Stewart, 1986:69). Smith, the intellectual outsider, had detected in the bustle of development in nineteenth-century Canada the persistence of old regime political culture. In summary, economic and demographic conditions, the constitutional setting, and the dynamics of the party struggles during the 17901867 period joined to produce a critical formative experience for political culture in Canada which led to patronage becoming entrenched as a pervasive, legitimate and familiar feature of the political landscape.

NOTES 1 The following paragraphs are a direct summary of Shefter's article. 2 The case presented in the balance of this paper is a summary of the evidence and argument in Stewart (1986). 3 The quotes from Durham and Baldwin are taken from my earlier study (1986:44).

REFERENCES Almond, Gabriel, and Sydney Verba. (1963). The Civic Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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Almond, Gabriel. (1980). "The Intellectual History of the Civic Culture Concept." G. Almond and S. Verba, eds., The Civic Culture Revisited. Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1-36. Bayly, C.A. (1989). Imperial Meridian. The British Empire and the World. New York: Longman. Black, Jeremy. (1988). "England's 'Ancien Regime'?" History Today 38 (March), 43-51. Brady, Alexander. ([1950] 1976). "The State and Economic Life in Canada." K.J. Rea and J.T. McLeod, eds., Business and Government in Canada: Selected Readings. Toronto: Methuen, 28-42. Brewer, John. (1989). The Sinews of Power. War, Money and the English State 1688-1783. New York: Knopf. Clark, J.C.D. (1985). English Society 1688-1832. Ideology, Social Structure and Political Practice during the Ancien Regime. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eisenstadt, S.N., and Rene Lemarchand, eds, (1981). Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage. Heintzman, Ralph. (1983). "The Political Culture of Quebec, 1840-1960." Canadian Journal of Political Science 16:1 (March), 3-59. Hodgetts, J.E., and O.P. Dwivedi. (1974). Provincial Governments as Employers. Montreal and Kingston: McGill and Queen's University Press. Janigan, Mary. (1989). "Shaping the Future." Maclean's, July 3, 58-59. Kavanagh, Dennis. (1983). Political Science and Political Behaviour. London: Allen and Unwin. Kettering, Sharon. (1988). "The Historical Development of Political Clientelism. " Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18:3 (Winter), 419-47. Mann, Michael. (1986). "The Autonomous Power of the State." John A. Hall, ed., States in History. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 109-36. McCusker, John, and Russell Menard. (1985). The Economy of British America, 1607-1789. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Naegele, K. (1961). "Canadian Society: Some Reflexions." B. Blishen, et al., eds., Canadian Society. Toronto: Macmillan, 1-53. Noel, S.J.R. (1990). Patrons, Clients, Brokers: Ontario Society and Politics 1791-1896. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Parsons, Talcott, and Edward Shils. (1951). Towards a General Theory of Action. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Shefter, Martin. (1977). "Party and Patronage: Germany, Italy and England." Politics and Society 7:4, 403-51. Simpson, Jeffrey. (1988). Spoils of Power: The Politics of Patronage. Toronto: Collins. Stewart, Gordon. (1986). The Origins of Canadian Politics. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Wallot, Jean-Pierre, and Gilles Paquet. (1973). Patronage et pouvoir dans le Bas Canada, 1794-1812. Montreal: Les Presses de PUniversite du Quebec.

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Whittington, Michael S. (1983). "Political Culture." J. Redekop, ed., Approaches to Canadian Politics, 2nd ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 13246. Wilson, V. Seymour, and O.P. Dwivedi. (1982). "Introduction." O.P. Dwivedi, ed., The Administrative State in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 3-15. Wrong, George M., to James Bryce. (November 26, 1914). Bryce Papers, Bodleian Library, Oxford.

The Comparative Study of Clientelism and the Realities of Patronage in Modern Societies: Israeli and Canadian Trends* Luis Roniger HEBREW UNIVERSITY OF JERUSALEM The study of patronage and clientelism — which has burgeoned in the social sciences since the late 1960s — can be considered part of a broader reaction against evolutionary assumptions about the presumed generalized move of modern society towards Western liberal forms of political development and bureaucratic-universalism. From different vantage points, these assumptions were seriously questioned by the research of scholars who analyzed the actual operation of modern institutions. Thus, over and above their concrete contribution, works by Khayyam Paltiel on the financing of modern parties and studies on political machines by J. Scott, Rene Lemarchand and Keith Legg — among others — have produced a shift of attention to the realm of interpersonal, multiplex, informal and multi-level networks for which neither the model of corporate groups nor accepted theories of institutional analysis were able to offer a convincing explanation (Weber-Pazmino, 1990). Coming closer to our topic, they opened the ground for a less generalizable and yet more realistic approach to the complex connections between patronage, political clientelism and development. The new analytical perspective was substantiated in the 1970s and 1980s by a myriad of empirical analyses and a number of theoretical works that made social scientists increasingly aware of the almost universal ubiquity of patronage and clientelism in modern societies (Lemieux, 1977; Clapham, 1982; Eisenstadt and Roniger, 1984). The proliferation and increased theoretical sophistication of studies of patronage prompted a reconceptualization of the impact and roles of such relationships in *I would like to thank Moshe Lissak, Gerald Gold, Scott Streiner, Gideon Aran, and Nachman Ben-Yehuda for their most helpful comments on various parts of an earlier version of this chapter. Some of the issues dealt with here were further elaborated in the 1990 seminar on "Selected Problems in Comparative Politics: Patronage, Clientelism and Corruption," which I conducted at the Department of Political Science of Carleton University.

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modern societies. First, they contributed to a growing awareness that clientelistic arrangements are not destined to remain on the margins of society or to disappear with the establishment of modern democratic or authoritarian regimes or with economic development. Instead, it has been found that, while specific forms of such relationships may be undermined under such conditions, new types have crystallized, in a great variety of forms, cutting across levels of economic development and types of political regimes, and seemingly performing no less important functions within the more developed modern settings. There is reason, therefore, to expect a shift towards the comparative analysis of patronage and clientelism. Second, scholars increasingly acknowledged that what pervades the diverse arrangements subsumed under the label of patronage and clientelism is a certain logic of social exchange. These arrangements share a basic set of core analytical characteristics, being built around asymmetric but mutually beneficial and open-ended transactions, predicated on the differential control by social actors over the access to and the flow of resources in stratified societies, and producing in some cases a social order of their own (see e.g., Lemieux, 1977 and 1987; Graziano, 1976 and 1983; Eisenstadt and Roniger, 1980; Lemarchand, 1981; Roniger, 1987). Basically, clientelism creates an inherently contradictory situation, in which asymmetrical power and/or inequality are combined with solidarity; potential and/or actual coercion coexist with an ideological emphasis on the voluntary character of the attachment; its structure of limiting payoffs can only be maintained by making payoffs; the covered, informal and non-legal character of such bonds is used to project public claims over goods and services and to bolster and propagate public images of power and reputation; and the existence of arrangements is accompanied by perpetual contest, resource manipulation and instability (Roniger, 1990:6). Whereas in antiquity patronage formed part of the mos maiorum and could hardly be thought of as conflicting with legal institutions (Wallace-Hadrill, 1989:5-6), in modern societies it is in fact built around such a conflict. For while in principle and by law, the patronized partners (the so-called "clients") have access to power centres and the ability to convert resources autonomously, they do not realize this potential because it is neutralized by patron and patron-broker control of avenues to resource conversion and access to political centres. Yet, as in antiquity, in many modern societies the state can hardly be envisaged running smoothly without the operation of patronage in areas as varied as electoral politics, procedural administration and access to governmental contracts and economic ventures.

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Third, while early studies concentrated mostly on the organizational variability of patron-client relations, more recent work has contributed to the parallel appreciation of the fact that, while clientelistic phenomena are almost universally present, societies vary with respect to the comparative institutional significance and impact of these relations. In some cases, notably those of Mediterranean, Latin American and Southeast Asian societies, patron-client relations have permeated their central institutional core for long periods, shaping interpersonal and organizational exchanges and the flow and conversion of resources. By contrast, in many other settings of the world, such relations — while in existence — have become an addendum to the central institutional modes of organization, interaction and exchange; they have lost most of their diffuse and hierarchical overtones, while still being forms of particularistic preferment and regulation of access to power, decision-making and markets. As a result of these analytical shifts, the study of patronage in societies like Canada and Israel, which have prevented patron-client relations from becoming their central institutional core but have still retained patronage traits, becomes highly important from a comparative analytical perspective. Such a study sheds light on the potentialities and limits of bureaucratic-universalism in democratic societies. Moreover, it reveals the flexible nature of patronage in accommodating change and traces its persistent, yet variable, impact on the development of modern polities.

Comparing Canada and Israel Despite differences in size and location, Canada and Israel share a series of institutional traits that warrant such comparative endeavour. Both are, to follow Louis Hartz's expression (Hartz, 1964), "new nations": that is to say, nations that developed out of European overseas expansion, and in the latter case, from the reformulation of Jewish life and traditions within the framework of modern processes of migration, secularization, emergence of nationalities and formation of nation-states. Both nations have endowed their respective centres with major roles in controlling the contours and promoting the development of their societies and economies, albeit under different foundations. Israeli pioneer settlers arrived in the "Promised Land" guided by an ideology of creating a secular national centre through the construction of a productive, progressive and secular society alongside the local Arab society, and soon developed central political frameworks and ground rules for decision-making and procedural arrangements which were instrumental in the struggle for independence and in the development of an autonomous polity in Israel. By contrast, Canada developed without a

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shared founding myth; the country took shape as English- and Frenchspeaking Canadians tried to preserve their cultures by reacting against the late eighteenth-century liberal revolutions of France and America, and developing as they did so rather different conceptions of nationhood (Gold, 1989). But here too political and social visions, together with the geographical extent and the weak population base of the country favoured a strong governmental involvement in the control and development of the country; the provision of infrastructure and services will serve as an example. Thus, under different circumstances, the polity became in both cases a major focus for contest over access to power, markets, and the allocation of resources in society. In addition, both Israel and Canada are countries of immigration that have strong ethnic, and in the case of Canada, regional identities, and have been accordingly "group-attribute conscious," as Seymour M. Lipset has emphasized for Canada in his comparative analysis of that country with the U.S. (1987). Both Israel and Canada developed settler ideologies which were antithetical to those held by competing settler and native populations. Finally, both countries have incorporated similar forms of liberal procedural democracy as their basic form of government and administration. Both of them have recognized the institutionalized competition for power — that originally included the use of patronage — while eventually promoting more open forms of participation and access to power and resources. Taken together, the above factors imply that in both societies power and the contest for access to power (primarily, but not only, at the apex of the political system) were highly cherished for long periods as focuses of resource control and upward mobility. Against a background of high differentiation and stratification, patronage could be expected to occur widely. Finally, due to the regime format of liberal democracy and universalization of basic services and conceptions of citizenship rights, patronage could be increasingly constrained and attacked by forces hoping to increase their autonomy and identifying patronage with corruption, albeit often conceding in practice that it could be inherent in what Eva Etzioni-Halevy (1989) has characterized as the demo-elite disaggregation of power typical of any liberal democracy. It is my aim to begin here a comparative analysis of patronage in Canada and Israel. In what follows, I turn to the Israeli case and subsequently to the Canadian. While I shall focus analysis on a single social phenomenon, thus running the risk of overemphasizing the subject under study (Sailer, 1982:6), I shall discuss the broader context and changing

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nature of patronage, in an attempt to present a balanced view of the institutional impact of patronage in both societies.1

The Configuration of the Israeli Polity The Israeli polity developed out of the political system of the Jewish community of Palestine, in what was a process of formation of a nonsovereign and relatively pluralistic political centre (a "state in the making" was the Hebrew phrase used later to describe it). Gradually, this centre increased its authority through the exercise of control over the mobilization and distribution of resources. A power-oriented elite, albeit divided internally and ideologically split, was nonetheless overwhelmingly committed to the institutionalization of a modern Jewish national centre in the historical homeland. By mobilizing human and material resources among Jewish Zionist sectors throughout the Diaspora, and later on in Palestine as well, it established itself as the focus of their allocation and conversion within the Jewish community of Mandatory Palestine (1918-1948). The viability of this centre was further enhanced by its non-extractive character and by its long-term collectivistic orientation to the construction of a Jewish egalitarian and communal society. The self-confidence and collective commitment of elites came to be paralleled by the willingness of various particularistic but ideological sub centres to struggle among themselves within a common framework of reference and quasi-parliamentary participation (Eisenstadt, 1967; Horowitz and Lissak, 1980 and 1985).

Contradictory Institutional Trends The convergence of individual efforts and collective projects was highly consequential for institutional building. The period between the 1880s and the late 1940s was a period of great collective achievements, characterized by crystallization of a variety of new social and cultural structures. To cite but a few examples: collective models of farming settlements were created (the kibbutzim and the moshavim); workers became unionized within the corporatist framework of the Histadrut; the Hebrew language was transformed, after two millennia, from being a liturgical tongue into a living means of communication and cultural creativity. This process of institutional building was not without contradictions, several of which deserve attention here. First, the process of institutionalization reinforced the ties of the local community with the communities

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of the Diaspora, despite the fact that the Zionist endeavour was symbolically conceived as a revolutionary negation of this same Diasporic Jewish reality. Second, while it helped to model the autonomous character of Israeli society, this process of institutional building did not encourage the formation of a syncretic Arab-Jewish collective entity, but was built on the continued recognition of Jewish bonds and value systems. Third, a built-in contradiction developed between the highly ideological and collectivistic perspectives typical of political elites, on the one hand and, on the other, their proclaimed adherence to core values of equality and a conception of universal rights and safeguards of liberties, justice, law, and social order, all these being confined within the boundaries of the Jewish collective. The latter core values had institutional implications that were somehow opposed. The ideological and future-oriented drives of elites led to the crystallization of a pattern of political configuration built on disputes, splintering of groups and (looking at the positive side) creativity, competition and projection of collective commitments. Numerous groups developed their own organizational frameworks; for instance, three or four movements of kibbutzim were established, and various left-wing, religious and right-wing (revisionist) labour and civilian organizations were created. Often these various groups struggled fiercely with one another, as during the struggle for independence in the 1940s, when one major and two minor Jewish underground military organizations maintained feeble connections and sometimes even adopted opposed policies towards the British Mandatory forces of occupation and the Arabs. These centrifugal tendencies were mitigated by the elites' endorsement of equality and universal rights, accorded in principle to all the Jewish population of Israel, veterans and newcomers alike. This orientation led the elites to emphasize social mobility and development, to incorporate the waves of new immigrants, and to maintain "open" social structures. This eventually allowed the entrenchment of expectations of equal rights, open access to power, and equal (though impersonal) treatment of all Jewish inhabitants by the administrative echelons of the community. Sociologists Elihu Katz and Brenda Danet observed years ago (1966) that immigrants learnt rather quickly such attitudes as "having the right" to demand a wide access to resources. This bundle of contradictory, centrifugal and centripetal orientations was handled structurally by the above-mentioned federative frameworks of the Jewish National Institutions, within which the various movements and autonomous sectors participated. This structure can be best characterized as an approximation to a consociational model (see Eisenstadt

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and Roniger, 1984:195-96). In such a model — prevalent in the twentieth century in the Netherlands, Switzerland and Austria, as in the Jewish community of Palestine under the British Mandate — basic entitlements such as citizenship and the rights and duties entailed therein are vested according to universalistic criteria in all the members of the broader collectivity. At the same time, access to the major centres of power as well as to many public goods and publicly distributed private goods is mediated to a large degree by representatives of the major segments, be they religious groups, political parties, linguistic communities, local units, etc. Within such units, however, access to power tends to remain open to everyone on a universalistic basis. In the case of Mandatory Palestine, the segments themselves were brought within common universalistic frameworks, such as the World Zionist Organization, the Jewish Agency, and the National Council of the Jews in Palestine, through which most of the resources were allocated to the different segments. They also served as the representative body of the local community in its dealings with the Jewish communities of the Diaspora and the Arab and British sectors of local society. The different social-ideological segments — and especially the hegemonic Mapai segment — controlled a wide range of resources, from housing to health services, which they provided to those sectors related to them through their own organizations. Thus, from the 1920s to the 1940s, separate organizations were created by the different segments for agricultural settlement as well as for credit, financing and marketing. In addition to their specific tasks, these organizations constituted major sources of public employment, often earmarked for supporters of the various political parties in proportion to the latter's relative strength in the population. In turn, the control of administrative positions allowed a manipulation of resources to meet the particular demands of sectors related to the specific movement represented. In return, the different movements expected a far-reaching commitment on the part of their constituencies. In principle, people were motivated and expected not only to take part in political work during elections but also to engage in organizational and educational activities and even to undertake volunteer duties such as a clandestine or (as in World War II) legalized military service, or to join a kibbutz. Some of these expectations were more comprehensive in the Labour-related movements than in the right-wing circles. In both, however, there was a strong emphasis on mobilization which cannot merely be explained as a function of the political manipulation of material resources. At the same time, relatively wide markets developed, especially economic markets. Access to them was, in principle, open to all members

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of society and the specific exchanges in them were not conditioned by membership in any of the sectoral organizations. Similarly, the major political frameworks of the Jewish community were legitimized in universalistic terms, and access to them was in principle open to all the Jewish inhabitants. To sum up, both patronage and universalistic principles were accommodated within the consociational frameworks of the local Jewish community and the Zionist movement. While opposed on a value level, such opposition appeared to be unproblematic as long as practical considerations were attached to the attainment of collective objectives, for example, the development of a strong infrastructure and the achievement of political independence. Practical and undoctrinaire flexibility was considered necessary to the achievement of these collective objectives. In this connection, the explicit regulation of public expenses and the respect for universalistic procedures were deemed of secondary import. Moreover, by remaining oriented to the attainment of such collective aims, the various ideological segments retained long-term commitments and non-selfish orientations both among their followers and in their administrations. The sectoral and particularistic use of human and material resources became subsumed as an unproblematic aspect and a rather minor issue in the political and administrative agenda of those days. Similarly, the proportions of individual corruption were minimized during this period. Yet the contrasting implications of a particularistic use of public resources and of bureaucratic-universalism became evident in the period following independence from British rule.

Political "Fiefs" and Clientelistic Traits in Israeli Independent Polity and Public Administration The establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 and the great influx of immigrants — particularly, though not exclusively, from Asia and Africa — generated transformations in the political structure. Specifically, a double tendency emerged. On the one hand, strong universalistic frameworks were established for the provision of resources. The pluralism of pre-independence days weakened as services were unified under the aegis of the state administration. The whole format of relations between state and society changed as many inhabitants (particularly the new immigrants and the younger generation, but also the older members of the various segments) were transformed from members of relatively independent movements, with separate access to power and resources, into independent citizens of a unitary state.

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On the other hand, the earlier consociational arrangements were transformed into more "feudal" and blatantly clientelistic arrangements. The federative structure of multiple proportional representation was carried over from the old days, and was even further strengthened due to the fragmentary character of coalition-based politics. Thus, many of the resources of the State and the Jewish Agency (and even the immigrants themselves) were allocated on a federative basis among the major political groups and parties. Similarly, the different ministries were divided between the parties in accordance with coalitional criteria. The ministries thus assigned came to be identified as the traditional "fiefs" of a given political party. The distribution of resources was manipulated in a way that often took on political connotations. Jobs in the public administration and in organizations related to it were used as pay-offs to political activists as they had been in the previous period, while the pool of jobs available for that purpose was enlarged by the expansion of the state machinery. Potentially, far-reaching clientelistic traits could develop, principally within the ruling coalition (formed by Labour and the religious parties) but also, to some degree, among the political opposition (of "bourgeois" and Herut parties). By controlling certain ministries, ruling parties could use authority and the resources vested in the former to widen political influence, especially among the huge mass of immigrants who arrived in the late 1940s and early 1950s. In particular, housing facilities and employment opportunities could be distributed in return for political loyalty. The importance of such resources was especially crucial during those years, as the public sector maintained a dominant economic profile and large sectors of the population depended directly or indirectly on governmental and public agencies for basic means of livelihood (EtzioniHalevy, 1975:360-62). All these trends allowed a very strong clientelistic dimension to be added to the workings of the political and administrative systems. The full institutional implications of such trends were not realized, however, as they were opposed by countervailing social forces which appealed to the more universalistic components and premises of the State.

Countervailing Tendencies and Social Forces The central leadership of the ruling parties, and in particular David Ben Gurion and his close associates, while wishing to hold power, endorsed the basic universalistic and statist premises of national renewal and moved to weaken the various sectarian tendencies and fractions in their own parties. In order to institutionalize central state power, they

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moved to curtail the separate access of these sectors to the centres of power and of control of resources. Consequently, the state organs increasingly gained professional autonomy, developing more universalistic rules and orientations. In the civil service, for example, regulations were introduced to advertise vacant positions, and disciplinary tribunals were created three years after the establishment of the state (Reuveni, 1974:ch. 11). In addition, widespread administrative services were established which followed open, universalistic criteria of accessibility. In housing, for example, detailed criteria were introduced for determining the right to obtain housing or a government loan towards a purchase in the free market. Similarly, changes were effected in the channels of resource allocation. Thus, in 1954, an administrative organ was created — Hamosad Lebituach Leumi or the Bureau of National Insurance — and made responsible for disbursing most state welfare allocations according to clearcut, general criteria, in complete dissociation from political manipulation and partisan gains. The institutionalization of these criteria was also evident in the increased use of ombudsmen. In most parts of the world, such positions have usually been created for the purpose of righting individual wrongs, humanizing administrative relations, lessening alienation, bringing about administrative reform, serving as watchdogs against administrative abuse and bolstering the morale of officials when they are right. In Israel, the office of National Ombudsman was instituted in 1972; ombudsmen roles were created in municipalities, universities, the army, and the police and prison system; executive ombudsmen appeared in various ministries charged with the supervision of routine procedural handling of complaints from the public at large (Caiden, 1980; Ramon, 1985). National tribunals of inquiry have also been instituted since the 1970s whenever crucial public interests seem to have been negatively affected. This process of institutionalizing universalistic criteria was an uneven one; it was applied first in the area of welfare services and only later on (and not completely) in ministries dealing with economic development, such as the Ministry of Commerce and Industry, where the intermingling of national growth objectives with particularistic, political considerations remained paramount until the late 1960s and early 1970s, and indeed could still be found in the 1980s. Moreover, clientelistic intercessions and the use of patronage still developed in the area of contacts with the public bureaucracy. Among some groups, such as the Arabs, these connections were traditionally mediated by patron-brokers (i.e., sheikhs, zu'ama), whose local positions of power were therefore strengthened by their preferential access to the

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public administration and the political parties. Among the public in general, an image of the bureaucrat crystallized in the 1960s as "a figure of fun, demoralized by hostile criticism, hard pressed, overstrained and underpaid. He lacks incentives for better work performance and is seemingly unaware of the concept of service. Many have been thrust into positions beyond their abilities" (Caiden, 1970:39). These images and the system of life-long tenure led to a widespread feeling among the public that "protekzia," or brokerage, was the path that must be followed in the process of dealing with public offices, if one wanted to save time and avoid long queues and unsympathetic civil servants (Nachmias and Rosenbloom, 1978), "Protekzia" thus became one of the major "golden calves" of shrewd, practical, common-sense know-how in Israel, cherished by most of the population, and reportedly used by a considerable minority and by most of those claiming to have "access" to the bureaucracy (Danet and Hartman, 1972; Danet, 1989). In such ways, clientelistic intercessions developed in Israel, as in many other modern democracies. What is particularly significant, however, is that these intercessions were increasingly dissociated from the activities of political parties. This dissociation was also, in a sense, a dissociation from long-term ideological commitments, and signified the introduction of a short-term perspective into particularistic exchanges (Azmon, 1981). Accordingly, one of the major developments of the 1970s and 1980s was the progressive identification of various clientelistic practices as "corrupt," as a result of which they lost their legitimation in Israeli society. They came to imply a personal decision, either deplored and punishable or praised but concealed, depending on the variable extent of public trust or cynicism in different sectors of the population. This transformation of symbolic meanings, which were more fully voiced by political opposition forces and the press, probably took place between the early and mid-1970s.2 Nevertheless, other forms of patronage, typical of any democratic polity, continued to exist. At the local level in particular (but not exclusively), commitments were still developed on the part of brokers with the goal of reaping social visibility and prestige or promoting public images of social leverage and trustworthiness among wide followings; and, on the part of clients and lesser brokers, with the aim of demonstrating the possession of valuable contacts and enjoying the reflection of some patron's social and political visibility. Nonetheless, in the long term, the use of such commitments as means for patronage and intercession was weakened by structural developments such as the widening of the labour market and the government's full employment policies, and especially by the fuller incorporation of many of the new immigrant groups into Israeli

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society and their consequent demand for access to political power, first at the local level and later on at the national level. This process of growing incorporation and the autonomous stand of social forces that were once peripheral to the political arena led to the gradual electoral weakening of the Labour-led coalitions and the concomitant growth in power of the opposition Likud forces. Ultimately, the latter won the 1977 elections, and has stayed in power since then, either alone or as a major coalition partner. The rise of the Likud to state power occurred because the Labour parties could no longer exert either ideological or clientelistic appeal among broad sectors of the population, especially among the urban population and the Jewish sectors of Asian-African background. This electorate's susceptibility was focused on issues such as the old leadership's incompetence in the first stages of the 1973 war, but also on allegations of corruption. However, dissatisfaction actually had deeper roots in the revolt of parts of oriental Jewry against the patronizing arrogance and discrimination that were, they felt, displayed towards them by Labour leaders and the "establishment" that had ruled the country for four decades (Cohen, 1983). Seen in terms of this analysis, the rise of the Likud to power, achieved by way of a revolt against the supposedly corrupt practices of the Labourled coalition, and the very democratic turnover of power between forces that were strongly opposed ideologically, contributed momentarily to the further institutionalization of the universalistic component in the Israeli polity. However, they did not eliminate large numbers of clientelistic networks — old and new — and the use of patronage, fostered during the seven years of Likud rule, the subsequent period of Likud-Labour shared government and, even more blatantly, during the negotiations leading to the establishment of a Likud coalition government in 1990. These networks and practices were promoted first by the Likud coalition, interested as it was in nominating political activists to managerial positions in governmental, quasi-public and municipal organizations, and secondly by the Labour party, willing to reorganize local power situations in order to regain a hold on government. Relations were mainly established at the level of central activists; insofar as the broader public was concerned, national politics retained for a decade an ideological tone. Even the policies of supportive development of the stock market, of monetary liberalization and widespread import of consumption goods, introduced by the Likud in the early 1980s, were categorically broad and not based upon particularistic and restrictive manipulation. These policies generated a widespread ethos of easy enrichment (which ultimately came to a halt with the collapse of the stock market, and the reversal of inflationary economic policies). This has a bearing on the fact that

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there was a heightened disclosure of corrupt practices by authorities, the police, and the press, joined by some members of the Knesset, and the legal system, which insisted on upholding the universalistic premises of the polity. In turn, however, the heightened disclosure of such acts, along with the entrenchment of individualistic perspectives amongst the population, has paradoxically led people to maintain (despite evidence to the contrary) that nothing has changed and that many projects may be doomed to failure if they are not advanced through the informal clientelistic means of overcoming bureaucratic procedures and universalistic regulations. The recent negotiations for a coalition have heightened still further the political cynicism among the Israeli population.

The Canadian Polity and Patronage From the seventeenth century to the early twentieth century patronage was used unapologetically in Canada for building and rewarding political networks, for advancing personal interests, as well as for promoting unification around the state and pluralistic accommodation: Patronage provided a mirror the party in power could hold up for the whole country, beckoning individuals, groups and regions to see some of their own reflected in it and be reassured or dismayed, depending upon the effectiveness of patronage, about the accuracy of the party's claim to represent the whole damnable complexity of Canada. (Simpson, 1988:19)

The contours of New France were shaped by patronage and personal favouritism in the grant of trade monopolies and regulation of power. Although these were designed to follow a statist development-minded policy, there was a lack of differentiation between the Crown's interests and the private interests of its officials and representatives (Dube, 1984; Kettering, 1986:189-203). At this stage patronage had already become connected with the manipulation and struggle over resources derived from control of access to government positions and prerogatives. After the British conquest, similar patterns of control of economic and political markets were maintained. British governors possessed wide discretionary powers which they used to confer preferential treatment and favours on powerful local figures who, in turn, developed clienteles of civil servants through the appointment of clients to government jobs and positions of control over the distribution of supplies. The so-called "Family Compact" of Upper Canada, the "Chateau Clique" of Lower Canada, and the "Council of Twelve" in Nova Scotia are among the best known of such networks.

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By the 1780s — and thereafter, in some regions, well into the 1830s — a call for reform, both political and economic, was issued to lessen the hold of such cliques over power and land grants for colonization. The male franchise of 1791 shifted power to the constituencies. Yet the movement for responsible government was largely a struggle led by local elected representatives, aimed at extracting power from the Britishappointed Lieutenants-Governor and their appointed councils, and to wrest sources of patronage from them. In the framework of Canada's early democratization (as compared with that of Britain) and localization of politics, patronage was used to attract support for parties (Smith, 1987:42-43). It was under Sir John A. Macdonald — and after him under Sir Wilfrid Laurier — that personal patronage and pork-barrelling became major means for integrating within national parties local notables and, through them, widely scattered and heterogeneous constituencies. Due to the character of the political game, which put a premium on winning single-member constituencies and gaining single-party control of the legislature and ministries, these parties did not seek to become representatives primarily of a specific religious denomination, or linguisticcultural group (McRae, 1974). A full development of a consociational system was therefore avoided, despite the persistence of regionalist forces and blocks. During this stage, which came to an end with the reforms of the period following World War I, the civil service was used as a fief by the party in power to appoint party supporters to government positions (Stewart, 1980). Nominations were given to provincial party leaders and power-brokers, and contests for these positions took place at all levels of the political hierarchy. Macdonald claimed publicly that only supporters of government had the right to government positions. This could even be justified from the vantage point of a responsible administration charged with the effective implementation of certain policies, including the integration of new immigrants into public life. Patronage was therefore deeply entrenched and connected with the party system and the control over the reins of state power before the creation of universal electorates (property and gender qualifications were abolished in the early 1920s). Nonetheless, the use of patronage involved centrifugal tendencies connected with centre-periphery tensions. First and foremost, it was resented by those who felt excluded and considered that the system tended to favour central Canada's bourgeoisie at the expense of farmers and workers and the western and maritime hinterlands (Whitaker, 1987:60). Accordingly, a series of protest movements emerged — the Progressives, the United Farmers of Alberta, Social Credit, the Non-Partisan League, the Farmer-Labour Party — all claiming they would eradicate patronage

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and corruption. They gathered momentum against the background of state inefficiency, contract favouritism and profiteering scandals during World War I. Such protest was directed against the party system of the post-Confederation era, and favoured a programmatic redefinition of the national agenda towards greater redistribution. There were also long-term developments that undermined the hold of patronage and favoured bureaucratic-universalism. Here, as in the Israeli case, the inefficiencies and partisanship associated with the use of patronage increasingly came under open attack, mainly in the wake of such long-term developments as the enlargement of free markets in general and the labour market in particular, the fuller incorporation of inhabitants through better education and communications, and the desire of businessmen and capitalist forces for greater consistency and reliability in dealing with administrative regulations. Even so, under the Liberal governments of Mackenzie King and St. Laurent patronage continued to be used in dealing with provincial brokers, although measures were adopted with a view to professionalizing the civil service. The civil service gained autonomy through the establishment of merit principles after 1918. Social welfare criteria were codified and universalized. The civil service reform meant that the educated middle classes benefited at the expense of the less educated. In the short term, French Canadians were adversely affected. From the 1920s to the 1930s MPs from the more traditional areas tried to oppose the use of merit principles by the Civil Service Commission. But by the 1940s they had to recognize their defeat, and the image of the expert "mandarinate" of senior public servants became widely accepted and tested through World War II. When the second post-war wave of immigration arrived in Canada, conceptions of universal rights and safeguards of liberties, justice, law and social order were entrenched as basic tenets of Canadian society. Accordingly, the provision of services was already universalized and bureaucratized, and therefore out of the reach of politicians. The immigrants were far better educated and much less malleable than those of the period preceding World War I. And last but not least, the bureaucracy increasingly opposed political controls. Eventually, under Lester Pearson, and especially with Pierre Trudeau's rise to power, attitudes toward patronage became very negative. The major catalyst of this outlook was the federal Liberal Party leadership's intellectual distaste for patronage, which was considered to be ideologically incompatible with modern government. Trudeau attempted to promote "participatory democracy," i.e., public involvement in policy development. There was, however, an apparent contradiction in his behaviour. On the one hand, he naturally failed to do away with party

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allegiances, networking and exchange on an organizational level, and he himself continued to practice patronage both through personal appointments and by complying with the pressures of Liberal committees and politicians.3 Yet, on the other hand, he succeeded — at the value level — in generating less tolerance for such practices, often identified with alleged corruption and, accordingly, tainted with opprobrium. Bureaucratization also took place at the level of the provinces, partly in connection with, and partly in opposition to, federal expansion. Of particular interest is the case of Quebec, where society was modernized under bureaucratic impulses during the Quiet Revolution of the early 1960s. During this period many welfare functions — from education to social security — were taken out of the hands of the church and transferred to the control of the state. More recently, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms has allowed people to press their claims through the court system instead of through lobbying and party influences. Important reforms in party financing took place under Trudeau (such as the 1974 Elections Act), and these lessened the link between contributions and political influence and made parties less dependent upon large contributors, corporate and individual. Factors such as improved communications, better education, the decline of partisan journalism, and the impersonality of urbanized life and the electronic media, helped to strengthen further the growing incorporation and autonomization of different sectors and regions and their consequent active struggle and demand for access to political power and decision-making, to a degree that might ultimately cause the country to break apart over constitutional disagreements. A force working in the opposite direction has been the expansion of the federal government. Starting under Pearson and continuing under Trudeau, the size and complexity of public federal expenditure grew, and expectations about the use of patronage to reward the faithful still existed. Struggles were waged within organizations and among party cliques over the reception of patronage. Moreover, patronage could still be used to ensure the success of policies; for example, to promote the francophone presence in the federal government and thus strengthen national integration. Patronage in appointments, huge federal spending in Quebec, and Liberal control of the province went together, and even after the Parti Quebecois electoral victory in 1976, the federal government still retained a high profile in the province, especially since private investment declined markedly after the election of the independantisies. The allocation of consulting and performing contracts for public works continued, as well as legal contracts, judicial and order-in-council appointments and placements in Crown corporations, boards, agencies and commissions.4

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From the mid-1960s to the present, the declining trust of the Canadian electorate in politicians and institutions such as Parliament and political parties has been confirmed by numerous public opinion polls. This diminishing confidence in some of the major institutional mechanisms of procedural democracy should be interpreted against a background of changing forms of participation and alteration of patronage bases, emphasized by S.J.R. Noel, among others. In the old days, the party elite got patronage (senatorships, judgeships, presidencies of Crown agencies) and the rank and file received minor posts in the administration. As much of the lower-rank patronage was eliminated by the increased bureaucratization and standardization of regulations and procedures, patronage became in fact, to some extent, an intra-class (mainly elitist) phenomenon. Indeed, the number of major positions open to particularistic preferment was expanded in boards, agencies and commissions, and in embassies abroad, and in substantial contracts with advertising agencies, polling firms and advertising companies were awarded for political reasons. Outside of certain regions such as Atlantic Canada, patronage could be portrayed by those opposed to it — or excluded from its benefits — as a load imposed on the workings of a bureaucratic-universalistic state by a narrowly based and venal section of society. Here too, as in the Israeli case, governmental spending and access to services came to be perceived by recipients as rights of citizenship and political expectations were raised concerning the public behaviour of national leaders. The government, for its part, had to become increasingly attentive to public opinion and issue-oriented demands. As in the past, patronage can still be a means to reward financial electoral support with privileged access to cabinet members, though the need for such payoffs has lessened somewhat as campaigns have become publicly financed and contributions opened to public scrutiny. Of course, regional variations have remained, partly due to the structural configuration of the regions and partly due to the political culture and norms that have crystallized in the various provinces. An acute analyst of Canadian patronage, Jeffrey Simpson, has characterized these differences as follows: "The further west one moves in Canada, the less prevalent patronage becomes and the less tolerant provincial electorates are of its manifestations . . . [Yet Quebec] has grown increasingly intolerant of patronage in the last decade or so, whereas Alberta and Saskatchewan have brought back certain forms with a vengeance" (Simpson, 1988:11). The crucial factor at work here seems to be the profile displayed by government agencies and decisions in shaping the livelihood of the population. As long as the state retains a high profile in

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less-advanced regions, the importance of patron-brokers is retained, especially for the purpose of dealing with the administration and opting for developmental schemes. Even in such regions, however, universalistic regulations are in effect, and therefore the provision of services is no longer dependent upon political preferences and loyalties. Nevertheless, in Atlantic Canada in general and Nova Scotia in particular, patronage is supported and expected by the population, either on an individual or a pork-barrelling scale (Fletcher, 1990). Patronage became a major issue during the 1984 electoral campaign which brought the Conservatives to power. Brian Mulroney successfully equated with corruption the numerous order-in-council appointments by former Prime Minister Trudeau and his last-minute high-level patronage nominations (in the Senate, the judiciary, and government boards), which were sanctioned by his successor John Turner. The Liberal party became perceived, like the Israeli Labour Party, as unconcerned with the national interest and, moreover, as arrogant and corrupt. Nonetheless, once in power, Mulroney (like Trudeau before him) turned back to patronage as a procedure for filling vacant governmental positions — especially Senate seats and judicial and diplomatic positions — although he resisted (under public pressure) the temptation to reshape the civil service in a Conservative mould, except for the diplomatic service.5 Still, a cumulative impression was created that the same old favouritism persisted, breeding cynicism in the public. To sum up, major changes have occurred in the public perception of patronage; the practice is nowadays concealed as if it were corruption, notwithstanding the fact that even the most meritocratic polity would still have to rely on it for establishing personal trustworthiness and thereby reinforcing, in the long term, public reliability. Still, among party activists the anticipation of a favour is an important element in maintaining a commitment. Therefore, once in power Liberal Prime Ministers as well as the subsequent Conservative governments could not resist demands for rewards from party members. Patronage could still be a means of discipline within parties, of co-optation of the disaffected and punishment of disloyal activists, and an integrating force for national accommodation. But as its image changed, patronage became a poor tool for gaining public support and recognition outside the parties.

Israeli and Canadian Clues to the Transformations of Modern Patronage The most general conclusion to be drawn from the above analyses seems to be that, due to its contradictory nature, the hold of patronage in both modern Israel and Canada has diminished. In terms of functions,

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its manifest functions (the exchange of benefits) have taken precedence over its more latent functions, such as helping to shape institutional ground rules and social expectations. In terms of its operation, it has largely disappeared from the setup of public goods and services and the modes of their administrative distribution (this does not mean that society necessarily becomes more egalitarian); it is used less to restrict and manipulate political rights and votes; it is less effective than in earlier times in controlling access to basic means of production and economic markets; yet it is still of value in shaping differential access to the public distribution of private goods (e.g., tendering, or jobs in the upper echelons of the bureaucracy and in semi-public agencies). In terms of political strategy, it has been affected by countervailing forces which condemned it, although once in power they themselves made use of it. Interestingly enough, these attacks proliferated as both the Canadian political system — due to its single-party control of the polity — and the Israeli system — due to the long dominant position of the Labour party — generated the recurrent emergence of "externallymobilized" parties (the terminology is that of Shefter, in his 1977 work on the decline of patronage in Western polities). These organizations, unlike the party in power, lacked control over state resources and therefore moved political discourse to ideological lines. It cannot, however, be emphasized enough that these same political forces (the Likud in Israel, the Conservatives in Canada) made use of patronage once they were in power, since it remained a most effective means not only of manipulating resources but also of building political power and controlling reliability while in office. Moreover, the present study indicates — in contradiction to some truisms in the literature — that patronage can be underpinned by ideology to no less a degree than the opposition to it. The Israeli situation and the Quebec case in Canada seem to imply that when the use of patronage remains connected with long-term collective objectives and images — for example, in the name of national institutional development or the affirmative expression of some region or sector of society over others — patronage will be maintained and will be less adversely affected as a general phenomenon of society and politics, even when far-reaching concrete changes are implemented as a result of political upheaval (as in Israel in the 1970s). Secondly, since political struggle is essential to modern democracies, it is not unusual that a tactic becomes interpreted as a strategy, as, for example, when a hostile opposition casts excessive opprobrium on the demerits of patronage. It has indeed been the thesis of Jeffrey Simpson

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(1988) that under such circumstances a gap may be opened between the wider image of patronage held by the public (in an era of impersonal mass telecommunications) and its use as a means of motivating party activists, thus creating public cynicism or, among party activists, reducing their willingness to participate politically. In a parallel manner, it has been shown that patronage may be reenacted as part of a wide range of non-coercive modes of political struggle and strategies, designed to gain hold of the state and its resources. This analysis therefore suggests that research may profit by avoiding a unidirectional view of political development, and by remaining open to investigation of contradictory waves in the persistence and undermining of patronage. Consequently, unlike approaches that tend to consider patronage as a 'remnant' of the past, and accordingly tend to expect its demise as a consequence of capitalistic rationalization or the expansion of the state machinery, this study allows a more qualified view. It acknowledges the long-term effects of these structural processes, but puts the onus of the explanation on the changing symbolic meanings of patronage fostered and shaped by countervailing forces in modern society. Specifically, for a long period in institutional development of these societies, a view persisted (and especially in Israel) that conflated national aims and particularistic efforts (both individual and collective). Accordingly, the use of informal means of patronage, the use of public funds and influence for party activities etc., were seen as deriving from the need to achieve the collective aims, and hence were treated almost as obligations. As public and private interests became progressively dissociated, acts of patronage were increasingly viewed as more intimately connected with corruption. Acts of corruption are usually expected to be carried out in secrecy, thereby indicating the awareness of those concerned that they are doing something open to criticism and objection. Such concealment implies, in the first place, that values founded on the fragmented character of human obligations have already permeated wide sectors of the population. Secondly, the veiled character of such actions implies that people can hardly recreate their sense of selfhood through them. As Abner Cohen stressed, in our symbolic acts we continually create and recreate our selfhood, the totality of our person, since "there can be no self without the experience and periodical practice of the obligatory" (Cohen, 1977:123). In this connection, although instrumental gains accrue through them, "corrupt" practices are placed beyond the obligatory, in the realm of the accessory, of the contingent. As such, some of these actions came to imply, in Israel and in Canada, a personal, punishable decision on the part of the individuals involved.

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The particularistic use of public means and funds, as it came to be identified with corruption, could thereafter hardly be transformed into an ethos superior to rationales of expediency. The cash-nexus whereby a mandatory value framework (in this case, the universalistic premises of the polity) is transformed into a free-market orientation — to employ R. Tilman's terms (1970) — came to be perceived by wide sectors as the motivating force of particularistic practices and, as such, was forcefully criticized. Future research will have to assess whether this transformation of symbolic meanings is occurring under different circumstances in other modern polities, including those of Eastern Europe, which until recently were ridden with patronage.

NOTES 1 Due to limitations of space, my detailed treatment of the Israeli case will not be replicated for the Canadian one, which is analyzed in greater detail in the other contributions to this volume, and also in outstanding works such as Lemieux and Hudon, 1975; Stewart, 1980; Simpson, 1988; and various contributions in the Journal of Canadian Studies special issue on patronage, especially Noel (1987) and Smith (1987). 2 Indications are the following: corruption became a major issue of political debate only during the electoral campaign of 1977; studies in the 1970s reported only slim willingness to acknowledge the use of protekzia; and whereas the image of public officials was neither extremely positive nor negative, honesty was nevertheless the closest to the positive pole among evaluative criteria (Nachmias and Rosenbloom, 1978:49, 96). 3 I leave it to the Canadian experts to assess whether this seeming contradiction should be interpreted as running counter to the so-called inflationary character of clientelistic politics, which encourages the snowballing of demands and pressures, and leads certain political leaders to consider patronage as a nuisance rather than as an advantage. 4 Conflict-of-interest guidelines were introduced under Trudeau. Traditionally, politics had been a poorly paid occupation, and incumbents of government posts and politicians usually carried on legal and commercial practices and used power to influence and press commercial interests. Following the disclosure of mini-scandals under Pearson in the 1960s, optional guidelines were adopted under Trudeau and again under Mulroney, although these were not mandatory and did not require a full public disclosure. 5 Although even there he made a number of strategic non-partisan appointments, such as that of Stephen Lewis, former leader of the Ontario NDP, to the United Nations.

194 DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE REFERENCES Azmon, Y. (1981). "The Changing Fortunes of the Israeli Labour Party," Government and Opposition 16, 432-46. Caiden, G.E. (1970). Israel's Administrative Culture. Berkeley: Institute of Governmental Studies. . (1980). To Right Wrong. The Initial Ombudsman Experience in Israel. Sussex: Ashdown Press. Clapham, C., ed. (1982). Private Patronage and Public Power. New York: St. Martin's Press. Cohen, A. (1977). "Symbolic Action and the Structure of the Self." I.O. Lewis, ed., Symbols and Sentiments. New York: Academic Press. Cohen, E. (1983). "Ethnicity and Legitimation in Contemporary Israel." Jerusalem Quarterly 28, 111-24. Danet, B. (1989). Pulling Strings. New York: State University of New York Press. Danet, B., and H. Hartman. (1972). "On Protekzia." Journal of Comparative Administration 3:4, 405-34. Dube, J.C. (1984). Les intendants de la Nouvelle-France. Paris: Fides. Eisenstadt, S.N. (1967). Israeli Society. New York: Basic Books. Eisenstadt, S.N., and L. Roniger. (1980). "Patron-Client Relations as a Model of Structuring Social Exchange." Comparative Studies in Society and History 22, 42-77. . (1984). Patrons, Clients, and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Etzioni-Halevy, E. (1989). Fragile Democracy. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Etzioni-Halevy, H. (1975). "Some Patterns of Semi-Deviance on the Israeli Social Scene." Social Problems 22:3, 356-67. Fletcher, M. (1990). "Explaining the Relative Failure and Success of Patronage and Reform in Nova Scotia and Ontario." Paper presented at the Seminar on Selected Problems in Comparative Politics, Department of Political Science, Carleton University. Gold, G. (1989). "First Peoples, Founding and Ethnic Canadians: A Critical Perspective on Cultural Policy in Canada." Canadian-Israeli Perspectives on Culture, Women and Media. Jerusalem: Academon, 1-23. Graziano, L. (1976). "A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Clientelism." Ithaca: Cornell University, Western Societies Program Occasional Papers. . (1983). "Introduction." Special issue on "Political Clientelism." International Political Science Review 4:4, 425-34. Hartz, L. (1964). The Founding of New Societies. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World. Horowitz, D., and M. Lissak. (1980). The Origins of the Israeli Polity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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. (1985). "Authority without Sovereignty: The Case of the National Center of the Jewish Community of Palestine." E. Krausz, ed., Politics and Society in Israel. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 20-42. Katz E., and B. Danet. (1966). "Petitions and Persuasive Appeals. A Study of Official-Client Relations." American Sociological Review 31, 811-22. Kettering, S. (1986). Patrons, Clients and Brokers in Seventeenth Century France. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lemarchand, R. (1981). "Comparative Political Clientelism: Structure, Process, and Optic." S.N. Eisenstadt and R. Lemarchand, eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage, and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 7-32. Lemarchand, R., and K. Legg. (1972). "Political Clientelism and Development: A Preliminary Analysis." Comparative Politics 4, 149-78, Lemieux, V. (1977). Le patronage politique: une etude comparative. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval. . (1987). "Le sens du patronage politique." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2, 5-18. Lemieux, V., and R. Hudon. (1975). Patronage et politique au Quebec: 19441972. Montreal: Boreal Express. Lipset, S.M. (1986). "Historical Traditions and National Characteristics: A Comparative Analysis of Canada and the United States." Canadian Journal of Sociology 11:2, 113-55. McRae, K.D (1974). "Consociationalism and the Canadian Political System." K.D. McRae, ed., Consociational Democracy. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 238-61. Nachmias, D., and D.H. Rosenbloom. (1978). Bureaucratic Culture, Citizens and Administrators in Israel. London: Croom Helm. Noel, S.J.R. (1987). "Dividing the Spoils: The Old and New Rules of Patronage in Canadian Politics." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2, 72-95. Ramon, M. (1985). "Some Aspects of Complaint Handling Systems in the USA, Canada, England, and Israel." Paper presented at the First International Congress of Hospital Laws, Ethics, and Procedures. Tel Aviv, September 1985. Reuveni, I. (1974). Public Administration in Israel. Tel Aviv: Masada (in Hebrew). Roniger, L. (1987). "Coronelismo, caciquismo, and oyabun-kobun. Divergent Implications of Hierarchical Trust in Brazil, Mexico and Japan." British Journal of Sociology 38, 310-30. . (1990). Hierarchy and Trust in Modern Mexico and Brazil. New York: Praeger. Sailer, R.P. (1982). Personal Patronage under the Early Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shefter, M. (1977). "Party and Patronage: Germany, Italy and England." Politics and Society 7:4, 403-51. Simpson, J. (1988). Spoils of Power. Toronto: Collins.

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Smith, D.E. (1987). "Patronage in Britain and Canada: An Historical Perspective." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2, 34-54. Stewart, G. (1980). "Political Patronage under Macdonald and Laurier, 18781911." American Review of Canadian Studies 10, 3-26. Tilman, R. (1970). "Black Market Bureaucracy." A.J. Heidenheimer, ed., Political Corruption. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 62-64. Wallace-Hadrill, A. (1989). "Introduction." A. Wallace-Hadrill, ed., Patronage in Ancient Society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1-13. Weber-Pazmino, G. (1990). "Clientelism: Towards a Redefinition." Paper presented at the XII World Congress of Sociology in Madrid, Spain, July. Whitaker, R. (1987). "Between Patronage and Bureaucracy: Democratic Politics in Transition." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2, 55-71.

From Parties to Symbols and Entourages: The Changing Use of Political Patronage in Canada S.J.R. Noel UNIVERSITY OF WESTERN ONTARIO "The power of rewarding modest worth is perhaps the sweetest blessing that attends Rank & authority, for our Great Master tells us that it is more blessed to give than to receive." Thus wrote the Reverend John Strachan in 1818 (Spragge, 1946:186). For understandable reasons, however, prime ministers, premiers, and others in high political office have been inclined to view the business of bestowing discretionary rewards — that is, the dispensing of patronage — in a less altruistic light, and their power over it as less of a blessing than, as Brian Mulroney put it, "a pain in the neck" (Simpson, 1988:355). Many patrons have ruefully noted that the number of rewards at their disposal seems puny when compared to the number of claimants, thus potentially creating for every satisfied recipient a shadow legion of the disappointed and disgruntled. As far as is known, no patron has reported being overwhelmed by outpourings of gratitude, possibly because so few of those rewarded regard their worth as "modest." Yet if patronage allocation is a pain it is surely one that Canadian political leaders somehow manage to endure without too much discomfort, since the practice persists at every level of the political system. The purpose of this paper is to examine the functions of patronage and to suggest some of the ways in which they appear to be evolving.

Patronage and Party-Building Recent historical studies of patronage in Canada have stressed its instrumental role in the development of cohesive, broadly-based national political parties (Stewart, 1986:66-90; Simpson, 1988:65-122). In the absence of other means, it is argued, astute political leaders such as John A. Macdonald and Wilfrid Laurier seized upon the rich and expanding patronage resources of the federal government, consisting mainly of public service appointments at all levels and a wide array of supply and service contracts, to build and sustain national party organizations —

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organizations that served the vital function of integrating the far-flung and diverse regional communities of the new nation by connecting them with the centre of political power in Ottawa. Patronage flowed down, votes flowed up, and the result was political stability. To put it thus is admittedly to do less than justice to an argument that is rich in subtle insights into the nature of the political process and is developed with telling historical examples. Nevertheless, even in stark outline its value is evident. It provides a framework for the analysis of patronage that lifts the discussion beyond the level of mere moralizing; specifically, it offers a convincing explanation of the contrast between the chaotic, decentralized, coalition-based politics of the United Canadas and the increasingly disciplined, party-dominated politics that emerged after Confederation; and not least, it presents an engaging portrait of the party leader as nation-builder; of Macdonald, for example, assiduously building his party "contact by contact, letter by letter, speech by speech, appointment by appointment, reward by reward, dollar by dollar, promise by promise, a party rooted in the constituencies, present in all regions, representative of most groups" (Simpson, 1988:97). As with any broad conceptualization, however, the party-building thesis spreads its light unevenly, highlighting some aspects of the subject more sharply than others and generally providing less illumination the further it is projected. It most appropriately defines the development of political parties during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. But even there, I would suggest, its insights can be usefully supplemented if the patronage-party link is approached from a local as well as from a national, Ottawa-centred point of view. For the diffusion of the kind of low-level patronage that was used for party-building purposes was a process that varied widely from one region of the country to another, and always depended heavily on the power structure of the local communities where, in the end, it was supposed to do its work by delivering the vote. Such patronage, moreover, was often not a simple exchange between a national patron and a local client but rather part of a complex network of brokerage in which independent patron-brokers could negotiate their share of patronage and determine its final allocation. In general, the patronage-party link was most straightforward, and party-building most plainly a result, in two quite different circumstances: (1) in newly settled communities where power structures had not yet crystallized, and (2) in communities where a well-established elite existed that was either alienated from the national government or had yet to develop strong national connections. The first circumstance prevailed in the West, where the Conservative and Liberal parties did not grow out of existing community power structures but were essentially built and

S.J.R. NOEL 199 operated as patronage-based machines. The second circumstance prevailed in Quebec where, if local leaders could be cemented to a national party through patronage, such was the cohesion of their communities that they could be relied upon to channel electoral support upward. Even more striking is the case of the Maritimes, where an avowedly secessionist elite was soothed, accommodated, and eventually drawn into the Conservative fold, largely through Macdonald's use of patronage. But ironically enough, in the case of Macdonald's own home province of Ontario, his use of patronage was rarely so clear-cut or so successful. The reasons for this were essentially local. First, the formidable grassroots organization and substantial patronage resources of the provincial Liberals under Oliver Mowat allowed the Conservative party little room for expansion, since there were few uncommitted local leaders who could be co-opted; and second, the Conservative mainstays in the towns and townships were for the most part local notables whose social standing and political influence were already well established, as were their patronage links to government. Their attachment to the party was rarely at issue, but they tended to see the leader as instrumental to their purposes. Consequently, dealing with them required unremitting attention to their demands, endless negotiations of a traditionally clientelistic, face-to-face kind, and a great deal of John A.'s famous "soft sawder." Viewed from the perspective of Martin Shefter's "critical experience" theory of party development (1977:415-17), the critical or characterforming experience of the Conservative party in Ontario was that it grew from existing, long-established roots. Hence, even when confronted with the challenge of a mass electorate, it naturally preferred a leader who continued to fertilize those roots by the traditional method; that is, "by distributing particularistic benefits through local notables and politicians" (Shefter 1977:415). Unlike the Liberal party, it failed to cultivate new "constituencies for patronage" but became locked into a long-term dependency on old ones. Macdonald's role in Ontario, in other words, in contrast to his role elsewhere, was largely responsive rather than initiating; it was as much a case of the party building the leader as of the leader building the party.

Constituencies for Patronage versus Constituencies for Bureaucratic Autonomy In the twentieth century the party-patronage link has continued to reflect variations in the political and social environment, including persisting regional variations in political culture. In New Brunswick, for example, the sense of entitlement of party supporters could produce in the 1970s practices (both legal and illegal) that had not changed from the

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1870s — such as the planting of one Allan ("Chowder") Woodworth in the Department of Public Works (while still on the Conservative party's payroll) for the singular purpose of ensuring that the party's friends and contributors got the inside track on goods and services contracts (Starr, 1987:76-78). But even at the time, this ploy, when revealed in the legislature, was considered to be excessive and scandalous and the resulting patronage to be indefensible. It also had little or nothing to do with traditional party-building. In fact, it is difficult to find recent examples of patronage being used unambiguously for the latter purpose. Perhaps the closest similarity can be found in Brian Mulroney's appointment of Lucien Bouchard as Ambassador to France and of other prominent Parti Quebecois supporters to lucrative and influential patronage posts on the boards of such bodies as Via Rail, Telefilm Canada, and the Bank of Canada (Simpson, 1988:364), since there is an obvious parallel between such appointments and Macdonald's generous treatment of Joseph Howe and the Nova Scotia secessionists (even if the effects are as yet less clear). But in general, the closer we are to the present, the clearer it becomes that the traditional party-patronage link has been fundamentally altered — to the point, indeed, where the term 'party-building' has almost no contemporary analytical or even descriptive value. The reasons for this development include changes in the laws regulating the awarding of appointments and contracts, and (as I have attempted to show elsewhere in Noel, 1987:72-95) in the equally important "prudential rules" that determine the legitimacy of patronage and broadly govern its allocation; changes in party financing; and changes in the means by which political power must be sought. The first of these is exemplified by the passage of the 1917 Civil Service Act, a seminal measure prompted by the defects revealed in the patronage-soaked federal administration during World War I, but which also, and more importantly for the longer term, represented the emergence within Canada of a powerful new "constituency for bureaucratic autonomy" (Shefter, 1977:412-13). That constituency consisted of those who rejected the use and denied the legitimacy of patronage, who favoured a permanent civil service based strictly on merit, and who insisted "that public benefits and burdens be allocated according to a set of general, universalistic, rules and procedures." Thereafter, though the old "constituencies for patronage" could not be quelled, neither could they ever regain their former dominance (English, 1977:222-29). The result was stalemate, with far-reaching and largely unforeseen consequences. The legal restriction of federal patronage, for example, had the effect of inflating the value of provincial patronage, and so inadvertently strengthened the power of provincial parties and their leaders, at least

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until the provinces too developed substantial constituencies for bureaucratic autonomy. It also made the federal patronage system top-heavy and inaccessible to ordinary citizens by taking away most of the small rewards that were so useful for local party-building while leaving the large ones untouched — in the Senate, the judiciary, the boards of the Crown corporations, and a variety of luxuriously maintained and prestigious regulatory and advisory agencies. Meanwhile, bureaucratization was making government generally less receptive to individual or particularistic demands but more receptive, even eager to respond, to group demands for programmatic benefits — which in Canada, with its economic diversity and federal structure, tended naturally to take the form of regional demands for subsidies, assistance programmes, and public works. Little wonder, therefore, that parties in power have increasingly sought to secure group support at the grassroots level through an array of regionally differentiated measures, ranging from ingenious forms of transfer payments to undisguised pork-barrel projects, rather than through the building of strong local organizations. This tendency, moreover, has been reinforced by two simultaneous developments that have occurred in other aspects of the political process. The first of these, the basic recasting of the system of party financing following passage of the 1974 Election Expenses Act (and subsequent amendments) has been the subject of extensive scholarly analysis, most notably in the works of K.Z. Paltiel (1987,1988,1989). The overall result of "the indexing of party and candidate spending limits, the tightening of party registration procedures, and the . . . reimbursement of party election expenses," so Paltiel concludes, has been the "institutionalization" and "centralization" of the major parties and the "professionalization and bureaucratization" of their structures (1989:347-48). The national party organizations have, in effect, become semi-official bodies, recognized in law, substantially supported by public funds, and responsible for regulating some of the most vital functions of the political system. To a large and perhaps irreversible extent they have ceased to be a part of the constituency for patronage and have become assimilated into the constituency for bureaucratic autonomy. The implications of this will be examined later; here it must be noted that it is further reinforced by a second development: namely, the emergence of television as the dominant medium of political communication. For the continuous, long-term use of that medium requires permanent, professionally staffed organizations with the resources — of experience, expertise and collegial relations with pollsters, advertising agencies, marketing consultants, and others

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in the opinion-measuring and opinion-making industries — that are necessary to use it effectively on a national scale. It is to the impact of these developments upon the uses of patronage that we must now turn.

Patronage, Symbols, and Entourage-Building Patron-client linkages have enjoyed an enduring utility in Canadian politics in large measure because of the ease with which they could be successfully adapted to changing institutional and legal settings. In any discussion of modern political patronage, moreover, it is well to remember that the form itself has no necessary connection with political parties and that even historically the connection, though long-standing, has not always existed: in Upper Canada, for example, where it formed part of a pervasive system of social and commercial clientelism, it was used, often with great effectiveness, to cement personal alliances and mobilize popular support long before political parties appeared (Noel, 1990:6177). Later, of course, as we have seen, it was adapted in very different circumstances to the task of party-building, though even then its actual use varied considerably, both regionally and between (and sometimes within) the major parties. But that too was but a stage in its evolution — a stage now rapidly passing into history, if it has not already passed. New exigencies produced by the changes noted above have again shifted the primary locus of patron-client exchange within the political system, directed patronage to the pursuit of new goals, and opened up new opportunities for its use. In particular, since the early 1970s it has become increasingly evident that the emerging modern functions of political patronage are, symbolically, the promotion of multiculturalism and, organizationally, the building of personal entourages. The first of these is fraught with difficulty and, as I have argued elsewhere (1987:87-89), its use has not yet been refined to the point where results are predictable. The reasons for this are complex. Part of the trouble lies in the fact that patronage always has symbolic connotations — most obviously, it signifies the discretionary power of those possessing "Rank & authority" — and while in theory such connotations ought to be transferable since, as Barthes points out, "no natural link binds signifier and signified" (1964:153), in practice they have defied easy manipulation. Stressing the ethnic background of patronage recipients, for example, ambivalently signifies both the wider dispersal of political rewards along multicultural lines and the essentially arbitrary nature of the exercise. What it suggests, rightly or wrongly, is that the rewards have not been earned. There would perhaps be less dissonance if the symbolic use of patronage was confined exclusively to the promotion of multiculturalism,

S.J.R. NOEL 203 but instead it continues to be mixed with a number of other stratagems. For example, the White Knight Stratagem (the appointment of a widely known and admired person, preferably one with a cross-partisan identification — a Stephen Lewis or an Ed Broadbent — to a high-profile position) is meant to add lustre to the patronage process itself, to symbolize the patron's "non-partisan" and responsible use of a discretionary power, and to demonstrate how patronage serves the national interest by rewarding a paragon whose services might otherwise be lost. For this stratagem to be successful, however, enormous emphasis must be placed on the exemplary qualifications, sterling personal attributes, and anticipated high performance of the recipient — the unintended consequence of which is to set up an inflated standard that almost inevitably makes other more mundane patronage recipients seem undeserving. In the case of multicultural awards, where the emphasis is normally placed upon the value of the award and the ethnic membership of the recipient, the reverse symbolism is particularly confusing and unfortunate. Similarly, the Affirmative Action Stratagem (the awarding of patronage to a member of a group to compensate for that group's under-representation in government and/or generally disadvantaged position in society) is often used in ways that confuse, or detract from, multicultural symbolism — as is likely to be the case when a recipient's gender, occupation, or regional identity overlaps with ethnicity. For example, what is signified by the appointment of a woman as a Citizenship Court judge if she also happens to be an Italian-Canadian lawyer? Does it signify that a commendable effort is being made to increase the representation of women? Or does it signify that Italian-Canadian lawyers are considered suitable only for ersatz judgeships, not real ones? But these are murky questions, and perhaps more properly a subject for further research. Nevertheless, given the ethnic composition of the Canadian population and the country's continuing need for new immigrants, the promotion of multiculturalism is likely to become the dominant modern use of symbolic patronage. Organizationally, the most significant modern development in the use of patronage is the drift away from party-building and towards the building of personal entourages. To say this, however, is not to imply that parties are in decline, or even that party-building is no longer an important activity; but it is to imply that the role of parties is changing and that party-building is no longer primarily a function of patronage. Now, more than ever, parties perform the essential systemic function of maintaining the framework and setting the ground-rules for the pursuit of political power. To a degree that was once unimaginable, they have become assimilated into the apparatus of the state, their base-funding provided or underwritten by the public treasury through subsidies and

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tax credits, and their administrative and legal responsibilities greatly extended. Their activities are vital to the smooth conduct of general elections, including their collaboration with one another over the arranging of key media events, such as leaders' debates, and with Elections Canada over the supervision of campaign expenditures. Their incomes too are practically an open book, with all private and corporate contributions of over $100 duly recorded and published, along with the names of contributors, in the official Registered Party Fiscal Period Returns. Not surprisingly, in view of the opportunity for scrutiny thus provided, the link between contributions and patronage has been found to be weak (Wearing, 1987). In effect, party-building and party maintenance have become activities largely supported through public expenditure and donations of a more or less charitable nature. Meanwhile, with curiously little attention being paid to them, personal entourages have proliferated in both federal and provincial politics; they have grown in size and sophistication; and they have been overwhelmingly built and sustained through the use of patronage. Unlike parties, they exist virtually in a legal vacuum. Neither their incomes nor their expenditures can be tracked since they are not subject to any accounting or reporting requirements (other than those to which they might voluntarily subscribe or which might be imposed — for example, under the 1986 Ontario Election Finances Act — in certain limited contexts, such as a party leadership contest), while their activities likewise go, for the most part, officially unrecognized and unregulated, apart from their own voluntary "guidelines" and the broad parameters of the Criminal Code. Nevertheless, their services are indispensable: indeed, they are now arguably the key organizational units of modern Canadian politics. As parties became institutionalized, and as leader-oriented media politics became the norm, it was perhaps inevitable that intra-party competition — with the party leadership as the grand prize — would become increasingly important: a natural focus of the intense personal loyalties, ambitions, and partisanship that were once more characteristic of the struggle between the parties. It is there, moreover, because of the system used to select constituency delegates to leadership conventions, that grass-roots organization counts as nowhere else. Indeed, the same high premium is now placed on the ability to deliver committed delegates as was once placed on the delivery of votes in general elections, before the age of media-dominated campaigns, when electorates were smaller. And increasingly the highest premium is placed specifically on organizers who have close contacts with the leaders of ethnic communities — who in turn are prized as supporters because of their apparent ability to deliver

S.J.R. NOEL 205 large blocs of new party members who will vote for a slate of delegates committed to a particular leadership candidate. Intra-party competition, however, is tough and expensive. To have any chance of success a candidate for the leadership of a major party must assemble a substantial, professionally skilled entourage, usually composed of a core of dedicated and trusted advisers, fund-raisers, managers, and organizers, with a surrounding coterie of specialists ranging from speech writers and media relations co-ordinators to French or English language coaches, video presenters, advance persons, and even hairdressers, depending on how successful the fund-raisers have been. The amounts of money that must be raised are accordingly large. In the 1990 federal Liberal leadership contest, for example, the two main contestants are expected to spend upwards of $2,000,000 despite the party's nominal limit of $1,700,000, since the latter figure does not include "precampaign" expenditures. Service in the entourage of a leadership candidate is necessarily something of a speculative venture for those involved, who have much to lose. In some cases years of hard and poorly remunerated work invested in a candidate's future can come to nothing if the candidate fails or falters in the quest. But the rewards of success are also proportionately great, for it is in the nature of entourages to move forward with their patrons. If crowned with ultimate victory, members of the entourage will sweep triumphantly into the Prime Minister's Office where they eventually merge, sometimes uneasily, with the bureaucratic component of an even larger prime ministerial entourage. Others will be given patronage rewards appropriate to their level of service: Senate seats, ambassadorships, appointments to agencies, boards and commissions, jobs as press secretaries, consulting contracts, and numerous smaller benefits. Some will benefit indirectly through directorships in the major lobbying firms, where experience and connections gained through service in entourages are properly respected and highly rewarded. Candidates whose leadership bids fail, but who nevertheless advance to the cabinet, are also able to bring their entourages with them, for the sustaining of personal entourages has become, through convention, an important and jealously guarded ministerial prerogative. Ministerial entourages vary in size, depending on the minister's portfolio, seniority, and party responsibilities. That of the prime minister or premier is, of course, the largest and may be supplemented by specialists drawn from other agencies as circumstances require. At the 1989 Commonwealth Conference in Malaysia, for example, Mr. Mulroney and his wife were accompanied by an entourage of thirty-two, including an RCMP security detail and an official photographer (Globe and Mail, 21 February 1990).

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Even middling ministers are not badly served. As Ontario Minister of Housing, Mr. Alvin Curling commanded an entourage of fourteen, but upon his demotion to parliamentary assistant this entitlement was reduced to five. The most difficult adjustment, he reports, was to have to drive himself following the loss of his chauffeur (Toronto Star, 14 January 1990). Similarly, the leaders of opposition parties are provided with treasury-funded staff budgets which enable them to sustain at least the "core" members of their entourages. The current staff budget of the leader of the opposition in Ontario is $880,000. Moveover, service in an entourage which performs with notable effectiveness — for example, by turning an otherwise unprepossessing candidate into a serious contender — can lead to positions of importance in the winning candidate's entourage. One of the most highly regarded (and highly rewarded) political organizations of the 1970s, the Progressive Conservative "Big Blue Machine" in Ontario, was indeed formed in this way, essentially through the recruitment of the leading members of the entourage of Allan Lawrence into the entourage of Premier William Davis (Manthorpe, 1974:126-8). For if leaders build entourages, entourages also build leaders. That, indeed, is their raison d'etre. The bond between the two is perhaps the strongest in modern Canadian politics and in its reliance on the glue of personal loyalty, reciprocity, and discretionary rewards, it is classically clientelistic, resembling in many respects the political formations of a century and a half ago, when parties were in an incipient state of development.

REFERENCES Barthes, R. (1963). The Semiotic Challenge. Toronto: Collins. English, J. (1977). The Decline of Politics. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Globe and Mail. (1990). 21 February. Manthorpe, J. (1974). The Power and the Tories. Toronto: Macmillan. Noel, S.J.R. (1987). "Dividing the Spoils: The Old and New Rules of Patronage in Canadian Politics." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2 (Summer), 72-95. . (1990). Patrons, Clients, Brokers: Ontario Society and Politics, 17911896. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

S.J.R. NOEL 207 Paltiel, K.Z. (1987). "Canadian Election Expense Legislation 1963-1985: A Critical Appraisal or Was the Effort Worth It?" R.J. Jackson, D. Jackson and N. Baxter-Moore, eds., Contemporary Canadian Politics: Readings and Notes. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 228-47. . (1988). "The 1984 Federal General Election and Developments in Canada Party Finance." H.R. Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls 1984Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute and Duke University Press, 137-60. . (1989). "Political Marketing, Party Finance and the Decline of Canadian Parties." A.-G. Gagnon and A.B. Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition. Scarborough: Nelson, 332-53. Shefter, M. (1977). "Party and Patronage: Germany, Italy and England." Politics and Society 7:4, 403-51. Simpson, J. (1988). Spoils of Power. Toronto: Harper and Collins. Spragge, G. (1946). The John Strachan Letter Book. Toronto: Ontario Historical Society. Starr, R. (1987). Richard Hatfield: The Seventeen Year Saga. Halifax: Forinac. Stewart, G.T. (1986). The Origins of Canadian Politics. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Toronto Star. (1990). 14 January. Wearing, J. (1987). "Political Bucks and Government Billings." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2, 135-49.

Les nouvelles formes du patronage Vincent Lemieux UNIVERSITE LAVAL Comme les anciennes formes de patronage politique, les nouvelles formes consistent en des tentatives liees entre elles, de la part des patrons et des clients, pour ameliorer leurs moyens de pouvoir face a des rivaux, dans le cas des patrons, et face a des autorites, dans le cas des clients. C'est du moins notre definition du patronage politique (Lemieux, 1977, 1987), ce qui exclut, comme on le verra, certaines modalite's de corruption et de conflit d'inte'rets qui sont parfois identifiees au patronage politique. Apres avoir commente cette definition du patronage politique, nous le distinguerons du patronage autre que politique, de la corruption et du conflit d'interets. Nous ferons ensuite une etude exploratoire de quelques nouvelles formes de patronage, fondee sur un releve des principaux cas de patronage signales par quelques quotidiens francophones, au Quebec, au cours de deux annees d'election: 1988, une annee d'elections federales, et 1989, une annee d'elections provinciales au Quebec. Dans une derniere partie nous montrerons que les cas recenses n'epuisent pas 1'univers des nouvelles formes de patronage politique. Nous nous interrogerons aussi sur les caracteristiques des nouvelles formes que nous aurons relevees et sur les consequences qu'elles ont dans le fonctionnement des systemes politiques.

L'operation de patronage politique Pour nous, le patronage politique consiste done dans une double operation, commandee par un patron, ou ce patron et son client cherchent tous deux a ameliorer leurs moyens de pouvoir face a d'autres acteurs du systeme politique. Le patron cherche dans le patronage politique des moyens pour dominer ses rivaux, que ce soit au moment des elections, d'une assemblee d'investiture ou d'un congres a la direction, ou encore dans 1'un ou 1'autre des processus de realisation d'une politique publique. Les moyens qu'il

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cherche a obtenir des clients sont du travail, de 1'argent, de 1'information, des votes. Le client pour sa part ne cherche pas tant a dominer des rivaux qu'a sortir d'une situation d'impuissance ou il se trouve face a une autorite, elue ou non-clue. Cette autorite dispose de moyens qui interessent le client: postes dans la fonction publique, dans un cabinet de ministre ou dans 1'entourage d'un depute, contrats ou subventions a etre attribues, achats a faire, information privilegiee, reconnaissance symbolique. L'autorite dispensatrice peut etre le patron lui-meme ou quelqu'un d'autre auquel le patron a acces. Des intermediaires peuvent faciliter les contacts entre le client et le patron, ou encore entre le patron et I'autorite dispensatrice. De la nature de cette double operation decoulent des caracteristiques secondes qui sont souvent associees a la relation de patronage. II y a superiorite du patron parce que c'est lui qui commande 1'operation. L'operation est discretionnaire parce que le patron n'a besoin que d'un certain nombre de clients pour dominer ses rivaux, ou encore parce qu'il n'a pas acces a toutes les autorites ou a toutes les prestations qui interessent le client. L'operation est souvent tres personnalisee, les patrons ou les clients ayant tendance a choisir, quand ils le peuvent, des parents, amis ou autres "connaissances" (sur ces traits, voir entre autres Eisenstadt et Roniger, 1984).

Patronage autre que politique, corruption et conflit d'interets Le patronage n'existe pas que dans les systemes politiques. II existe aussi dans les systemes economiques, dans les systemes religieux, dans les systemes universitaires, comme Ralph Heintzman le montrait bien a 1'occasion de la reunion des societes savantes, a Quebec, en juin 1989. La aussi les acteurs en poste d'autorite, ou qui aspirent a ces postes, ont des rivaux qu'ils cherchent a dominer en s'appuyant sur des clients qui, en retour de leur appui ou en anticipation de cet appui, re^oivent des faveurs de fac,on discretionnaire de la part d'un patron. Les clients sont ainsi moins impuissants par rapport aux autorites. Par exemple, un doyen qui a etc elu grace a 1'appui des professeurs d'un certain departement favorise ce departement dans 1'attribution de certaines ressources. II peut meme arriver que le patronage chevauche sur deux systemes et qu'il ait ainsi un caractere inter-systemique. Dans les enquetes que nous avons faites, au cours des annees 1960 et 1970, on nous a signale de tels cas. Par exemple, un patron dont le pouvoir est limite dans le systeme politique recompense un client en lui procurant un emploi dans une entreprise, dirigee par un ami.

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On confond parfois le patronage et la corruption. Ce sont plutot des phenomenes qui sont en etat d'intersection 1'un avec 1'autre. II y a du patronage qui est aussi de la corruption, mais il y a du patronage sans corruption et de la corruption sans patronage. La corruption est generalement definie (voir Heidenheimer, 1989; Scott, 1972) comme un comportement contraire a certains standards (normes ou regies) de la part d'un acteur qui tire de cela un benefice personnel. La difficulte dans cette definition reside surtout dans la notion de standard: ce qui est un standard aux yeux de certains acteurs ne 1'est pas aux yeux d'autres acteurs (sur ce point, voir Gibbons, 1976). II y a cependant des cas qui sont relativement clairs. Un patron qui nommerait un client a un poste eleve dans la fonction publique, a condition qu'il fasse le silence sur un crime commis par le patron, pourrait etre accuse de corruption, si jamais cette manoeuvre etait decouverte. II y a alors patronage accompagne de corruption. Mais il y a souvent patronage sans corruption. Par exemple, un ministre recompense un de ses amis, qui a travaille a son election, en le nommant membre de son cabinet. Inversement il y a corruption sans patronage, quand, par exemple, un fonctionnaire profite du poste qu'il occupe pour detourner a son profit des rentrees de fonds destinees au tresor public. Enfin, le patronage ne comporte pas toujours un conflit d'interets, si 1'on entend par la une situation oil un acteur public se sert de son poste pour promouvoir ses interets prives. Les accusations portees depuis 1984 centre des membres du Parti conservateur, au Quebec, ont souvent etc de cet ordre, comme nous le verrons plus loin. Cela peut se faire a 1'interieur d'une operation de patronage, mais il n'est pas necessaire qu'il en soit ainsi. De meme, il y a des conflits d'interets qui comportent de la corruption et d'autres qui n'en comportent pas.

Les moyens de pouvoir recherches Pour bien comprendre en quoi les nouvelles formes du patronage politique se distinguent des formes plus anciennes, il est utile d'etablir quelques grandes categories dans les moyens de pouvoir qui sont les enjeux de 1'operation de patronage, pour le patron ou pour le client. Etant donne que ces categories de moyens n'interessent pas egalement les divers types de patrons ou de clients, 1'importance prise par certaines d'entre elles dans les nouvelles formes de patronage politique nous renseigne sur ce qui a change dans les types d'acteurs qui participent aux operations de patronage. Les moyens de pouvoir recherches sont nombreux, mais on peut les ramener a six categories qui se recoupent plus ou moins 1'une 1'autre et dont certaines peuvent d'ailleurs se convertir dans d'autres. Ce sont

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1'argent, le travail d'election, les votes, 1'information, les postes et le prestige. Pensons au "petit" patronage tel qu'il se pratiquait couramment au Quebec jusqu'aux annees 1960. Le depute ou le candidat avait plusieurs clients dont 11 recevait du travail d'election, des votes, parfois un peu d'argent ou encore de 1'information sur le sentiment populaire ou sur ses rivaux. En retour les clients obtenaient grace au patron de Pargent, des postes, mais aussi du prestige en ce qu'ils etaient reconnus par lui et honores par cette "reconnaissance" (sur ce point, voir Lemieux, 1971). Le "gros" patronage, celui qui reliait plutot les ministres et les autres dirigeants influents du parti, d'une part, et les hommes d'affaires ou encore les autorites publiques du milieu municipal ou scolaire, d'autre part, avait pour enjeux une gamme moins etendue de moyens. Les patrons recherchaient surtout de 1'argent et des prestiges susceptibles de leur attirer des votes, alors que les clients recherchaient eux aussi de 1'argent, sous forme de subventions, de contrats ou d'achats, et, quand ils etaient des elus locaux, le prestige apte a assurer leur reelection. Ce prestige leur etait confere par les subventions discretionnaires et les autres avantages materiels accordes par les patrons. Plutot que d'etudier dans le detail ce qui a change, depuis les annees 1960, dans les regies du jeu, 1'ideologic et les pratiques concernant le patronage politique, nous allons presenter les principaux cas de patronage politique releves par la presse francophone du Quebec, lors des annees 1988 et 1989. La premiere fut une annee d'e'lection fe'derale. Nous n'avons retenu dans la presse que les cas de patronage federal. La seconde fut une annee d'election provinciale, et nous n'avons retenu que les cas de patronage provincial. Les quotidiens examines sont Le Devoir, La Presse et Le Soleil.1

Les cas presumes de patronage federal au Quebec, en 1988 Des le debut de 1988, les quotidiens couvrent le proces du depute conservateur de Saint-Jean, Andre Bissonnette, et de son ami, Normand Ouellette, president du parti dans la meme circonscription. Les deux hommes sont accuses d'avoir complete dans le but de realiser un profit sur la vente d'un terrain a la compagnie suisse Oerlikon qui, a la suite de 1'octroi d'un contrat de 600$ millions par le gouvernement federal, a decide de construire une usine sur ce terrain. Sachant cela, Ouellette achete le terrain a 27 cents le pied carre pour le revendre a 40 cents, realisant ainsi un benefice de pres de 920 000$. Ce benefice est ensuite verse dans le compte de quatre compagnies, dont deux appartiennent a Bissonnette et a son epouse. Bissonnette pretend que cela a ete fait a son insu. II est acquitte, mais Ouellette est reconnu coupable de fraude.

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A supposer qu'il y ait eu patronage dans ce cas, le patron, Bissonnette, aurait fourni au client, Ouellette, de 1'information privilegiee qui aurait permis a celui-ci de realiser un gain financier important. Le gain n'aurait pas etc possible sans cette information. On peut penser que Ouellette avait aide a 1'election de Bissonnette en lui fournissant du travail d'election et de 1'argent. Le deuxieme cas qui retient surtout 1'attention des quotidiens en 1988 est celui du ministre conservateur Michel Cote. Au tout debut de fevrier, le depute de Langelier, qui est alors ministre des Approvisionnements et Services, est chasse de son poste par le premier ministre Mulroney. En violation du code d'ethique du gouvernement, Cote a omis de declarer un pret personnel de 250 000$ qui lui a ete consenti par un homme d'affaires de Quebec, Rene Laberge. Deux firmes reliees a Laberge ont obtenu plusieurs contrats sans soumission du ministere que dirigeait Michel Cote. Ces firmes obtenaient deja de tels contrats avant 1'election du gouvernement conservateur, en 1984, mais elles en ont recu cinq fois plus en 1985, et vingt fois plus en 1987 et en 1988. Cote est le patron et Laberge le client. Le client a fourni de Pargent a la caisse du Parti conservateur et a ainsi contribue a 1'election de Cote. Le pret personnel de 250 000$ qu'il fait a Cote permet en quelque sorte a celui-ci de survivre politiquement mais aussi economiquement, etant donne qu'il doit entretenir trois maisons, dont une occupee par son ex-epouse et par ses quatre enfants. II y a patronage politique, mais surtout conflit d'interets, selon nos definitions, en ce sens que la prestation obtenue du client ne sert pas tant au combat politique dans 1'arene publique qu'aux interets prives du patron, Le troisieme cas survient au cours de la campagne electorate, a la fin d'octobre. II n'aura pas le retentissement des deux premiers. Les liberaux accusent le senateur conservateur, Michel Cogger, ami intime du premier ministre Mulroney et organisateur en chef de la campagne conservatrice au Quebec, d'avoir touche des honoraires d'avocat de 114 000$ pour son travail de conseiller aupres de la societe GigaMos qui fait 1'objet de poursuites par un homme d'affaires japonais. Un homme d'affaires de Senneville, Guy Montpetit, une "connaissance" du senateur Cogger, possede 50% des parts de GigaMos. Une lettre indique qu'il etait prevu que le senateur siege au conseil d'administration de la societe, peu apres qu'elle cut fait une demande de subvention federale-provinciale, qui lui fut d'ailleurs refusee. Ce cas, comme les deux autres, en est un de patronage, rate en 1'occurrence, et de conflit d'interets. L'operation de patronage est ratee en ce que le patron Cogger, dont des documents prouvent qu'il est intervenu aupres de representants du gouvernement, ne reussit pas a obtenir

VINCENT LEMIEUX 213 pour son client la subvention recherchee. Le fait que la societe verse des honoraires d'avocat au senateur laisse cependant supposer que le client a toujours confiance au patron. II y a conflit d'interets, selon les liberaux et les journalistes qui les alimentent, en ce que les regies officielles du jeu interdisent a un senateur d'avoir des interets personnels dans une compagnie qui transige avec le gouvernement. Les honoraires verses au senateur Cogger ne servent pas au combat politique, mais a son bien-etre personnel, comme dans le cas du patron Michel Cote. II en aurait etc de meme dans le cas de Michel Bissonnette, mais la Cour n'a pu en faire la preuve (sur le patronage du gouvernement conservateur, voir Simpson, 1988:355-78).

Les cas presumes de patronage provincial au Quebec, en 1989 En mai et juin 1989 les journaux font grand etat du dezonage de terres agricoles a Laval, pres de Montreal. Ces terres avaient etc considerees comme devant etre protegees, a la suite de 1'adoption de la loi de protection du territoire agricole, en 1978, sous le gouvernement du Parti quebecois. La decision de les dezoner est prise selon la procedure prevue par la loi, qui suppose une entente entre la municipalite regionale de comte (MRC) et 1'Union des producteurs agricoles (UFA). Des hommes d'affaires proches du Parti liberal, dont le tresorier du parti Tommy D'Errico, sont accuses par le Parti quebecois de chercher a realiser un profit de plusieurs millions de dollars par le dezonage de ces terres dont ils se sont portes proprietaires. Le president de la Commission de protection du territoire agricole, laquelle decide finalement du dezonage, admet que D'Errico 1'a rencontre pour discuter avec lui de la procedure de dezonage. Le premier ministre Bourassa commence par defendre le tresorier de son parti. II montre que des deputes du Parti quebecois sont intervenus eux aussi aupres de la Commission, du temps ou le PQ dirigeait le gouvernement. Bourassa finit cependant par accepter la demission de son tresorier, apres avoir cree un comite pour enqueter sur le dezonage a Laval. Le rapport du comite arrivera a la conclusion qu'il y a eu speculation, sans plus. Comme on le voit, il ne s'agit pas la d'une operation de patronage. Le PQ n'utilise d'ailleurs pas ce terme pour decrire la situation. II y aurait patronage si, par exemple, le premier ministre ou le ministre de 1'Agriculture etait intervenu en faveur du client D'Errico. Cela n'a meme pas etc evoque. II y aurait corruption si D'Errico avait "achete" les decideurs en matiere de dezonage. Cela n'a pas etc prouve. Enfin, il y aurait conflit d'interets si D'Errico avait utilise les atouts relies au poste politique qu'il occupait pour realiser un gain a des fins privees. Cela n'a pas etc demontre non plus.

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Les accusations centre le gouvernement liberal sont des accusations de patronage, cette fois, de la part d'un ex-militant libe'ral, Real Deschenes, qui, au cours de la campagne electorale, en septembre 1989, denonce 1'existence d'un reseau dont Tommy D'Errico serait le centre. Deschenes, un ingenieur, se serait fait dire par plusieurs ministres et par un organisateur du parti que pour obtenir des contrats il fallait en parler a Tommy (D'Errico). Les liberaux repliquent en disant que le fait que Deschenes n'ait pas obtenu les contrats recherches etait la preuve qu'il n'y avait pas de patronage. Us minent aussi sa credibilite en le disant en etat de depression nerveuse. Guy Chevrette, le depute du Parti quebecois qui a amene Deschenes a faire sa declaration, est attaque par les liberaux. Chevrette serait intervenu, en 1983, pour qu'un de ses electeurs puisse obtenir un contrat, meme s'il n'etait pas inscrit au fichier central du gouvernement (le fichier nomme Rosalie). A la toute fin de la campagne, les pequistes reviennent a la charge en alleguant que D'Errico et le depute d'Iberville seraient intervenus aupres du maire de Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, de fac,on a ce qu'il retienne une firme d'ingenieurs, proche du Parti liberal, pour des travaux de plusieurs millions de dollars a etre effectues dans la region. Les pequistes continuent leurs attaques lors de la courte session de la fin 1989, apres la victoire liberate du 25 septembre. Le depute Michel Bourdon reprend des allegations qui avaient deja ete faites lors de la campagne electorale. II met en doute la neutralite partisane d'un fonctionnaire, representant le ministere de la Sante et des Services sociaux, dans un comite de selection charge de choisir des professionnels pour des travaux d'agrandissements a des etablissements du reseau. Ce fonctionnaire est un militant liberal, ce que reconnait le ministre Marc-Yvan Cote, mais il a aussi participe a des comites de selection, du temps du gouvernement du Parti quebecois. Le ministre reconnait egalement que des firmes, dont les membres ont contribue au Parti liberal, ont rec.u des contrats, mais elles en avaient egalement, et meme plus, en proportion, sous le gouvernement du Parti quebecois. A supposer qu'il y ait eu du patronage politique dans ces cas, on voit comment 1'operation se serait deroulee. La firme ou 1'individu client aurait donne de 1'argent au parti du patron. En retour, un intermediate, proche du patron, aurait fait en sorte que des contrats, done encore de 1'argent, soit attribues au client. II n'a pas ete prouve, sur la place publique, qu'une telle operation de patronage ait eu lieu, mais il n'en est pas moins significatif, pour notre propos, qu'on 1'ait imagine ainsi. Le ministre Cote etait d'ailleurs suspect de patronage, lui qui avait declare en campagne electorale, dans une circonscription du Bas SaintLaurent, que les electeurs devraient reelire la candidate liberale s'ils

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voulaient que le gouvernement prete attention aux demandes venant de leur depute.

Les caracteristiques des cas de patronage recenses Par rapport aux cas de patronage recenses pour la periode 1944-1972 (Lemieux et Hudon, 1975), les quelques cas de patronage presume que nous venons de presenter ont des caracteristiques notables. Us sont d'abord moins nombreux. Au cours de la periode 19441972 les quotidiens que nous avons etudies signalaient chacun plusieurs dizaines de cas de patronage politique. En 1988 et 1989, les trois quotidiens que nous avons consultes en sigrialent beaucoup moins, que ce soit sur la scene federale ou sur la scene provinciale. Par centre, ils reviennent souvent sur les memes cas, sans doute parce que se sont de "gros" cas. Cela ne veut pas necessairement dire que la pratique du patronage politique est moins courante a la fin des annees 1980 qu'au cours de la periode 1944-1972. Peut-etre que les journalistes sont moins attentifs au patronage qu'ils 1'etaient auparavant. II faudrait faire une etude plus poussee que celle qui a etc presentee ici avant de se prononcer de fagon definitive la-dessus. II nous semble cependant, a partir de notre etude exploratoire et d'autres observations, que dans 1'ensemble la pratique du patronage politique au Quebec a diminue, a cause surtout de la diminution du "petit" patronage, celui qui met en presence les patrons inferieurs dans la pyramide de patronage, c'est-a-dire les simples deputes, ou meme les organisateurs locaux, et les clients egalement infe'rieurs que sont les simples membres des organisations partisanes de circonscription, ou encore les simples electeurs. Nous avions d'ailleurs note cette tendance dans une etude sur le terrain, faite a la fin des annees 1960 (Lemieux et Renaud, 1982:185-189). Parmi les prestations que les patrons inferieurs pouvaient accorder a leurs clients, ce sont sans doute les postes dont le nombre a diminue le plus, a la suite surtout des transformations du recrutement dans la fonction publique et de la syndicalisation. L'attribution des contrats et subventions ainsi que le regime des achats sont aussi devenus moins discretionnaires, meme si des possibilites de patronage subsistent. Notons en passant que la diminution des possibilites de patronage, au cours des annees 1960, a donne lieu a des cas pathetiques, ou les patrons faisaient semblant d'exercer du patronage, pour continuer d'obtenir 1'appui de leurs clients. Par exemple, sept electeurs dans une circonscription de la region de Quebec sont condamnes a payer 1'amende parce qu'ils ont neglige de faire reparer leur automobile. Ils demandent a un patron d'intervenir aupres des autorites administratives pour qu'il leur

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evite de payer 1'amende. Le patron se rend a Quebec et se fait dire par un sous-ministre qu'il n'y a rien a faire. II decide alors de payer 1'amende de sa propre poche et annonce aux sept contrevenants qu'il a regie leur probleme, tout en ajoutant (on le comprend . . .) que les gens de Quebec 1'ont bien avert! que la prochaine fois les coupables devront payer 1'amende! Quand on cherche a expliquer la place prise par les technocrates et par les entreprises de planification au debut des annees 1960, au Quebec, il faut bien voir qu'ils s'elevaient centre des pratiques de patronage qui subsistaient a 1'interieur du Parti liberal. II n'y avait pas que Rene Levesque et Paul Gerin-Lajoie dans ce parti, dont on a dit qu'il a fait la revolution tranquille. II y avait beaucoup de deputes et d'organisateurs qui cherchaient desesperement a pratiquer le patronage, d'autant plus qu'ils en avaient ete prives pendant longtemps. Dans le Bas SaintLaurent et la Gaspesie, a 1'epoque du BAEQ (Bureau d'amenagement de 1'Est du Quebec), les jeunes planificateurs et animateurs, formes aux sciences sociales, cherchaient a etablir une coalition entre les technocrates a Quebec et la population sur le territoire, contre les deputes liberaux, leurs organisateurs et les autres "patroneux." La technocratic et la planification se nourrissaient de la lutte soi-disant necessaire contre le patronage et des autres desordres qui affligeaient le Quebec. Pour subsister, le patronage empruntait des formes plus subtiles. Fabien Roy parlait a ce propos de patronage "scientifique": vous faites un concours ou un appel d'offres qui a toutes les apparences d'une operation bureaucratique, mais les exigences demandees sont tellement precises que seul le candidat de votre choix peut les remplir. On a parle a ce propos de patronage administratif, voulant signifier par la qu'il se joue dans le sous-systeme du systeme politique qu'est le systeme administratif, dont Norton Long (1962) a montre, avant bien d'autres, qu'il peut etre considere lui-meme, a son niveau, comme un systeme politique. Pour revenir aux cas de patronage presume que nous avons presentes, toujours 1'operation de patronage se joue entre des patrons superieurs et des clients egalement superieurs dans la pyramide du patronage. Les patrons presumes sont des ministres, un senateur, le tresorier d'un parti politique, des deputes, un fonctionnaire important. Les clients presumes sont eux-memes des individus ou des organisations haut places: des firmes a gros chiffres d'affaires, un president d'association de circonscription, des professionnels (pour des observations un peu semblables, voir Noel, 1987). II en est d'ailleurs de meme du patronage des entourages dont Sidney Noel traite dans sa contribution a cet ouvrage. Les patrons et les clients appartiennent, de facjon generale, a des categories

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plus elevees dans la stratification sociale que celles auxquelles appartenaient les patrons et les clients qui faisaient fonctionner les machines politiques. A cet egard, la centralisation du patronage politique dans les partis n'est qu'une autre manifestation d'une tendance au renforcement des instances centrales des partis federaux. Comme Khayyam Paltiel le signalait dans un de ses derniers ecrits (1989:341), la gestion de 1'image des chefs et 1'utilisation des sondages dans une perspective de marketing sont deux des facteurs qui ont grandement contribue a cette tendance. II est egalement remarquable de constater que les prestations qui sont les enjeux de ce "gros" patronage sont a peu pres toujours de 1'argent, et souvent de gros montants d'argent. A tel point que Le Devoir du 27 mai 1989, dans un article signe par Michel Vastel, en vient a parler de "petit" patronage a propos de programmes federaux d'aide au developpement des collectivites locales, qui totalisent 150$ millions au Quebec, et que se disputeraient, pour fins de patronage, les conservateurs federaux et les liberaux provinciaux. Oil done est passe le "petit" patronage d'antan, celui des bouts de chemin et des petits emplois dans la fonction publique? Une autre caracteristique des nouvelles formes du patronage, et non la moins inquie'tante, est que les patrons superieurs ne se contentent plus de rechercher les moyens politiques que sont le travail d'e'lection, les contributions financieres et les votes. Sur la scene federale surtout, certains d'entre eux recherchent egalement des benefices personnels, qui ne sont pas destines a etre reinvestis dans le combat politique, mais a assurer de la richesse en vue d'autres activites, generalement privees. La pratique du patronage debouche ainsi sur le conflit d'inte'rets. II en a toujours etc ainsi de la part de patrons superieurs, mais il nous semble que la tendance s'est accentuee recemment. II y a peutetre la un phenomene de conjoncture lie a la montee soudaine du Parti conservateur. Mais la tendance tient aussi au fait que les carrieres politiques sont souvent moins longues aujourd'hui qu'autrefois, maintenant que se repand un conception de 1'activite politique comme service public passager dans une vie de travail et dans une vie tout court ou la politique n'est pas une preoccupation premiere. II ne faut peut-etre pas le deplorer, mais on doit s'inquieter, il me semble, que se multiplie ainsi une espece de politiciens passagers, dont le sejour calcule sur la scene politique obeit davantage a des valeurs d'enrichissement personnel, a travers les luttes partisanes, que de contribution a la gouverne de la collectivite.

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NOTE 1 Le travail de cueillette a ete fait par Louis Demers, etudiant au doctoral de science politique, que nous remercions de sa collaboration.

BlBLIOGRAPHIE Eisentadt, S.N., et L. Roniger. (1984). Patrons, Clients and Friends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gibbons, K.M. (1976). "The Study of Political Corruption." K.M. Gibbons et D.C. Rowat, eds., Political Corruption in Canada, Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1-14. Heidenheimer, A. et al., eds. (1989). Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick: Transaction Books. Lemieux, V. (1971). "Patronage ou bureaucratic." Parente et politique. L'organisation sociale dans I'lle D'Orleans. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval, 225-35. . (1977). Le patronage politique. Une etude comparative. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval. . (1987). "Le sens du patronage politique." Revue d'etudes canadiennes 22:2 (Summer), 5-18. Lemieux, V., et R. Hudon. (1975). Patronage et politique au Quebec, 1944~ 1972. Sillery: Boreal Express. Lemieux, V., et F. Renaud. (1982). "Activites et strategies des partis dans la region de Quebec." V. Lemieux, ed., Personnel et partis politiques au Quebec. Montreal: Boreal Express, 174-204. Long, N. (1962). "The Administrative Organization As a Political System." S. Mailick et E.H. Van Ness, eds,, Concepts and Issues in Administrative Behavior. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 110-21. Noel, S.J.R. (1987). "Dividing the Spoils: The Old and New Rules of Patronage in Canadian Politics." Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2 (Summer), 72-95. Paltiel, K.Z. (1989). "Political Marketing, Party Finance, and the Decline of Canadian Parties." A.-G. Gagnon and A.B. Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition. Scarborough: Nelson, 332-53. Scott, J.C. (1972). Comparative Political Corruption. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Simpson, J. (1988). Spoils of Power. The Politics of Patronage. Toronto: Collins. Vastel, Michel. (1989). Le Devoir, 27 mai, A-l, A-10.

La pratique du patronage et la poursuite de 1'ideal democratique Raymond Hudon UNIVERSITE LAVAL Le suffrage universe! repose a la fois sur I'affirmation morale de 1'egale dignite de la personne humaine et sur I'affirmation pratique de la raison cartesienne: le bon sens . . . (Charney, 1985:353)

L'expression "gouvernement par le peuple souverain" vehicule peut-etre le cliche, le lieu commun. Mais elle a aussi couramment suppose une volonte d'egalite entre les citoyens qui venait conditionner la poursuite de 1'ideal democratique. De ce point de vue, on a souvent presume que "1'egale dignite de la personne humaine" se trouvait bien reconnue dans 1'extension du suffrage universel. Ce faisant, on negligeait de noter 1'immense decalage parfois reperable entre la reconnaissance en principe et la promotion-protection en pratique du droit de vote de chaque citoyenne et citoyen. C'est en 1982 que les droits democratiques sont consacres droits constitutionnels par la proclamation de la Charie canadienne des droits et libertes et que les dernieres restrictions a 1'exercice de ces droits semblent s'estomper (article 3): "Tout citoyen canadien a le droit de vote et est eligible aux elections legislatives federales ou provinciates." On rendait ainsi plus impe'ratif le principe contenu dans la Charte des droits et libertes de la personne (article 22), adoptee par 1'Assemblee nationale du Quebec en 1975: "Toute personne le'galement habilitee et qualifiee a droit de se porter candidat lors d'une election et a droit d'y voter." La question demeure tout de meme: 1'exercice du droit de vote suffit-il pour reconnaitre une pratique democratique veritablement assuree? Dans la mesure ou Ton accepte que le vote represente, pour reprendre les termes de Peter Regenstreif (1965), le mecanisme le plus evident et le plus manifeste de 1'exercice du gouvernement par le peuple souverain, on peut supposer que 1'ideal democratique est de mieux en mieux respecte. Mais a-t-on des lors des garanties que la participation ainsi

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acquise se revele pleinement significative? A prime abord, le recul apparent de la pratique du patronage politique peut creer une impression de plus grande universalite consecutivement a une certaine reduction du nombre de decisions discretionnaires. Combinee a 1'extension du suffrage, cette evolution pourrait resulter avec vraisemblance en une participation plus etendue s'il etait acquis que ce dernier element menait a une distribution moins aleatoire des biens publics ou des benefices specifiques rattaches a 1'exercice du pouvoir. Mais il ne s'agit peut-etre que d'une illusion, car en etant transformed plus qu'elle n'a ete reduite, la pratique du patronage tend a se rattacher a un groupe visiblement plus restreint de beneficiaires (Hudon, 1987). Dans ce contexte, il est d'ailleurs revelateur que les partis gouvernementaux semblent avoir assez recemment redecouvert les "vertus" politiques du "petit patronage" (Vastel, 1988), tentant vraisemblablement de convaincre que 1'on est encore preoccupe de gouverner "pour le peuple" dans son ensemble. Les bouleversements observables actuellement dans les pays de 1'Est concourent a poser que la realisation de 1'ideal democratique repose aussi sur des formes de competition. Dans une perspective liberale, 1'egalite ne s'actualiserait bien que dans la concurrence entre differents acteurs. Par contre, le modele liberal de la democratic, meme idealise, ne peut pas se pretendre exclusif (Macpherson, 1976:1-12). II ne peut non plus pretendre presenter les conditions d'une concurrence parfaite (Miliband, 1973:165—200). En pratique, cette concurrence, presumee "essentielle," se concretise dans des relations de rivalite par rapport auxquelles la pratique du patronage peut etre source d'avantages (Hudon, 1974:488). L'evolution des conditions d'exercice de la democratic a toutefois produit un deplacement des lieux significatifs ou s'actualise cette rivalite: bien qu'encore pergu et dit important, le votant ne jouit plus en realite de la puissance qu'il crut deja etre la sienne. Les quelques remarques qui constituent la matiere de ce texte ne visent surement pas a rehabiliter des pratiques dont on a deja abondamment deplore la trace trop profonde dans les moeurs electorates de ce pays. Par contre, 1'objectif louable de rendre moins venal 1'exercice du droit de vote ne rend aucunement inopportun de signaler certains efFets pervers qui ont decoule d'une telle volonte' d'epuration des processus electoraux. Le "bon sens" contraint peut-etre a faire 1'effort d'une pareille lucidite. Alors, il convient tout d'abord d'examiner les conditions nouvelles d'exercice de la democratic et d'estimer leur incidence sur la realite democratique. Par la suite, il devient pertinent d'etablir le lien possible entre 1'evolution de ces conditions et celle de la pratique du patronage, tout en tentant d'evaluer leur impact respectif et reciproque. Ces discussions sommaires permettront de finalement s'interroger tres

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brievement, en conclusion, sur le sens et la portee imaginable d'une regulation etatique de la democratic.

Conditions nouvelles pour la democratic Les grands branle-bas episodiques dont les campagnes electorates constituent 1'occasion sont couramment pergus comme les moments forts du fonctionnement des democraties. Theoriquement rassemble sur une agora devenue plus mediatique que physique, le peuple se voit momentanement reconnaitre une indiscutable souverainete et une capacite de juger sans appel. Dans ce contexte, 1'electeur est suppose rationnel et apte a faire la juste part de ses interets particuliers et des interets de la collectivite aux orientations de laquelle il participe, entre autres, des qu'il devient votant. En s'en tenant a cette perspective, on conc.oit 1'electeur comme source du pouvoir. L'acte de votation tend alors a acquerir un caractere plus ou moins sacre, ce qui incite a rechercher des conditions optimales pour son actualisation. Aussi a-t-on voulu eliminer toutes les influences estimees indues et sou vent jugees immorales: les moeurs electorales devaient etre epurees. En plus de reposer generalement sur le vote libre, 1'e'thique democratique semble en effet exiger que cette liberte se traduise sans contrainte et sans interference au niveau de chacun des votants potentiels. Implicitement, il est alors attendu que la somme des decisions individuelles resulte en des choix collectifs qui, globalement, rejoignent en quelque sorte une logique du social (Boudon, 1979) plus ou moins radicalement differente des logiques guidant les preferences exprimees de faqon relativement isolee. Sociologiquement parlant, le rite de 1'isoloir recele cependant une part de mythe. Dans la pratique, quand il s'articule a la dynamique d'ensembles sociaux et politiques, 1'individualisme pur est une quasiimpossiblite. Les nombreuses analyses de sociologie electorate ont amplement montre et meme mesure 1'influence des relations et des appartenances des votants sur les choix qui s'affichent comme leurs. Socialement imbrique, Pelecteur est politiquement oriente. Le paradoxe surgit: appele a s'exprimer dans son individuality, le votant est presse de se degager de ses interets propres et immediats pour adherer a une vision plus generale, a des preoccupations de portee collective. D'ailleurs, n'est-ce pas a 1'aune de cette capacite de distanciation d'un "univers" egocentrique que se trouve decerne le grade de bon citoyen'? La traduction concrete de cette representation ideale du votant invite toutefois au prosai'sme.

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE People decide whether to vote by considering the following: whether one party would, in office, benefit them more than the other; whether their vote might affect the outcome because the election is predicted to be close; whether they obtain personal gratification from being part of the ritual of voting — taking the time to gather information, register, make a decision, and go to the polls. These costs can easily outweigh benefits because the impact of any vote on the election result is minimal. (Paletz et Entman, 1981:235)

Ideologiquement parlant, 1'utopie de 1'excellent citoyen est imaginable. Elle risque de demeurer en pratique plus ou moins imaginaire. Implique et engage dans des actions collectives, le citoyen ne fait pas toujours mystere de ses interets et de ses preferences propres. L'action collective est attrayante dans la mesure ou elle procure des benefices particuliers (Olson, 1978). II en va, a la limite, de la survie meme des systemes politiques: All systems must provide rewards for those who agree to participate in them. Participation implies something less than the acceptance of the legitimacy of the regime on the part of the participants. Whether or not they actually believe in its legitimacy is not essential to its survival; what is essential is that they continue to play the game. In this sense participation is equivalent to acquiescence . . . (Waterbury, 1989:355) Pour surmonter 1'obstacle que represente cette forme de narcissisme, la mobilisation ideologique s'est regulierement presentee comme recours utile, parfois efficace. A defaut de voir comblees ses attentes materielles et immediates, le citoyen participant doit avoir, au minimum, 1'impression d'une gratification pour toute contribution a des projets collectifs. Ainsi, pourrait prendre forme un compromis acceptable: . . . there is nothing in the nature of a human purpose that precludes its serving as a reason for joint commitments. On this assumption [. . .] political ideologies [are considered] capable of mediating the marriage of individual and collective reasons for action. Admittedly, this mediation may in fact prove exceedingly difficult in that it may encounter problems in attempting to resolve conflicts posed by a mix of collective purposes, only some of which one would wish to recognize as one's own. [. . .] Notwithstanding this practical difficulty, joint commitments on the basis of a shared ideology do yield the possibility of conceiving of political action, in terms of both participation and accountability, as a variant of recognizable human agency. (Barnard, 1984:58)

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Encore faut-il que les ideologies propagees soient porteuses de visions collectives! De toute evidence, le recent regain du liberalisme ne pouvait contribuer que bien peu a contrer un individualisme que notre epoque n'a assurement pas invente. II faudrait peut-etre, cependant, eviter de se meprendre sur la signification profonde du narcissisme apparent qui se greffe a cet individualisme rampant: Le Narcissisme contemporain est moins sans doute une maniere d'etre qu'une protection, et assez efficace souvent, centre I'angoisse. Mais 1'individualisme, bien an contraire de renforcer I'individuality, 1'affaiblit. Fleurs mais sans racines, quand bien meme dans des vases de prix . . . (Mendel, 1985:10)

Appliquee a 1'engagement politique et plus specifiquement a la participation electorate, cette mise en garde concernant le sens d'un certain declin de 1'activisme politique invite a depasser 1'immediatement observable: There is no doubt of the moral imperative associated with voting. Most people believe it is their civic and social duty to vote. Most nonvoters feel guilty about not voting and wish life had made it possible for them to do so. (Dolbeare, 1986:205)

En somme, le declin de 1'activisme politique demeure bien relatif. Contrairement a ce que certains (Baudrillard, 1982) croient percevoir, les citoyens ne se sont pas resignes a devenir des spectateurs permanents d'un jeu politique qu'ils s'estiment de moins en moins en mesure de controler. Leur desarroi ne fait cependant pas de doute. Ainsi, diverses enquetes (Hudon et Lecomte, 1988) montrent une crise de confiance qui affecte les instances de mediation democratique, mais elles laissent aussi transparaitre un desir de projets politiques qui justifieraient une (re)mobilisation. II se revelerait vraiment abusif de percevoir et interpreter le desengagement politique comme une marque de desinteret. C'est plutot un sentiment d'impuissance qu'il conviendrait sans doute de diagnostiquer, sentiment que la participation risquerait meme d'accentuer. If ordinary Americans tried to participate more practically, actively, and effectively in politics, they might realize their powerlessness, as well as provoke serious problems for ruling elites. (Paletz et Entman, 1981:248)

Dans un effort visant a retracer la source des problemes qui semblent affecter la vie democratique, on s'est parfois laisse impressionner par des discours a la mode pour evoquer une separation qui se serait impose'e avec plus de vigueur entre le politique et 1'economique.

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE What is at stake [. . .] is nothing short of the reintegration of the notion of democracy — the final breaking of the walls of separation that have kept economics and politics apart and sustained the partial version of democracy that enabled capitalism to triumph over (full) democracy. (Dolbeare, 1986:223)

A la place de cette separation, il serait peut-etre plus approprie de noter une predominance renouvelee des preoccupations d'ordre economique sur d'autres, d'ordre politique. Cette subordination du politique, dans la mesure ou elle s'avere verifiable, ne saurait cependant s'expliquer par la seule vogue des discours ouvertement articules a la necessite d'un desengagement prononce de 1'Etat du domaine economique. En realite, ces discours leurrent; ils masquent une reorientation fondamentale des actions et interventions de 1'Etat, reorientation qui a des implications non negligeables pour la poursuite de 1'ideal democratique. La strategic centrale de la nouvelle economic mondiale est de reserver au niveau international la regulation conjoncturelle et de confier au niveau national les reformes structurelles. II n'y a plus de regulation conjoncturelle au niveau national, autre que 1'accompagnement de la regulation Internationale. Si desagreable soit-elle a faire admettre aux dirigeants politiques nationaux, cette realite finira par s'imposer a tous . . . . L'un des grands defis qui se sont poses depuis un ou deux siecles aux democraties a etc de realiser 1'egalite des chances entre leurs citoyens. Le grand defi de demain est de realiser 1'egalite des chances entre les nations. (Stoleru, 1987:320-321)

II faut des lors bien saisir que "ce basculement du national vers 1'international a beau s'imposer dans les faits, les esprits n'y sont toujours pas prepares." Meme s'ils 1'etaient, il demeurerait illusoire de laisser croire que les interets particuliers et nationaux pourraient tous etre integralement proteges. De meme que 1'interet general ne s'identifie pas toujours a la somme des interets particuliers, 1'interet de 1'economie Internationale ne se confond pas avec la somme des interets nationaux. (Stoleru, 1987:237)

A vrai dire, presenter le systeme mondial comme 1'horizon desormais oblige dans 1'elaboration des politiques "nationales" contribue a (de)montrer une incapacite relative des gouvernements a decider de fac.on autonome. Rationnellement, le citoyen n'est-il pas incite a se montrer alors plus parcimonieux dans ses decisions d'investir ses ressources ou energies au profit d'une instance ou organisation qui avoue assez ouvertement la minceur de sa marge de manoeuvre et la fragilite de son

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autonomie? L'enjeu central a la derniere campagne electorate federale, le libre-echange, n'a-t-il pas fourni, justement, une autre occasion d'alimenter cette attitude de reserve plus ou moins prononcee au sein de 1'electorat canadien? Pour affermir ses positions fragiles, 1'lStat cherche a s'associer des organisations qui, conviees a participer de fagon accrue a 1'exercice de 1'autorite, se trouvent en partie spoliees de leur representativite legitimatrice. Les efforts de concertation ou de tripartisme que les gouvernements quebecois et canadien ont developpes depuis quelque quinze ou vingt ans ont, d'un certain point de vue, permis une plus large representation des interets divers dans ces societes. On ne peut neanmoins masquer que ces gains en representation s'accompagnent regulierement d'un affaiblissement de la representativite (Goetschy, 1987). Le Canada n'est certes pas parvenu a se doter de structures qualifiables de corporatistes. On est sans doute meme encore loin du quasi-corporatisme reve par certains acteurs politiques et economiques. Cependant, les efforts investis en ce sens ne menaient pas forcement a une amelioration des processus democratiques; tout au moins ne contribuaient-ils pas a redorer le blason des partis politiques (Coleman, 1988:281-282). Plus generalement, ces actions contribuent a mettre assez crument en lumiere une disjonction entre "systeme et monde vecu" (Habermas, 1987). Elles participent ainsi a une perte de confiance touchant les instances de mediation theoriquement chargees de 1'ajustement entre les acteurs concrets et les imperatifs du systeme, precisement parce qu'elles tendent a prendre insuffisamment en consideration "que les ressources politiques n'ont de proprietes stables que vis-a-vis de certaines logiques sociales particulieres et des lignes d'action qu'autorisent ou que definissent ces logiques" (Dobry, 1986:35). Passager ou pas, 1'engouement dont semblerait beneficier la politique municipale ne s'expliquerait-il pas en partie par cette impression qui se degage d'un relatif eloignement du politique? A toutes fins utiles, les citoyennes et les citoyens sentent progressivement leur echapper le controle de decisions cruciales pour leurs conditions propres d'existence: restructuration plus ou moins incontournable de 1'economic, reamenagement plus ou moins impose des conditions d'emploi, etc. L'action gouvernementale paraissait leur "offrir des substituts [au] patronage, par exemple sous forme de prestations d'aide sociale ou de subventions aux entreprises" (Lemieux et Hudon, 1975:155); mais elle est radicalement remise en cause ou soumise a de profondes revisions. Le retrecissement du champ des significations et la depersonnalisation concomitante des rapports politiques, pour une bonne part relies aux progres de la technocratic, ne se trouvent plus compenses par 1'assurance

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d'une redistribution universelle, soustraite a 1'arbitraire. II y eut, bien sur, condamnation juridique de la discrimination et affirmation legale de 1'egale dignite des droits. Pousse a la limite des moyens disponibles, 1'egalitarisme sous-tendant les interventions de 1'Etat-providence semble neanmoins poser la "necessite" politique d'un retour a la distinction. L'insecurite qui decoule du developpement de ces tendances pourrait inciter a 1'extension de la participation aux processus democratiques. Mais cette reaction ne s'impose pas d'evidence. L'evolution spectaculaire des communications de masse a resulte en 1'effacement de 1'electeur derriere un electoral anonyme ou, tout au moins, en sa fusion au sein de "clienteles electorales" cibles. Sollicite, ou plutot assailli de messages, le votant voit se modifier radicalement sa relation aux partis politiques qui consacrent d'immenses ressources pour capter son attention et forger son opinion. En simplifiant beaucoup, on peut dire que les partis ont eu pendant longtemps des clients, qu'ils ont ensuite cherche a avoir des militants, et que de plus en plus ils ont des opinants. Toujours ils ont pu compter sur des fideles. (Lemieux, 1990:1) Sur cette base, il faut encore une fois realiser que ce "recours aux opinants, c'est-a-dire a la participation la moins exigeante qui soit, est peut-etre le symptome d'une incapacite grandissante des partis a continuer d'offrir la principale voie de participation au politique dans nos societes" (Lemieux, 1990:17). Somme toute, 1'indifferenciation visible des partis devient source d'une apparente indifference de 1'electeur. D'autant plus que les partis presentent des options de moins en moins distinctes. Finalement, la decroissance de 1'engagement partisan et, dans une certaine mesure, de la participation, constitue un effet pervers de mesures qui avaient pour objectif d'affirmer une egalite en soi incontestable. Tout compte fait, la realisation des ideaux egalitaires, meme partielle, provoque et justifie une demobilisation. Certaines formes de participation furent potentiellement videes d'une partie de leur sens. Ainsi, greffees a la preoccupation d'assurer une egalite des chances des partis dans la competition electorate, les legislations sur le financement de ces partis et sur les depenses electorales n'ont peut-etre pas etc suffisamment etudiees (Paltiel, 1985:115-116). Le texte de Louis Massicotte, dans cet ouvrage, comble partiellement ce vide tout en forc,ant a nuancer certaines interpretations touchant les effets des legislations visees. II reste qu'une contribution financiere a un parti pourrait, au moins hypothetiquement, etre conc,ue plus comme moyen d'economies fiscales que comme soutien a 1'activite democratique. Dans pareil cas, le calcul des benefices anticipes d'une telle contribution se trouverait reoriente significativement.

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En resume, alors que de nombreuses interventions ont cherche a bonifier les conditions de participation aux procedures democratiques, les incitations a cette participation n'ont peut-etre pas tout 1'attrait recherche. Les profondes transformations structurelles qui marquent notre monde ont favorise un repli des electeurs et un recentrage de leurs interets. La preoccupation de "sauver sa peau" en est ainsi venue a primer sur les programmes visant a "changer le monde." La necessite de s'adapter semble s'etre substitute aux engagements politiques volontaristes, en particulier au niveau des gouvernants. Confronte a des realites qui ne se vivent pas en fonction des seules logiques systemiques, le citoyen se decouvre relativement impuissant et ne parvient plus a faire totalement confiance aux instances investies du pouvoir de decider, ni meme a celles habituellement chargees de vehiculer ses preoccupations et inquietudes. La participation par habitude, tout en etant voulue moins couteuse, dissimule a peine un cynisme plus ou moins larve. Qui plus est: les benefices decoulant du seul fait de 1'appartenance a une collectivite politique constituee ne se trouvent plus garantis consequemment a la remise en question de 1'universalite de programmes elabores avec 1'extension de 1'Etatprovidence. Finalement, peut-on ne pas noter la regression de relations politiques personnalisees qui pouvaient, et pourraient encore, utilement compenser le deficit de le'gitimite democratique qui affecte lourdement les institutions politiques? /

Ethique democratique et patronage Le diagnostic tout juste esquisse peut etre estime defaitiste. II est toutefois difficile d'occulter les indices qui le fondent. II serait abusif de suggerer que la democratic est irremediablement condamnee, comme il se revelerait inexact de poser que la poursuite d'une certaine ethique democratique met en peril les progres de la pratique democratique. C'est precisement le rejet d'une centralisation et concentration excessives du pouvoir et des traits de corruption caracteristiques de 1'exercice de ce pouvoir qui inspire le spectaculaire mouvement d'opposition qui defer le a 1'Est. II vaut quand meme de se demander si les jugements portes sur toutes les formes de patronage ont toujours ete pleinement adequats: "It is natural but wrong to assume that the results of corruption are always both bad and important" (Leys, 1989:57). D'ailleurs, les condamnations du patronage ne traduisirent pas toujours une morale politiquement neutre. While the use of material benefits by political elites is considered legitimate on the collective level, it is considered increasingly illegitimate as one moves down to the individual level, where it usually

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE contravenes accepted rules of the democratic process and falls under the heading of "political corruption". (Etzioni-Halevy, 1989:288)

Devant une situation de corruption repandue, le correctif couramment mis de 1'avant pour retablir un fonctionnement democratique moralement plus acceptable a emprunte la forme de systemes bureaucratiques d'elaboration, de mise en oeuvre et de controle des politiques. Drole de democratic qui, a 1'extreme, en arrive a confiner les elus democratiquement responsables a une fonction d'adoption et de mise en marche de ces politiques! Paradoxically, [. . .] only where the power of a democratically-elected political elite has been restrained and counterbalanced by the power of a non-elected bureaucratic elite, have proper democratic procedures been put into place. In other words, restraint of the power of the elected political elite by a nonelected bureaucratic elite is a prerequisite for a properly functioning democracy. Not surprisingly, the independent power of a non-elected elite is also a source of problems for democracy. (Etzioni-Halevy, 1989:302) Au debut des annees soixante, les Quebecois n'entrevoyaient pas clairement ces nouveaux obstacles a une democratic ideale, etant principalement quoique non singulierement preoccupes de freiner certains abus et distorsions. Corruption in modern liberal democratic or socialist regimes [. . .] seems especially damaging since it undermines both the egalitarian assumptions of majority rule and the principles of even distribution of civil and social rights of which we normally approve. (Scott, 1989:142-143) Un bilan exhaustif devrait etre dresse; trac.ons-en seulement quelques lignes. Meme extremement limite, 1'exercice n'est pas depourvu d'interet. Le renforcement de 1'administration, et en particulier 1'apparition du syndicalisme dans la fonction publique, la lutte centre le patronage dramatisee par la creation de la commission Salvas, au debut des annees 1960, et 1'intervention de plus en plus organisee de 1'Etat dans le developpement economique ont sape en grande partie les bases du petit patronage. Tous ces facteurs ont grandement restreint le patronage des petits emplois dans la fonction publique, celui des achats ou des contrats au profit de petits commergants, de petits entrepreneurs ou de petits professionnels, le patronage par les travaux de voirie et les autres travaux dans les villages ou dans les rangs qui profitaient surtout aux residents de ces lieux. (Lemieux, 1990:5-6)

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Au bout du compte, les objectifs d'une plus grande egalite ne pouvaient etre plus manifestement detournes ou restraints. L'egalite semblait convenable quand appliquee pour les electeurs ou citoyens de classes moins favorisees. Elle ne fut pas imposee au meme degre a tous les niveaux de la societe. Les nouvelles regies et les arrangements institutionnels mis en oeuvre devinrent a la limite sources de nouvelles formes d'inequite ou de "protection," dont ne se trouve pas vraiment exemptee, par exemple, la pratique syndicale. Le jugement a deja etc formule, bien avant ce jour. . . . 1'evolution recente du patronage des partis au Quebec, qui semble favoriser le "gros" patronage anx depens du "petit", doit etre consideree comme un recul plutot que comme un progres par rapport aux pratiques passees. (Lemieux et Hudon, 1975:158) Est-il necessaire de souligner que cette evolution n'est pas particuliere au Quebec? En realite, c'est a 1'evolution des societes dites developpees qu'il apparait pertinent de referer pour saisir la portee et le sens des changements survenus. D'une de ces societes a 1'autre, les resultats se revelent comparables. While old patronage was never as democratic in scope in the American sense, it was diffused much further down the income and status scale than the new patronage which is decisively middle class in nature and available almost exclusively to people with professional or business qualifications. The growth of the capitalist welfare state has "classified" party patronage at the same time as it has bureaucratized redistributive relations for the lower class. (Whitaker, 1987:66) En prolongeant et multipliant les observations, on estime justifie de poser que les personnes qui se voyaient privees des avantages lies aux pratiques anterieures cherchaient a compenser leur relative mise en marge par 1'instauration de relations moins depersonnalisees. La bureaucratisation [. . .] entraine generalement une plus grande conjonctivite de la transduction et, par la, provoque chez les gouvernes la recherche de relations plus personnelles, et done plus disjonctives, qu'ils trouvent dans la clientele. Cette recherche d'une plus grande humanite a etc bien montree par Merton, en particulier. (Lemieux, 1977:193) Les conditions ont cependant change. L'Etat a en effet etendu son emprise au point qu'il s'avere quasi utopique de provoquer un remplacement des relations bureaucratiques. Par ailleurs, 1'individu trouve moins facilement au sein meme de la societe le lien communautaire qui permettait naguere de mieux envelopper les petites detresses et angoisses personnelles. A prime abord, on pourrait croire que le mouvement est

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irreversible et, des lors, que le patronage aura etc une pratique d'une epoque bien revolue, du moins en ce qui touche ses anciens "petits" beneficiaires. The age of patronage is gone. That of bureaucrats, lobbyists, and PR specialists has succeeded. Alternative democratic politics still lie beyond the horizon. (Whitaker, 1987:69)

II n'est pas evident, neanmoins, que cette pratique, a ses divers niveaux, se trouve aussi irreductiblement condamnee. II est meme suggere que tout enseignement devrait afficher la conviction contraire. Political corruption is almost inevitable in a political culture — and that is exactly what must be learned by the political public and taught by political scientists, (von Alemann, 1989:867)

Ainsi, 1'echec des programmes d'epuration des pratiques politiques apparait pratiquement inevitable. La recherche d'une ethique democratique ne releverait-elle done que du domaine du voeu pieux? Puisque chasser le patronage, ce serait tout simplement 1'amener a se dissimuler ou reapparaitre sous des formes renouvelees . . . .. . while any single type of patronage, as for instance semi-institutionalized kinship-like personal dyadic patron-client relationship, may disappear under [some] conditions, new types may appear, and [. . .] they can be found in a variety of forms in many societies, cutting across different levels of economic development and political regimes, and seemingly performing important functions within these more highly developed modern frameworks. (Eisenstadt et Roniger, 1981:272) Si ces derniers enonces ne sont pas contestes, en decoule-t-il que certaines rhetoriques equivalent a de la tromperie, sinon a de 1'hypocrisie? .. . patronage remained, like pornography, a subject closed to rational discourse, obscured by perfervid rhetoric, clouded by an enveloping hypocrisy, the peep show of politics. (Simpson, 1988:373)

En realite, le jugement gagnerait a etre moins peremptoirement prononce. Les patrons, en action ou en puissance d'action, ont evidemment interet a convaincre que le rival se derobe aux regies democratiques et introduit des entorses et distorsions dans 1'actualisation d'une competition politique loyale. Ce jeu ne dupe pas vraiment beaucoup de gens; il est quand meme attendu du cote des electeurs. Au-dela d'un certain degre de cynisme, la morale n'a pas perdu tous ses droits. Par contre, le "public" n'est probablement pas tout a fait cheque de voir confirmees les raisons de son cynisme: les politiciens auraient beau etre tous egalement

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amoraux, cela doit etre connu! On ne peut pas, cependant, se cacher les effets potentiellement devastateurs de denonciations repetees, comme cela etait deja perceptible au Quebec il y a une quinzaine d'annees. The reality which lies behind the evidence and accusations is perhaps not as important, in some ways, as the atmosphere of cynicism and of helplessness which they create. The optimism and the confidence in the political process which characterized the Quiet Revolution seems to be slowly evaporating. (Heintzman, 1976:223) On n'a pas reellement besoin de soulever le doute sur les politiciens. Par ailleurs, a exagerement 1'entretenir, on risque de provoquer un scepticisme encore plus large sur les institutions democratiques elles-memes. II faut bien s'entendre: cette precaution ne constitue pas une invitation a une tolerance qui s'avererait elle-meme deplorable. Mais il serait politiquement suicidaire de poursuivre des objectifs d'epuration des moeurs politiques avec un zele qui, a la limite, susciterait une perte de confiance totale dans les mecanismes et organisations disponibles pour tenter d'atteindre ces objectifs. II s'impose d'exiger la "bonne conduite" des autres; il ne serait probablement pas avise d'arriver a la faire croire impossible, meme pour soil Les reflexions proposees jusqu'ici indiquent assez clairement que la pratique du patronage n'est sans doute pas attribuable aux seuls individus en place. II a ete couramment pose que le patronage se rencontrait specialement dans des societes qui n'avaient pas franchi le cap de la modernisation et ne s'etaient pas dotees des organisations et institutions habituellement rencontrees dans les societes ayant presume'ment atteint ce stade de leur evolution. Corruption is most prevalent in states which lack effective political parties, in societies where the interests of the individual, the family, the clique, or the clan predominate. In a modernizing polity the weaker and less accepted the political parties, the greater the likelihood of corruption. (Huntington, 1989:387) L'observation, meme sommaire, de societes considerees modernes fait cependant ressortir que les partis politiques bien constitues et etablis font face a des choix effectivement restreints en ce qui touche 1'elimination du patronage. Les conditions nouvelles qui sont faites au fonctionnement des democraties accentuent encore les contraintes. Avant d'assurer une participation moralement irreprochable, il faut assurer une participation! The decline of patronage in the face of urbanization, modernization, better education, television, an aroused public opinion, among other factors, left parties in a terrible predicament. [. . .] If they curtailed

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE patronage, then they would have to search for other means of securing participation and mobilizing commitment and these means proved elusive. It was easy to decry patronage and certainly possible to limit it. But what would take its place, and prove as effective as patronage had once been in cementing loyalties and encouraging participation? (Simpson, 1988:373-374)

Justement, la question se pose ine'luctablement: la participation estelle possible sans les retributions, anticipees ou reelles, attachees au patronage? Pour repondre adequatement a cette interrogation, il faudrait introduire des distinctions importantes entre les niveaux et les formes du patronage (pris ici dans un sens generique). Tout comme il faudrait tenir compte des degres et formes diversifies de la participation politique. Se cantonner dans une attitude dubitative pourrait faire croire a une esquive commode. II demeure que 1'elaboration de reponses tranchantes friserait 1'illusionnisme. Les electeurs, pour devenir votants, n'exigent pas irreductiblement recompenses ou protection. Us apprecient toutefois qu'on les reconnaisse. Un engagement plus pousse, le militantisme, entraine chez plusieurs un calcul plus precis. Les denonciations feroces du duplessisme et de son systeme de favoritisme par les liberaux quebecois il y a quelque trente ans n'etait pas d'inspiration foncierement machiavelique. Les annees qui ont suivi la prise du pouvoir par leur parti en 1960 ont tout de meme laisse transparaitre 1'espoir plus ou moins avouable que le fait d'avoir contribue a la victoire du parti gouvernemental n'en vienne pas a equivaloir a une privation estimee par trop angelique. Le concept du "bon patronage" connut alors, pour dire le moins, une certaine vogue. Ces attentes, bien identifiables bien que difficiles a mesurer avec precision, s'accompagnerent des inquietudes croissantes face a 1'extension et 1'expansion d'empires bureaucratiques non soumis, eux, au controle democratique. L'implantation d'une forme de meritocratic dans ['attribution et la gestion des emplois se justifiait par la recherche d'une plus grande equite dans 1'embauche et la promotion; elle ne produisit pas un gain equivalent de democratic. Plusieurs citoyens et politiciens ressentirent assez nettement la portee de ces developpements, confessant meme parfois une certaine nostalgic du "bon vieux temps." N'a-t-on pas denonce a quelques reprises le "patronage des fonctionnaires"? D'un autre cote, les partis politiques ont vu leur marge de manoeuvre se retrecir graduellement dans 1'elaboration de politiques susceptibles de susciter un appui populaire. Dans ces conditions, il ne semble meme plus evident que les options a proposer decoulent de choix tout a fait libres. La mondialisation de Peconomie et la crise budgetaire representent finalement les elements les plus visibles des contraintes nouvelles qui

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confrontent les gouvernements elus. Ce contexte limite sensiblement la capacite de mobilisation "gratuite" dont les partis ont pu tirer profit deja. Parler de democratic conduit a penser le gouvernement des societes a partir du peuple, ses membres jouissant theoriquement d'un pouvoir equivalent dans le choix des dirigeants et dans 1'evaluation de leurs actions et de leurs propositions d'action. Pour que le fonctionnement des democraties acquiere tout son sens, il faut depasser les intentions et les declarations de principe et exiger que les conditions existantes favorisent la participation la plus large. L'examen des difficultes actuelles de la democratic met au jour des limites a 1'actualisation de cette participation. En suggerant que 1'electeur montre une tendance a calculer les couts et benefices de sa participation et en y reliant la pratique du patronage politique, on decouvre 1'effet d'incitation que cette pratique a pu naguere exercer. II serait sans doute irrecevable de proner un retour a des pratiques deja jugees censement. Neanmoins, la discussion qui precede a peut-etre le me'rite d'apporter des elements supplementaires aux interrogations concernant "les rapports de la societe a 1'Etat" (Rosanvallon, 1981:31). f

Democratic et Etat Pour conclure tres brievement, qu'il suffise de rappeler que la reconnaissance de "1'egale dignite de la personne humaine" n'a jamais signifie et ne pourra jamais signifier 1'absolue ressemblance des personnes. La recherche de 1'egalite ne saurait pas non plus se traduire par 1'imposition de comportements completement semblables. Si la participation du plus grand nombre est fortement souhaitable pour nous permettre de parler serieusement de democratic, cette participation ne doit surement pas devenir obligee. II est par centre exigible que les conditions qui la favorisent soient les plus adequates. La question se pose alors de savoir qui assumera cette responsabilite. Au vu de citoyens qui semblent plus enclins a calculer leur participation, la tentation est forte de s'en remettre a 1'Etat. II convient de noter les risques courus des que 1'Etat est invite a devenir "le grand regulateur de 1'ensemble des relations sociales." Les groupes sociaux avec des interets divergents n'existent plus; il ne reste que la raison d'Etat, qui prime tout. Quelques questions demeurent tout de mime: qui definit ce qui est nuisible pour la societe? ce qu'est 1'hygiene sociale? Avec un tel modele on en arrive a ce que la police definisse les valeurs constitutionnelles et finalement la constitution elle-meme. (Szell, 1986:168)

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Au fond, la question fondamentale demeure incontournable. Est-il sage de s'en remettre a 1'Etat pour determiner 1'acceptable et le tolere? C'est bien dans les relations, dans le "monde vecu," que les solutions se dessinent reellement, que les controles s'actualisent vraiment, que les enjeux se tranchent concretement. L'adoption de legislations ne peut pas definir les pratiques; elle peut seulement les contraindre. Le paradoxe reside dans la quasi-inevitabilite de 1'intervention legislative, quand les bornes sont depassees. L'absence de regies, ou leur insuffisance, fait ressortir leur necessite, meme si leur existence peut s'averer source de nouveaux problemes. C'est vraisemblablement 1'esprit qui a anime les auteurs des reformes electorates et des revisions legislatives destinees a bonifier les processus democratiques. II n'est pas evident que pousser beaucoup plus loin 1'encadrement de la vie democratique conduise a un reel approfondissement de celle-ci. En monopolisant la production de la vie commune pour instituer le positif social, 1'fitat ne cesse de conduire une oeuvre d'epuisement de la sociabilite, d'extermination de la societe. (Meyer, 1977:184)

Ultimement, il faut faire le pari d'une democratic animee "par le bas"; ce qui ne saurait vouloir dire une elimination de toute norme. Toutefois, avant de veiller a 1'ethique de la pratique democratique, il est necessaire que cette pratique soit marque'e de vitalite. Mais, alors, engager le debat sur ce terrain porte la discussion bien au-dela de jugements sur la pratique du patronage. BlBLIOGRAPHIE Barnard, Frederick M. (1984). "Actions, Reasons, and Political Ideology." J.M. Porter, ed., Sophia and Praxis. The Boundaries of Politics. Chatham, NJ: Chatham House Publishers, 35-64. Baudrillard, Jean. (1982). A I'ombre des majorit.es silencieuses ou La fin du social. Paris: Editions Denoel/Gonthier, Collection Mediations. Boudon, Raymond. (1979). La logique du social. Introduction a I'analyse sociologique. Paris: Hachette, Collection Pluriel. Charney, Jean-Paul. (1985). "Suffrage universel." Universalis, vol. 17. Cite dans L'archiviste 16:1 (janvier-fevrier), 1989. Coleman, William D. (1988). Business and Politics: A Study of Collective Action. Montreal/Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press. Dobry, Michel. (1986). Sociologie des crises politiques. La dynamique des mobilisations multisectorielles. Paris: Presses de la Fondation Rationale des sciences politiques. Dolbeare, Kenneth M. (1986). Democracy at Risk: The Politics of Economic Renewal. Chatham, NJ: Chatham House Publishers, edition revisee.

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Eisenstadt, S.N., et Luis Roniger. (1981). "The Study of Patron-Client Relations and Recent Developments in Sociological Theory." S.N. Eisenstadt et Rene Lemarchand, eds., Political Clientelism, Patronage and Development. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 271-95. Etzioni-Halevy, Eva. (1989). "Exchanging Material Benefits for Political Support: A Comparative Analysis." Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 287-304. Goetschy, Janine. (1987). "The neo-corporatist issue in France." Ilja Scholten, ed., Political Stability and Neo-Corporatism. Corporatist Integration and Societal Cleavages in Western Europe. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 177-94. Habermas, Jurgen. (1987). Theorie de I'agir communicationnel. Tome 2: Pour une critique de la raison fonctionnaliste. Paris: Librairie Artheme Fayard, Collection L'espace du politique. Heintzman, Ralph. (1976). "Politics and Corruption in Quebec." Kenneth M. Gibbons et Donald C. Rowat, eds., Political Corruption in Canada. Cases, Causes and Cures. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, The Carleton Library, 217-24. Hudon, Raymond. (1974). "Pour une analyse politique du patronage." Revue canadienne de science politique/Canadian Journal of Political Science 7:3, 484-01. . (1987). "Le patronage politique: moralite et rationalites." Revue d'etudes canadiennes/Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2 (Summer), 11134. Hudon, Raymond, et Patrick Lecomte. (1988). "Representations de la crise de la representation. Quelques dimensions politiques du mouvement etudiant de 1'automne 1986 en France." Jean Tournon, ed. Alternance et changements politiques. Les experiences canadienne, quebe'coise et franqaise. Grenoble: Centre de recherche sur le politiqne, 1'administration et le territoire, Institut d'etudes politiques, Universite des sciences sociales de Grenoble, cahier no. 4, 227-71. Huntington, Samuel P. (1989). "Modernization and Corruption." Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 377-88. Lemieux, Vincent. (1977). Le patronage politique. Une etude comparative. Quebec: Les Presses de 1'Universite Laval. . (1990). La participation et les partis politiques. Quebec: Universite Laval, Departement de science politique. Lemieux, Vincent, et Raymond Hudon. (1975). Patronage et politique au Quebec: 1944-1972. Sillery: Les Editions du Boreal Express. Leys, Colin. (1989). "What Is the Problem About Corruption?" Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 51-66.

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Macpherson, C.B. (1976). Le veritable tnonde de la democratic. Montreal: Les Presses de PUniversite du Quebec. Mendel, Gerard. (1985). La crise est politique. La politique eat en crise. Paris: Payot, Collection Science de I'homme. Meyer, Philippe. (1977). L'enfant et la raison d'tftat. Paris: Editions du Seuil, Collection Points-Politique. Miliband, Ralph. (1973). L'tftat dans la socie'te capitaliste. Analyse du systeme de pouvoir occidental. Paris: Librairie Frangois Maspero, Collection Textes a 1'appui. Olson, Mancur. (1978). Logique de I'action collective. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, Collection Sociologies. Paletz, David L., et Robert M. Entman. (1981). Media, Power, Politics. New York: The Free Press. Paltiel, Khayyam Z. (1985). "The Control of Campaign Finance in Canada: A Summary and Overview." Hugh G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 5e Edition. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada. Regenstreif, Peter. (1965). The Diefenbaker Interlude: Parties and Voting in Canada. An Interpretation. Toronto: Longmans. Rosanvallon, Pierre. (1981). La crise de I'Etat-providence. Paris: Editions du Seuil, Collection Points-Politique. Scott, James C. (1989). "Handling Historical Comparisons Cross-Nationally." Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction PubUshers, 129-43. Simpson, Jeffrey. (1988). Spoils of Power. The Politics of Patronage. Toronto: Collins. Stoleru, Lionel. (1987). L'ambition Internationale. Paris: Editions du Seuil, Collection L'histoire immediate. Szell, Gyorgy. (1986). "L'Etat, le droit et les nouvelles technologies." Sociologie et societes 18:1, 163-70. Vastel, Michel. (1988). "Le PC et le PLQ dans la guerre du "petit patronage." Le Devoir, 27 mai, A-l et A-10. von Alemann, Ulrich. (1989). "Bureaucratic and Political Corruption Controls: Reassessing The German Record." Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 855-69. Waterbury, John. (1989). "Endemic and Planned Corruption in a Monarchical Regime." Arnold J. Heidenheimer, Michael Johnston et Victor T. Levine, eds., Political Corruption. A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 339-61. Whitaker, Reg. (1987). "Between Patronage and Bureaucracy: Democratic Politics in Transition." Revue d'etudes canadiennes/Journal of Canadian Studies 22:2 (Summer), 55-71.

V Lobbying and Interest Representation

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A Political Economy Approach to Interest Representation Jane Jenson CARLETON UNIVERSITY Thinking about modes of interest representation has undergone several permutations in recent years, as major alterations in post-war electoral coalitions mark the emergence of new political actors, partisan strategies, and forms of state/society and global relations. The diversity of literatures analyzing neo-corporatism, new social movements, New Left and post-modern politics indicates that the theoretical perspectives on liberal democracy which dominated political science and sociology after 1945 required reconceptualization. Moreover, since the political events provoking new theory occurred in conjunction with a profound crisis and restructuring of economic relations, even political economy approaches began to reassess representation. This chapter, based on an elaboration of one such political economy approach, proposes a way to think about representation that will expose the complicated links between economic and political relations. It does so by examining the Canadian case and by paying particular attention to the specificities of representation as this country moves into the 1990s and the era of free trade. The Canadian party system has always constituted something of an exception to the patterns of postwar politics, having a relatively weak social democratic tradition and being dominated by brokerage parties. Such differences aside, however, Canada provides an excellent example of the ways in which representational forms have undergone transformation, as new discourses and practices emerged. While Canada's economic and political restructuring has not involved the same dramatic renunciation of post-war compromises that were a notable feature of the party systems in the USA and UK, there has been a move away from those compromises by other institutions. These have provoked an alteration of the representational content of social relations, partisan coalitions, and forms of political activity (Jenson, 1989a). A wide range of political actors are now battling

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over the conditions under which Canada will move away from its past of permeable Fordism towards its post-Fordist future. In presenting this approach my paper assumes that history is openended, even based on its own chance discoveries. Given that history is a dialectical relationship in which action takes place within structured constraints, a study of the politics of action is as important as any structural analysis. A second assumption is that temporality and spatiality are crucial elements of historical processes. The potential for political change is not the same at all times; some moments recreate stability in social relations while others generate the space for experimentation. Moreover, this time-bound conceptualization of innovation itself suggests that notions of spatiality are neither fixed nor always equally fluid. Some moments may bring new representations of the spaces of politics while others hew to the familiar boundaries. With these two assumptions the paper first discusses a definition of politics, and then sketches out the roots of the contending alternatives to post-Fordism now emerging in Canada.

Politics in Regulation and Crisis Politics, as broadly defined here, involves actors' efforts to carve out a constituency for themselves by mobilizing support for a preferred formulation of their own collective identity (and often that of their protagonists) and for the enumeration of their interests, following from that collective identity. This definition of politics depends upon a particular understanding of representation. One type of representation is an actor's representation of self to others, via a collective identity. A second type, familiar from the language of liberal democracy, is the organized representation of interests. These two senses of representation are closely linked. Both involve the power to give meaning to social relations and thereby to describe and dispute "interests." Representation of self involves, among other things, naming oneself, since only an actor with a name is recognizable to others. As a consequence of such naming, social relations become visible and it is also via such naming that a range of political strategies for sustaining or changing social relations emerges. Because representation of self is the chosen, and therefore variable, strategy of actors, there will be diversity in the names with which actors in similar circumstances describe themselves. The particular outcome, in each place and time, results from a specific conflict involving negotiated mutual recognition. Representation of interests is also part of this process, of course. Resolution of basic definitional questions about the identity of the central protagonists places

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broad limits on the definition of interests of actors and also makes such definitions historical rather than "objective."1 Understanding representation in this double sense underlines the centrality of contests over meaning and for the power to label social relations. The terrain on which actors struggle over representation is the universe of political discourse, a space in which identities are socially constructed (Jenson, 1986). Because actors with a variety of collective identities co-exist in the universe of political discourse, their practices and meaning systems jostle one another in the effort to secure attention and legitimacy. Politics is conflict about collective identities — about who has a right to make claims — as much as it is conflict among groups and organizations over disputed claims about who gets what, when, and how. But it is also struggle about where politics occurs. An aspect of representation is actors' designation of the spaces which they understand to be "political." Whether actors describe an issue as "public" or "private," "federal" or "provincial," "national," "global" or "local," "of the family" or "of the state," their choice among these alternatives is a crucial element of their representation of self and interests. Observation of history, however, shows us that not all historical moments are equally open to innovation. There are times when there is a relative societal consensus about the names of the actors, their interests, and political spaces. In this case conflict is primarily within the terms of an ongoing system of representation, which is in regulation. At other moments there is turmoil in the universe of political discourse, with debates challenging not only distributional effects but also the very boundaries of politics and the right of some actors to make claims. Under such conditions alternative meaning systems and practices exist in the universe of political discourse. It is then permissible to speak of situations of crisis. It is necessary, then, to think more about regulation and crisis as well as representation. One of the miracles of social life is that, despite the contradictions at the heart of social relations, there are historical moments when systems of social relations crystallize, stalling contradictions at least for a time.2 These systems form a model of development which, as the particular achievement of each national society, is a combination of institutionalized social relations which reproduce over time. Throughout the history of capitalism situations can be identified in which the allocation of social production between consumption and accumulation was stable over a long period of time. The existence of such a regime of accumulation implies a certain correspondence between transformation of the conditions of production and reproduction of wage-labour, including a correspondence between certain of the modalities in which capitalism is articulated

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with other modes of production within a national social formation. A social bloc composed of a stable system of alliances, compromises and patterns of domination among social groups provides a good match for the regime of accumulation. While the leading fraction of the capitalist class may "place its stamp" on the model of development, and is likely to be a dominant political force, its political position depends upon its ability to participate in a project which can secure the consent of virtually all important groups in any social formation.3 These models of development, whose reproduction over time indicates that they are in regulation, do not occur magically; and the fact that they are stable certainly does not explain their existence. Explanations for their constitution and the ways in which they continue must make use of differentconceptualizations which pay attention to the ways in which actors organize social relations through the meanings which they give them as well as through their practices. These are, of course, limited; not everything is possible. Nevertheless, patterns which in the eyes of observers constitute quite similar structures can be represented by actors in quite diverse, albeit coherent and meaningful ways.4 Analysis must thus provide ways to conduct concrete investigations of historically developed sets of practices and meanings which provide the actual mechanisms of regulation. Making a loose distinction between the realm of commodity and wage relations — the basic relations of production — and the domain of other social relations, we can label these regulatory mechanisms the mode of regulation and the societal paradigm.5 Stabilization of a regime of accumulation depends, then, upon its being institutionalized as norms, habits, and laws in a mode of regulation which guarantees that its agents conform more or less to the schema of reproduction in their day-to-day behaviour and in their struggles within contradictory social relations. When a set of practices, and the meanings which accompany them, succeed in stabilizing a regime of accumulation, we can say a mode of regulation exists. Representations in this mode of regulation name the legitimate actors in the social relations of production, identify their interests, and locate the spaces of the "politics of production." A societal paradigm is similarly a shared set of interconnected norms, habits and laws which make sense of the many social relations beyond the realm of production.6 Every societal paradigm contains a view of human nature, a definition of basic and proper forms of social relations among equals and among those in relationships of hierarchy, specification of relations among institutions, as well as a stipulation of the role of such institutions and a demarcation of political space.7 If the sets of interconnected premises from which a mode of regulation or a societal paradigm are derived come to be widely shared as the

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result of a social compromise, they are "hegemonic." Hegemony means in this sense that there are socially limited ways of living social relations which exist as effective constraints on social relations. By designating the ways to play social roles, these norms and institutions allocate actors to their places in social relations. Divergences are minimal and confined to disputes internal to the representational system itself; they are insufficient to undermine the regime of accumulation and the social bloc. The constitution of a hegemonic mode of regulation and societal paradigm, within which only some collective identities are represented, is the product of politics in its broadest sense. We can catalogue any number of institutions — ranging from political parties, trade unions and other social movements to the various apparatuses of the state, churches, corporations, families and scientific establishments — as the multiple sites of its constitution. From this description of the elements which contribute to its emergence and sustenance it is clear that we must acknowledge the miracle which lies behind the construction of a workable model of development out of moments of crisis. But because a regime of accumulation and social bloc can never overcome, but only stall contradictions, there is always the possibility that the practices and meanings crystallized in the mode of regulation and the societal paradigm will no longer be sufficient to sustain unity in opposition, and a major crisis will break out. A crisis cannot, then, be understood simply as the result of reaching certain structural limits. It is also both manifested and resolved within the representational system. In a situation of crisis, actors newly visible and active in the expanding universe of political discourse will begin to present alternative modes of regulation and societal paradigms and struggle over the terms of a new compromise. If, as a result of such conflict, a new model of development emerges, then another set of rules for recognizing actors, defining interests and locating political space will also exist.

The Crisis of Canada's Permeable Fordism The model of development which emerged in Canada after 1945 was no exception to the basic patterns of all advanced capitalist countries. Rising productivity in Fordism's intensive regime of accumulation followed from Taylorist labour processes, involving among other things the separation of conceptualization and execution. The addition of rising wages and the institution of a social wage meant that mass consumption could overcome the overproduction difficulties which plagued industrial

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economies in the interwar years. Finally, while the post-war international economic system formalized at Bretton Woods depended on the USA filling the role of hegemon, international trade played a relatively small part in the Fordist models of development of most countries; effort was usually focused on deepening the domestic market. Canada's Fordist regime of accumulation took a similar form, but with several important differences.8 One was that the post-war development strategy maintained its emphasis on exporting raw materials, often with little processing. A second was that expanded mass production of mass consumption goods continued to take the form of import substitution, so that the Canadian manufacturing sector became increasingly dependent on foreign investment, just as the resource sector had always been. Finally, as a result of these two elements of the strategy, international trade was always a crucial aspect of the model of development and the status of the balance of payments central to accumulation. The result was, of course, that even in the 1950s the Canadian model of development was designed domestically in ways that made it permeable to the international economy. The social blocs of the countries which elaborated Fordist projects were usually coalitions of large, modern capitalists in an effective alliance with waged workers, especially those in the manufacturing sector. Small capitalists and/or independent commodity producers often lost the political influence which had been commensurate with their more important position in the interwar economy, while service sector workers were not yet considered a key social group. In the Fordist project the interests of all social groups were assimilated to those of large capitalists and workers in the manufacturing sector. Citizens' rights in the Keynesian welfare state derived from being workers or dependents of workers. Non-waged groups were treated as if they shared the needs of workers. Once again the Canadian social bloc was no exception, although it was different. The staples fraction continued to be the leading fraction of capital, as it had been for so long. In the post-war years, however, large producers, both indigenous and foreign, in the staples sector took on greater importance than the merchant-financiers who had organised the staples trade after Confederation. Part of their project, reflecting the long-standing concern for generating domestic employment, involved fostering modern manufacturing, whether with domestic or with foreign investment. In this way the Keynesian state policies, so essential to the constitution of Fordism, were married to programmes for staplesled growth (Mahon, 1984:11-15). Thus the compositional effect of both resource-based development and Fordist-style mass production industry

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was a social bloc permeated by foreign capitalists and their Canadian compradors. This regime of accumulation and its accompanying social bloc structured a stable model of development for more than two decades. Postwar growth was spectacular, despite certain worrisome downturns. Canada became a modern, urban society with one of the highest standards of living in the world. Yet, like any model of development, Canada's permeable Fordism merely stalled its contradictions; it never resolved them. These contradictions reappeared with the crisis of the international economy in the late 1960s. As in many countries in these years, rates of productivity increase slowed, as limits to the Taylorist organization of work were reached and the intensive regime of accumulation encountered opposition from within. The rebuilding of the European and Japanese economies throughout these decades, as well as US expenditures on the Vietnam War, eventually resulted in the displacement of American economic hegemony and the creation of new patterns of global exchange. Canada's fragile manufacturing sector, structured in the Fordist years to depend on continuing flows of foreign investment, suffered as American corporations moved around the globe in search of other, more profitable sites for investment. The lack of any export markets for manufactured goods, also a feature of permeable Fordism, meant that Canada had difficulty competing in the global economy in which trade was becoming increasingly important. Thus, as international economic actors attempted to solve their accumulation difficulties by shifting manufacturing around the globe and opening up markets world-wide, the possibility of tradeinduced deindustrialization emerged as a threat to the continuation of the social bloc's coalition of the staples fraction, manufacturing capital, and industrial workers (Mahon, 1984:17-18). By the early 1970s all the evidence indicated that Canada's permeable Fordism was in crisis. It was the specificities of this crisis of a permeable version of Fordism which set out the constraints under which the future will be designed.

Representations in Fordism The brief story just told describes the characteristics and emerging crisis of the Canadian regime of accumulation and the lines of tension which fractured the project of the social bloc. It identifies the specific contradictions, resulting from domestic and international processes, in the model of development. Such an analysis, however, of the regime of accumulation and social bloc cannot account for the specifics of the politics of crisis and restructuring, any more than the preceding pages explain why permeability characterised Canada's version of Fordism.9 That story depends on an analysis of the ways in which the historically constituted set

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of practices and meanings which provided the mechanisms of regulation came apart, and of the challenges which struggles within the universe of political discourse have presented to Fordism's mode of regulation and societal paradigm as actors have come forward with alternative visions for Canada's version of post-Fordism. Therefore, we must turn to an analysis of the politics of representation. Canada's post-war mode of regulation reduced the level of conflict which had characterized labour relations throughout the 1930s and the War. By the late 1940s workers' militancy, both in the workplace and in partisan politics, had operated in combination with state recognition of the need for some measure of social peace to produce recognition of union rights, collective bargaining, and a version of Keynesian macroeconomic policy. Disputes within the labour movement over workplace and partisan strategy, as well as opposition to workers' power mounted by corporations and governments, led to a particular compromise. Collective bargaining became the route by which workers sought not only to increase their wages but also to gain protection against the effects of sickness, aging, and even, to some extent, unemployment. The crystallization of mechanisms for regulating the wage relation set out a less public form, with a smaller state role and more "privatized" relations between labour and management than was common in other Fordist systems.10 Nevertheless, both the federal and provincial governments oversaw the system of labour relations, as well as the national labour market using such instruments as unemployment insurance and welfare programmes. In general, with the creation of the Bank of Canada and the wartime conversion of state managers to Keynesianism, macro-economic policy was designed around counter-cyclical interventions.11 The basic state policy system was amplified in the 1960s by the addition of a pension programme, medicare, the beginnings of an active labour market policy, and schemes for regional development which also contained substantial social policy components. These programmes too reflected the combined effects of organized militancy and state managers' search for policy instruments which could fine-tune the minor crises within permeable Fordism which occurred at the beginning and end of the 1950s. As created out of the crisis and restructuring of the Depression and War, the mode of regulation incorporated the unions' representation of self, as well as their own and other actors' representation of the role of the state. Canadian union militancy was confined to workplace action; workers' identity was strong at work but fragmented elsewhere. The political space identified by workers and their organizations was first and foremost the workplace, with industrial action being their primary

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weapon. Workers as individuals or unions as their representatives did not style themselves as class actors with clear partisan responsibilities.12 Moreover, given the relative weakness of the ideas and organizations of social democracy even in the 1930s and 1940s, Canada's post-war Keynesian welfare state was never represented as the state of the "citizenworker." Instead the state sometimes appeared as the guardian of the country's great natural resources, more frequently represented as the source of the nation's economic strength than its workers were.13 By the end of the war, the federal government had acquired a crucial new role — again developed in the crisis decades — of organizing a national economy so as to prevent a recurrence of the Depression, thought by many people to be due in part to an excessively decentralized federalism. This mode of regulation had, of course, major implications for federalism, given the constitutional division of powers in the areas of labour relations and social spending. Federal-provincial conflicts began to intensify in the 1960s, as first Quebec, and then other provinces, sought greater space in which to shape their provincial economies. Such conflicts, which took place less in electoral politics than in the emerging institutions of executive federalism, demonstrated that the societal paradigm was also being restructured. Not organized out of class-based political conflict and not embedded in a party system divided between Left and Right, Canada's Fordist societal paradigm had assumed a quite special character.14 The collective identity mobilized within it was a national identity, one which stressed the commonality of all residents of a large and dispersed country. As in the past, the connecting theme within the societal paradigm was found in the differences between Canada and the United States, differences which the state was to sustain by its supervision of a national economy, which nevertheless would reflect the norms of "free enterprise" (Bothwell, et al., 1987:393-94). In this way the traditional vision of Canada as the space "north of the 49th parallel" came to incorporate the notion that the whole country formed a single political space. The federal government acquired responsibility for unifying that space. Because so much analysis of the Depression focused on the economic and social liabilities of decentralized federal arrangements, federalism was deeply implicated in the new societal paradigm (Jenson, 1989a:82ff, 1990). Therefore, throughout the 1970s and 1980s it was within the representative institutions of federalism rather than the brokerage party system that the crisis of permeable Fordism first began to manifest itself.15

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Representations in Crisis Canada's Fordist regime could not withstand the experience of greater divergences between accumulation based on a complex mix of dependent manufacturing and resource exports and the post-war mode of regulation and societal paradigm organized around the privatized collective bargaining arrangements of an increasingly unionized labour force, mounting state expenditures, and a nation-building role for the federal government. Since the late 1960s there has been an ongoing struggle over the terms of alternative futures. Unions gained workplace power in the 1960s and early 1970s, enabling them to increase the wage bill to their benefit. Especially important in setting wage trends were unionized public employees. Therefore, as the Canadian economy entered into crisis and began to restructure, one strategy pursued by both corporations and governments was to dislodge this union power. Throughout the late 1970s and 1980s a series of hard-fought strikes, legislative interventions to end public-sector strikes, and assaults on collective bargaining rights reshaped labourmanagement relations into a form of "permanent exceptionalism" (Panitch and Swartz, 1988). Faced with this offensive by employers and governments against the terms of permeable Fordism's mode of regulation, the organized labour force responded in a variety of ways which have produced a new set of representations of self. There has been a move away from "International" unionism towards Canadian organizations, often because of divergences among Canadian and American leaders over strategic reactions to corporate restructuring (Yates, 1988: Conclusion; Gindin, 1989). Political space has changed in a second way as well. In the 1980s both individual unions and the Canadian Labour Congress significantly broadened the domain of politics beyond the workplace. In the late 1970s the CLC devoted greater effort to partisan politics by supporting the NDP more actively. By the 1980s that strategy was supplemented by punctual participation in an innovative form of politics which combined social movement mobilization with some elements of traditional interest group lobbying. Individual unions too followed this route. Unions' participation first in an alliance of opposition to the Macdonald Commission and then in the Pro-Canada Network against the Free Trade Agreement reflects this innovation in representation of the unions' interests, their allies, and the spaces for doing politics. A third change in representation may signal another innovative form for the future. Besides the federal government, several provincial governments have made overtures to unions, inviting them to participate in new kinds of tripartite bodies to design programmes for restructuring

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industry and relocating Canadian production in the new global economy. Initiatives coming from the Ontario Premier's Council, the federal Advisory Council on Adjustment, and so on, not only reflect government and corporate interpretations of and responses to restructuring, but also propose new spaces for political action. Unions involved in such consultations are in the midst of efforts to push such representations of the future in progressive directions.16 It is not yet possible to identify clearly a hegemonic project which could pull together a stable social bloc and stabilize a regime of accumulation. Competing alternatives exist precisely because a compromise which could consistently satisfy not only transnational but also domestic corporations, create jobs, and keep basic economic indicators healthy has yet to be discovered. Nevertheless it is obvious that any such redesigned project will be profoundly shaped by the move towards official integration of the Canadian and American economies through the medium of the FTA. Moreover, it will occur in a context in which the actors involved will include many well outside the federal government and will be organized by formations other than the brokerage party system and its appendages. With the nation-building content of permeable Fordism's societal paradigm subject to challenge by province builders for the past two decades, provincialized identities have taken on new importance. Provinces clearly have regained the power to shape representation. They used that power in the 1970s and 1980s to restructure economic relations in ways which often implied abandoning efforts to protect the borders of the domestic economy — a strategy which had existed since Macdonald's National Policy — and move towards closer ties with the American economy (Banting and Simeon, 1983:11). By 1985 the Macdonald Report had provided the federal government and opinion leaders with an intellectually coherent rationale for free trade. This project, as designed with the support of transnational business, the Premiers of resourceexporting provinces and the federal Tories, is a continentalist alternative. By tightly linking the two economies and using the constraints imposed by the new trading relationship as a rationale for restructuring production and downsizing state responsibility for the economy and social equity, a discourse has been created for Canada's neo-liberalism. If the project succeeds, the "national" project of post-Fordism's social bloc and regime of accumulation will be one with quite different spatial boundaries, being continental and regulated by the North American economy. It will also involve a move towards greater social and economic polarization.

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The inability of the brokerage parties to rise to the occasion and to proffer clearly delineated alternative projects for the future may have finally closed the federal party system as a space for innovation.17 Nevertheless, new avenues for politics have opened and they give space to those who contest the fragmented representation of Canada as part of North America. A broad-based coalition of the popular sector insists upon using nation-building language to describe its alternative future. This discourse is favoured by the new actors whose identities and interests have consolidated in the constitutional and economic politics of the 1980s, with women, native peoples and visible minorities in the forefront. The alternative they propose, however, remains underdeveloped and defensive; it cannot yet claim to be a clearly articulated paradigm for future social relations. Moreover, while the labour movement participates in this coalition, the terms for describing the alternative are poorly linked to any real comprehension of the innovations in production relations described above. Because of the existence of at least these two alternative visions of the future, intense conflict continues around the question as to whether the traditional discourses of equality — both individual and regional — and nation-building will characterize the era of free trade, or whether the future we face is a more polarized, unequal society dominated by decisions made elsewhere. Popular forces seek to design an equitable, empowering future for themselves. Transnational business and its allies stress the limits imposed by global competition and claim it makes restructuring necessary, including cutbacks in universal entitlements, state spending for social programmes, and redistribution. As yet, however, neither group has developed a representation of the future which can mobilize sufficient consensus to function as a hegemonic economic and social project. Alternative visions name different actors, identify various interests, and do not locate politics in the same spaces. The future remains open. As the country moves into the 1990s, the terms "Canada" and "Canadians" are still being hotly contested. Whether they will include commitments to social and economic equality and to greater empowerment of those who are currently weak, or whether they will be new forms of the usual, is a result which can only emerge out of the competition among alternative representations of future paradigms and possibilities for regulation, including new democratic practices.18 Only when this conflict is resolved will the next "Canadian identity" acquire meaning and practical content, as we move into our post-Fordist future under the constraints imposed by the era of free trade but always with choices about how to shape our lives within it.

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NOTES 1 In these terms, the emergence of a universalizing class identity in advanced capitalist society was— and is — the result of struggle in concrete circumstances. Success for class institutions in particular times and places was measured by their ability to shape a meaning system which represented class-based collective identities and political interests as coterminous and to develop strategies for imposing their worldview, including their definition of interests, on others. 2 The conceptual apparatus which follows has been developed in dialogue and, therefore, collaboration with Alain Lipietz. For a slightly different use of these concepts see, inter alia, Lipietz (1988 and 1991). 3 For a thorough discussion of the theoretical lineage of the concept of social bloc see Mahon (1984:9ff). For the joint use of regime of accumulation and social bloc, with reference to post-war France, see Lipietz (1991). 4 This distinction can be called one between two worlds, the esoteric world of structures and the exoteric realm of everyday life, or Marx's "enchanted world." For an elaboration see Hausmann and Lipietz (1980), incorporated into Lipietz (1985: Chapter 1). 5 The term "paradigm" derives from linguistics, where a paradigm links different forms of the same root, thereby ordering difference and demonstrating connections across forms which might not otherwise appear linked. The best known use of the concept in social science is by T.S. Kuhn, who suggests that paradigms are historical constructs, whose selection from a range of possible paradigms is based on struggle for allegiances. Paradigms illuminate the world until the contradictions which they can no longer absorb permit other scientists to imagine an alternative and gain support for that vision. 6 For the use of this concept in an analysis of another social relation, that of gender, see Jenson (1989b). 7 Just as the effects of wage and commodity relations spill over into, and organize, many areas of life in capitalist society, so too are other social relations crucial for giving specific content to the realm of production. We know that the boundary between production and reproduction, work and not work, factory and home is in all cases ultimately a blurred one. So too is the boundary between mode of regulation and societal paradigm, but the distinction is nonetheless useful for purposes of analysis. 8 For the characteristics of Fordism in Canada, see Boismenu (1989). For a more detailed discussion of the differences in Canada's Fordism, as well as an explanation why every consideration of Fordism in specific national settings should be preceded by a modifying adjective, see Jenson (1989a). 9 On the reasons for the construction of Canada's permeable Fordism with the particularities of its mode of regulation and societal paradigm see Jenson (1990).

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10 For the history of the creation of this type of labour relation in the key Fordist sector — automobiles — see Yates (1988). This form of wage relation was not easily established. After the crucial 1948 Industrial Relations and Disputes Investigation Act and the Rand decision, it still required a series of hard-fought strikes to generalize the new forms to the familiar sectors of Fordism (automobiles, steel) and the resource sector (wood, asbestos) (Jenson, 1989a:79; Roberts and Bullen, 1984:117-23; Clement, 1984:91). 11 For the details of Canada's "bastard Keynesianism" see Wolfe (1984), and for a discussion of a welfare state based more on state initiatives than political exchange see Myles (1988). 12 This lack of clear-cut attention to class action in the partisan realm obviously had profound eifects on the CCF and its ability to constitute itself as a convincing representative of the "working class." For the struggles around this identity as well as the practices which formed and reproduced it see Brodie and Jenson (1988: Chapters 7 and 8) and Jenson (1990). 13 In countries where social democracy organized the post-war compromise, a national identity often strengthened in these years, and it was one in which the "nation" was represented by its citizens, especially its producers. 14 For a detailed analysis of the characteristics and construction of this societal paradigm see Jenson (1989a:81ff). 15 For a discussion of the ways the party system was bypassed as a locale for policy innovation and development, see Clarke, Jenson, LeDuc and Pammett (1991: Chapter 1). For a detailed analysis of the role of alternative mechanisms of representation, especially Royal Commissions, see Bradford (forthcoming). 16 For a detailed analysis of training policies see Mahon (1990). For the background to such initiatives at the federal level see Mahon (1983) and in Ontario, beginning in the 1970s, Yates (1988). 17 For an analysis of the federal party system's failure to organize elections as moments of choice, even in 1988, see Clarke, Jenson, LeDuc and Pammett (1991: Chapter 1 and passim). 18 For one suggestion of a progressive definition of the term see Mahon (1991).

REFERENCES Banting, Keith, and Richard Simeon. (1983). "Federalism, Democracy and the Constitution." K. Banting and R. Simeon, eds., And No One Cheered. Toronto: Methuen, 2-26. Boismenu, Gerard. (1989). "La vraisemblance de la problematique de la regulation pour saisir la realite canadienne: Etude des indicateurs economiques en moyenne periode." Paper presented at the annual meetings of the GPS A, Laval University.

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Bothwell, Robert, Ian Drummond, and John English. (1987). Canada: 19001945. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Bradford, Neil, (forthcoming). "Restructuring National Economies: The Shifting Logic of Industrial Order in Postwar Canada and Sweden." Ph.D. thesis, Carleton University, Ottawa. Brodie, Janine, and Jane Jenson. (1988). Crisis, Challenge and Change: Party and Class in Canada Revisited. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Clarke, Harold, Jane Jenson, Larry LeDuc, and Jon Pammett. (1991). Absent Mandate: Interpreting Change in Canadian Elections. Toronto: Gage. Clement, Wallace. (1984). "Canada's Social Structure: Capital, Labour and the State, 1930-1982." M. Cross and G. Kealey, eds., Modern Canada: 1930-1980's. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 81-101. Hausmann, Ricardo, and Alain Lipietz. (1980). "Esoteric vs. Exoteric Economic Laws: The Forgotten Dialectic." CEPREMAP Orange Series #8021. Gindin, Sam. (1989). "Breaking Away: The Formation of the Canadian Autoworkers." Studies in Political Economy 29, 63-89. Jenson, Jane. (1986). "Gender and Reproduction: Or, Babies and the State." Studies in Political Economy 20, 9-46. . (1989a). "'Different' but not 'exceptional': Canada's Permeable Fordism." Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 26:1, 69-94. . (1989b). "Paradigms and Political Discourse: Protective Legislation in France and the United States Before 1914." Canadian Journal of Political Science 22:2, 235-58. . (1990). "Representations in Crisis: The Roots of Canada's Permeable Fordism." Canadian Journal of Political Science 23:4, 653-83. Lipietz, Alain. (1985). The Enchanted World: Inflation, Credit and the World Crisis. London: Verso. . (1988). "Building an Alternative Movement in France." Rethinking Marxism 1, 2-17. . (1991). "Governing the Economy." J. Hollifield and G. Ross, eds., Searching for the New France. NY: Routledge, 17-42. Mahon, Rianne. (1983). "Canadian Labour in the Battle of the 1980s." Studies in Political Economy 11, 149-75. . (1984). The Politics of Industrial Restructuring. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. . (1990). "Adjusting to Win? The New Tory Training Initiative." Katherine Graham, ed., How Ottawa Spends, 1990-91. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 73-111. . (1991). "Post-Fordism: Some Issues for Labour." D. Drache and M. Gertler, eds., The New Era of Global Competition: State Policy and Market Power. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press, 316-32. Myles, John. (1988). "Decline or Impasse? The Current State of the Welfare State." Studies in Political Economy 26, 73-107.

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Panitch, Leo, and Donald Swartz. (1988). The Assault on Trade Union Freedoms. Toronto: Garamond. Roberts, Wayne, and John Bullen. (1984). "A Heritage of Hope and Struggle: Workers, Unions, and Politics in Canada, 1930-1982." M. Cross and G. Kealey, eds., Modern Canada: 1930-1980's. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 105-40. Wolfe, David. (1984). "The Rise and Demise of the Keynesian Era in Canada: Economic Policy, 1930-1982." M. Cross and G. Kealey, eds., Modern Canada: 1930-1980's. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 46-78. Yates, Charlotte. (1988). "From Plant to Politics: The Canadian U.A.W., 1936-1984." Ph.D. thesis, Carleton University, Ottawa.

New Social Movements and Unequal Representation: The Challenge of Influencing Public Policy* Susan D. Phillips CARLETON UNIVERSITY As a scholar of Canadian politics, Khayyam Z. Paltiel was concerned with the appropriate and equitable representation of interests in the policy process. In particular, he addressed the issue of whether interest groups have displaced political parties as the fundamental agents of representation and democratic legitimation in the Canadian political system and he examined the impact of special interest groups on the Canadian state (1989, 1982). Because interest groups of all kinds have proliferated since the 1960s, they now are often in vigorous competition with each other, as well as with political parties, in the policy-making process. However, interest groups vary greatly in their concerns, constituencies, resource capacities and organizational structures. Given this immense and increasing diversity, it is useful to extend the work of Professor Paltiel and others by focusing in greater depth on the nature of representation and influence within the interest group sector. One category of interest groups referred to as "New Social Movements" (NSMs) is fundamentally different from other types of groups. The organizational and socio-political dynamics of the New Social Movements affect the kind of advocacy tactics they employ and limit the degree of influence they can exert on policy.

Interest versus Identity Representation To begin to differentiate among types of interest groups, a distinction must be made with respect to the nature of representation itself. As Jenson argues in her contribution to this volume, the contests of politics involve both the politics of interests and those of identities. The representation of interests is conducted by political parties, corporations I wish to thank Jane Jenson for her contribution to the development of some of the ideas presented in this paper and Rianne Mahon and Leo Panitch for their constructive criticism.

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and individuals as well as by interest groups. Interests are struggles of specificity, and as such may range from protecting Canadian manufacturing, to stopping the dismantling of VIA Rail or promoting a universal system of childcare. In contrast, the politics of identity are struggles of imagination and connectivity through which collective identities are created and new political spaces are opened (Cohen, 1985; Magnusson and Walker, 1988). Identity politics have been primarily the realm of the New Social Movements, which since the 1960s have constructed political spaces in Canada centred around women, ecology, language, sexual orientation, native peoples, disabled persons and multiculturalism. Because New Social Movement organizations (NSMOs) promote collective identities which engage them in the struggles of imagination and also represent interests which entangle them in the struggles of specificity, they are different from other types of interest groups in their organizational dynamics, lobbying strategies and impact upon the policy process. Social movement organizations, like all interest groups, are simultaneously actors imbued with agency and subjects of the structure of political opportunities (Jenson, 1989:236) The influence of NSMOs in the policy process is, therefore, partly a function of organizational characteristics and actions, including the character of the collective identity they are constructing, the nature of their constituencies, the particular issues selected as salient, availability of resources, quality of leadership and constraints of internal policy-making processes. But political impact is also dependent upon the "political opportunity structure," which is defined by Tarrow (1983:28-34) as access to state institutions, stability of political alignments and availability of allies and support groups. At times, a political opportunity structure offers moments of openness during which access widens and the potential for influence is increased, and at other times, in moments of relative closure, it constricts influence, with the consequence that social movement organizations must rely upon protest strategies to be heard at all. Not only does the openness of the political opportunity structure vary over time, but access at any given point in time is unequally distributed among types of interest groups. In her neo-Marxist analysis of the Canadian state, Mahon (1977) suggests that, within the administrative apparatus, there exists an "unequal structure of representation" which facilitates the functioning of the federal government as the organizer of hegemony. It serves to represent internally the interests of the bourgeois fraction and to regulate the interests of marginalized groups. While this paper does not approach the politics of identity in class terms, its thesis is similar to that presented by Mahon: in comparison to other

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types of interest groups, including both economic associations and traditional public interest groups, NSMOs are under-represented in the policy process.1 Although there may be a significant under-representation of New Social Movement identities both within the state and in encounters with it that is, as Mahon suggests, a function of the marginalization of their interests and identities, there is also an inequity in participation created by the process of policy-making itself. Specifically, the dynamic and internal demands of NSMOs as organizations are incongruent with the requirements of the political opportunity structure. New Social Movement organizations cannot act as conventional lobbyists, and in many cases, do not have the inclination to do so. However, the contemporary political opportunity structure has created among policy-makers expectations of co-operative, professional advocacy behaviour. Consequently, the NSMOs, no matter what identities and interests they are pursuing, are not taken as seriously by policy-makers, as are interest groups which consistently behave according to the norms. Moreover, the political process is presently at a moment of closure for the NSMOs, due to rapidly escalating demands that they should pursue instrumental in preference to expressive actions, and increasing pressure to operate in a conventional interest group manner.

The Dynamics of New Social Movement Organizations The "newness" of the New Social Movements is not just a matter of their chronology, even though most of them, as products of the late 1960s and 1970s (and, in some cases, the 1980s), would be described as young movements. Rather, what is "new" about these movements is their theme of post-modern and post-materialist values. In contrast to the "old" — labour and liberal-bourgeois — movements, they reject the notion that the guarantee of social progress derives from economic growth, productivity and material acquisition and, instead, they seek to forge new relationships to work, consumption, the environment or the opposite sex (Kriesi, 1988:358; Rucht, 1988:317; Tarrow, 1989:5761). In contrast to early social movements, such as farm workers or the urban poor, these new movements do not consist of socially marginal individuals or subculture niches. On the contrary, participants are drawn primarily from the new middle class (those in the cultural and social services). Their critique of modernity, formulated on a modern rather than a romanticized, traditionalist base, takes the form of a self-reflexive critique of reason and rationality and a suspicion of both state and market institutions. It should be recognized that the degree to which the "new" movements do, in fact, represent new political paradigms, innovative forms

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of organization and radical action is a point of contention among social movement scholars (Cohen, 1985; Eder, 1985; Hannigan, 1985). Tarrow (1989:63), for instance, argues that the movements of the 1960s (students and women's movements, movements for ecology and peace) were never wholly new, but were merely the expression of existing interest groups that became radicalized in the atmosphere of the time. In this view, these movements are one phase of a cycle of protest and mobilization, rather than a distinctly different phenomenon. Furthermore, Tarrow (1989:65) asserts that an empirical review of history would reveal that the supposedly innovative, radical tactics of the NSMs were really forms of action re-instituted as part of a general cycle of protest, and continuing the methods of several "old" movements such as agrarian populism (Morton, 1950; Young, 1978) and the early union movement (McCormack, 1977; Robin, 1968). Whether or not the NSMs constitute new political categories or are in fact truly post-materialist and post-modern is not central to the present argument. The essential point is that, as inter-connected organizations that build collective identities and focus on "life styles" in preference to special interests, these types of groups can be differentiated on the basis of organizational dynamics and action, rather than structure and ideology. Social movements are not themselves acting entities. It is rather the organizations of a social movement — not the movement as a whole — that serve as the agents for creating identities and promoting interests. A social movement is by definition a network of organizations, interlinked through interaction and joint action, that share core non-negotiable values and a collective identity, even though there may be differences in the specificity of interests at the organizational level. Although organizations tend to be the anchor points of a movement, these inter-organizational linkages may also be undergirded by a submerged network of individuals and more loosely structured quasi-organizations (Melucci, 1984:825). A social movement is distinguished from a public interest group by the fact that the social movement organization must, in virtue of its nature, be nested in and influenced by a network of related organizations, while the public interest group may function in a relatively autonomous manner and its members may not view themselves as part of a larger issue community. For instance, the Consumers' Association of Canada, which is the representative of consumer interests in this country, may not need to consider the implications of its action on other players, but groups such as the Federation des femmes du Quebec or Pollution Probe are necessarily interdependent in action and discourse with other movement players.

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Because social movement organizations are engaged in a struggle for interdependence and the politics of imagination, they must act on both the state and civil society. With regard to the latter, they seek to create politicized consciousness, shape public values and opinion and change the behaviour of individuals. Political identities are not selected as "readyto-wear," but must be tried on reflexively in the context of support by the collectivity. Once assimilated, however, a political identity often becomes all-consuming: "the personal is political," as one slogan of the women's movement tells us. In contrast to corporate members of economic associations, most members of NSMOs are individually powerless: their power and influence come only through collective action and direct personal participation in the group (Offe and Wiesenthal, 1985:186-87). Because people are reached in this way, collective action is an end in itself for NSMOs. It allows members to remind themselves of the distinction between "us" and "them" and to reaffirm the identity, besides connecting the plethora of interests associated with it into a coherent package. Participatory collective action may be achieved through general membership meetings, celebrations (such as International Women's Week or the "song and dance" events of multicultural groups) or through protest demonstrations and marches. Consequently, spontaneity as one aspect of collective action is often an important characteristic of the action repertoire of these organizations. But, as noted above, social movement organizations are also political actors that seek to influence the state. Because they are interested in affecting government policy, they must also function as pressure groups to exert influence in the policy-making process and, therefore, are often in direct competition with the interests, styles and resources of other groups. In this task they are constrained or facilitated in important ways by the political opportunity structure. All public interest groups and social movement organizations to some extent engage in both instrumental action — that is, goal-directed, rational and strategic action which is a tool for producing a desired outcome — and expressive action — emotive, often spontaneous, action in which the solidarity-generating process is as important as the end state. However, NSMOs face an "optimizing problem" in choosing a balance between types of action and action fields that is either not present, or not as troublesome, in other types of interest groups (Ash-Garner, 1977:12; Jenkins, 1985:22-25; Zurcher and Snow, 1981:479). An important aspect of the optimizing dilemma is the choice between action fields: the choice between state or civil society. Within the state-oriented lobbying field there is a further difficult choice. One option for advocacy is based on incremental gains that, as "small wins" (Weick, 1984), are

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more easily attained, but which may involve considerable compromises. The other type involves the pursuit of total victory for the core — often non-negotiable — values of the movement. However, this latter approach may be possible only through confrontation with policy-makers and other interests. The optimizing problem thus reflects the tension between passion and pragmatism, spontaneity and strategy, enthusiasm and expertise. Within the organizational apparatus, it often pits the values and demands of democracy against those of bureaucracy. To pose the necessity of these trade-offs as a central conundrum for NSMOs is not to make the facile argument that NSMOs always choose radical forms of action, are highly decentralized and value spontaneity over instrumental action, while other interest groups are always conventional, bureaucratic and strategic (Oloffson, 1988:22-24; Tarrow, 1989:65). Spontaneity and expressive action are not the antithesis to organization (Rosenthal and Swartz, 1989:37-43); they are, however, a central phenomenon of NSMOs. Although some NSMOs may have little real latitude because they have few resources and are on the fringe of legitimacy, most must make hard choices, work out the trade-offs internally and face the consequences from both members and policy-makers. As Offe and Wiesenthal (1985:187) argue, there are two logics of collective action: business associations (and many large traditional public interest groups) depend on the willingness of their members to pay, while unions (and NSMOs) rely on the willingness of their members to act. Therefore, NSMOs must strive to optimize — not maximize — resources, size, bureaucracy and instrumental action. When offering advice to social movement organizations on how to be effective in achieving policy change, most observers cleave to the instrumental and incremental side of the dilemma. For example, in the recipe for success that they provide to women's groups, Gelb and Palley (1987) suggest that social movement organizations must focus on incremental issues, be willing to make compromises, emphasize the provision of information, create an image of broad-based support by mobilizing allies, and be able to manipulate and use symbols and avoid confrontational protest tactics. In order to follow this agenda, NSMOs would need to engage simultaneously and effectively in the instrumental projects of long-term strategic planning, fundraising, collection and communication of expert information, and lobbying with careful selection of issues, tactics, targets and allies. However, it is often exceedingly difficult for NSMOs to behave in this highly instrumental and rational fashion. Indeed, exclusive attention to instrumental action would be detrimental to them. An action repertoire that is primarily instrumental soon pits the radicals and idealists, who fear co-optation and manipulation, against

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the moderates, who believe that it may be necessary to co-operate with government and corporate institutions to achieve policy change, and that even small wins constitute success. The recent debate that raged among members of environmental groups when their leaders publicly endorsed the "green" products promoted by the Loblaws grocery store chain is a prime example: some criticized the action as a sell-out that legitimated questionable products and lost sight of bigger environmental issues while others argued it was an effective way to change individual consumer behaviour (cf. Mansbridge, 1986:ch 7). The ability to operate in a strategic manner in several domains — fundraising, lobbying and information generation — often requires structural adaptation that necessitates greater bureaucracy at the expense of democracy and member participation. It requires that the organization vest considerable authority and autonomy in its elected and staff leaders. When policy experts are adopted into or created as a cadre within a social movement organization — particularly when this expertise is concentrated in the hands of the elected leadership — there tends to be a gradual isolation of the expert elite from the rank and file, so that often members become suspicious of the power of this information elite (Pross, 1986:190). Furthermore, in a voluntary organization, the attention and time leaders must devote to meetings with public officials and to obtaining financial resources to sustain their lobbying and research activities — the trade of institutionalized access — often leaves inadequate time for activities related to membership service, identity celebration and solidarity promotion. The risk of a strategy of conventional lobbying is that there are fewer opportunities for direct member participation, fewer chances to "give 'em hell" once in a while and to reflexively "try on" and wear the collective identity with the support of other group members. Eventually, the sense of "us" against "them" wanes, apathy sets in and members exit. In contrast, a repertoire that is unbalanced in favour of expressive action, the field of civil society and confrontation tactics, has different, but equally serious hazards. When leaders encourage protest tactics such as sit-ins and marches, the moderates are likely to leave for more sedate organizations or to content themselves with sitting as interested observers on the sidelines. Without a solid research base, the representatives of NSMOs must resort to telling policy-makers what they feel, not what they know as fact based on research and, therefore, their value in contributing to policy formation is diminished. Politicians and public servants tend to tire quickly of direct and open confrontation and may soon find ways to ignore or even repress protest groups. For example, many observers — among them strong supporters — question why the

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National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) has persisted in holding its annual "lobby" on Parliament Hill in which NAC members meet en masse with representatives of the caucuses of each of the three parties, and in recent years engage in "politician bashing," directed at government ministers and MPs. Most MPs would rather spend three days at the dentist. As a reflection of the government's disgust with the process, the Minister Responsible for the Status of Women has attempted to change the format to avert a confrontational approach, and few government representatives attend. However, from the organization's perspective, it would be difficult to capture through any other format or event the elation of solidarity and reinforcement of determination, based on disappointment in government responsiveness, that is created by the NAC lobby. In the extreme, however, an NSMO that is overly committed to expressive, participatory and confrontational actions is unlikely to retain access or achieve continuing policy successes. Few NSMOs employ in their lobbying a single repertoire of tactics that is based exclusively on conventional and instrumental or expressive and confrontational actions. Even resource-plentiful and legitimate NSMOs eschew "civil" lobbying behaviour from time to time and punctuate their pressure tactics with protest. Jenkins argues that insurgents may first have to use negative protest measures merely to make their subsequent offers of co-operation acceptable. "Success requires unruliness at some point" (Jenkins, 1985:25). Protest is, however, also one important form of expressive, collective action for identity-seeking groups. Interest groups, in contrast, are more exclusively concerned with winning on their issues and, therefore, delegate authority to allow their leaders to act strategically; they are willing to conform to the accepted norms of advocacy in order to achieve their desired outcomes. This optimizing dilemma is also reflected in consistent ways in the internal operation of NSMOs.2 Because the leaders tend to focus most of the instrumental action that they and members are willing or able to undertake on the domain of lobbying, they frequently devote minimal attention to strategic fundraising or long-term planning. Consequently, NSMOs tend to become comfortably dependent on existing sources of revenues — be they government grants, patron donations or direct-mail solicitations. In addition, they tend to have few operational plans for implementation of the organizational vision. In part, the dilemma of balancing direct member participation with advocacy is resolved by creating multiple layers within the organization, so that local chapters can engage in direct democracy that sparks spontaneity while the national level can be state-oriented in a strategic manner. Although umbrella structures seem to be a highly adaptive form

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for NSMOs in Canada, there is still a strong need for a sense of nationwide cohesion and connectivity. This is, in part, resolved through strict attention to principles of representative democracy and regional representation within the national organization, so that the Board of Directors is composed of representatives from all regions of Canada and there are formal mechanisms for participation of local chapters in policy-making (Vickers, 1989). Many Canadian social movement organizations, for example, require that policy resolutions must arise from the grass-roots, then pass through regional or provincial councils, be accepted by the national Board of Directors, and eventually be approved by the annual general meeting. While this internal structure and process has important advantages for the organization in that it maintains solidarity and enthusiasm, it has the disadvantage of slowing down responses to new government policy. In some cases, leaders must remain mum at critical times while they wait upon the internal workings of democracy. In addition, such organizations seldom vest authority in their executive director and staff that would allow these people to spend time establishing personal, ongoing contacts with policy-makers in the conventional fashion. The action choices that NSMOs make are never unrestrained, but are made in the context and within the limits imposed by the political opportunity structure. At the federal level in Canada, there is increasing pressure, exercised from within the state and by other players, to engage in conventional interest group politics based on an instrumental and incremental lobbying style.

The Political Opportunity Structure The political opportunity structure may help or hinder, facilitate or frustrate the development and effectiveness of social movements. It may offer resources and opportunities for mobilization, provide points of access to the policy process, impose institutional rules and expectations for participation or reinforce patterns of interaction among government departments, interest groups, and political parties. Social movement scholars generally recognize three important aspects of a political opportunity structure as essential factors in shaping the behaviour of any given group: 1) the structure of political access to policy-makers, 2) stability of political alignments and 3) availability of allies and support groups. In most analyses, however, these aspects have been examined at a very general level, such as the number of political parties, the degree of centralization in the state apparatus or the strength of state control over financial institutions (Kitschelt, 1986). While these system-level variables may be helpful in cross-national comparisons, they are less than adequate when one is trying to explain the behaviour of NSMOs

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in relation to other types of interest groups within a single jurisdiction. Although the aspects of the Canadian opportunity structure which are discussed here are not exhaustive and their effects have not been substantiated by comparative research across movements, they are nevertheless important determinants of NSMO behaviour and the primary characteristics that are driving the system toward increased closure for the New Social Movements. 1. POINTS OF ACCESS

The opportunities for access are established both by macro-level features of the political system — for example, whether it is a federal or unitary state — and by meso-level characteristics such as the particularities of the organization of the departments of government and institutional practices for consultation with non-government groups. There has been considerable theoretical work on the effect of federalism on interest group representation, but minimal conceptualization of any differential impacts by type of groups. A popular notion about policy-making in a federalprovincial context is that federalism provides multiple access points or "cracks," so that interest groups can attempt to influence both levels of government and, if they fail to achieve their goals at one level, can still try to obtain their desired policy changes from the other (Schultz, 1980; Thorburn, 1985:63-68). It is, of course, those interest groups with sufficient financial and human resources to maintain a presence at both levels and the ability to co-ordinate these two levels in a strategic fashion that benefit from the multiple cracks of a federal system. Most national economic associations, a significant majority of which have a unitary or well-integrated federal structure, have sufficient finances from their corporate members to establish a temporary (in some cases permanent) office in provincial capitals as well as in Ottawa. In contrast, most national NSMOs have difficulty in maintaining one tiny national office and their provincial-level councils, if they exist at all, seldom have the organizational capacity to lobby provincial officials effectively. Two trends have been observed in intergovernmental relations in recent years that may further exclude all interest groups, but particularly those with limited resource capacity, from participation in policy issues that require federal-provincial negotiation. There appears to be a growth of summitry — that is, executive to executive negotiations — and simultaneously greater bureaucratic federalism in which Deputy Ministers and technical specialists within the respective bureaucracies consult to formulate policy (Brown-John, 1989; Warhurst, 1987:264). Not only does the secrecy of executive federalism preclude interest group involvement,

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but the relative decline in central agencies of intergovernmental specialists and their replacement by specialists sprinkled throughout a variety of departments obscures such officials as easy targets for lobbying by interest groups. Moreover, for the foreseeable future the critical issues of federal-provincial relations are likely to be constitutional topics, or issues of financial restraint and deficit reduction, such as renegotiation of transfer payments and capping of shared-cost programmes. Both of these are unlikely to be open to direct third party participation of any sort. The consequences of reduction of the financial capacities of both federal and provincial governments are negative for the New Social Movements because they tend to look to the state to initiate, finance and regulate in favour of their interests. If the ability of governments to provide services and programmes is constricted, NSMOs will feel the impact to a greater degree than interest groups that are less state-dependent.3 In addition, the more decentralized federalism toward which Canada is evolving will require the NSMOs to have a greater presence at the provincial level to pressure provincial governments to allocate money, enact legislation and regulate in areas of their expanded jurisdiction. However, because most NSMs outside Quebec have expected that it would be the federal government that would protect their political space and respond to their issues, they are generally under-organized at provincial levels and will therefore probably be slow to respond to the exigencies of greater decentralization. At the meso-level of the structure of the federal government, there have been four significant institutional changes over the past decade that have greatly altered the advocacy opportunities for all interest groups. During the early 1970s, the time of the first awakening in Canada of empirical research on interest groups, it was a popular axiom that any group which is actively lobbying Members of Parliament had already lost its issue (Englemann and Schwartz, 1975:105). However, the reforms to the Parliamentary Committee system undertaken in 1985 have given greater saliency to the role of MPs, because, through their participation in the work of standing and legislative committees, they have gained sector expertise. The committees themselves have become open and often highly publicized venues for the review of policy. Any group which wishes to be seen to have a legitimate stake in a policy matter must now perfunctorily prepare and present a brief to the appropriate committee (Franks, 1987:94-96, 174-175). While this may have very positive advantages for enhancing overall representation in policy-making, it also imposes upon NSMOs an increased pressure for instrumental action to generate expert information and prepare written briefs. To the extent that the pressure

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to participate in committee hearings creates a cadre of experts within the organization and forces financial resources to be directed away from other types of lobbying or from collective action, the NSMO moves in the direction of a state-centred, instrumental orientation and away from its society-based, expressive pole. The second major development in the political environment at the federal level that has significantly altered expectations about the manner in which lobbying is to be conducted is the incredible degree to which this activity has become professionalized. Over the past decade, Ottawa has been colonized by lobbying and polling firms. Most of these professional lobbyists are people — often former senior public servants or advisors to Ministers — with close contacts to the heart of power. Their services are used primarily by corporations and business associations that can afford their hefty fees (Cameron, 1989:166-69; Sawatsky, 1987).4 The presence of these professionals has created rising expectations that policy advocacy will be conducted in a "professional" manner with one-on-one meetings with senior public servants, Ministers and their partisan staff, and that interest representatives will provide reasoned argument backed by solid technical information. NSMOs cannot easily conform to these norms because they do not have the resources to employ professional lobbyists or pollsters and their volunteer leaders (who seldom live in Ottawa) do not have the time to meet on an individual basis with a multitude of public servants and politicians. Moreover, as was argued earlier, NSMOs generally do not have the inclination to act with the sustained degree of instrumentality that is demanded by professional lobbying. The impact of the professionalization of advocacy, argues Senator Pitfield, is destructive to the policy process because it has encouraged government to become increasingly secretive and restrictive: "Access which was once the right of a citizen and the obligation of a minister, is now being peddled for a fee . . . Professional lobbyists create inequities because some can afford their services while others can't" (Study of Parliament Group, 1989:10). In addition to the restrictive effects of professionalization, access has been reduced by the centralization of power within the highest echelon of policy-making, the federal cabinet. In January 1989, changes to the cabinet committee structure resulted in the abolition of the Policy and Expenditure Management System (PEMS), thereby reducing the importance of the sectoral committees and creating a sharp distinction between the inner and outer Cabinets (Graham, 1989:16-21). The function of the inner cabinet — comprising the Priorities and Planning and the Expenditure Review Committee (both chaired by the PM) and the Operations Committee (chaired by the Deputy PM) — is to say no: no

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new spending. Power, which is concentrated in the hands of a few key ministers, rather than in the collegial sectoral standing committees, is relatively impermeable to interest group influence or representation on behalf of a group by a single minister, unless that person is the Minister of Finance, the Deputy Prime Minister or the Prime Minister. A fourth new development has been the potential for litigation presented by the Charter of Rights and Freedoms as an alternative or adjunct to lobbying. Although the federal government has attempted to provide fairness in access to Charter litigation via the Court Challenges Program, which financially assists groups taking cases under the Charter related to language, equality and multiculturalism, the practice of litigation for NSMOs is a taxing one. This highly instrumental action commits financial and human resources over long periods of time and may become so demanding upon an NSMO that it leaves little time for other types of projects. The long-term effects of the Charter on the New Social Movements are hotly debated in the literature. While many scholars view the Charter as an institutional safeguard for individual rights and see legal victories as providing momentum to a movement, others such as Mandel (1989:271) argue that in the long-run the focus on individualism which the Charter necessitates will undermine the collectivist spirit which is vital to social movements and will eventually lead to their demobilization. Due to the organizational costs of litigation, it appears that the strategy will be pursued by only a few specialized groups, in spite of the new opportunities provided by the Charter. However, Charter litigation by counter-movements or by corporate entities may force the NSMOs to take on cases in order not to lose ground. As compensation for the unequal distribution of resources between economic associations and social movement organizations, the federal government provides ongoing financial support, through the Department of the Secretary of State, to the major sectors of identity movements — women, minority language, aboriginal, disabled and multicultural groups. Opinions differ as to whether state-funding co-opts and manipulates NSMOs. On the one hand, it is argued that government grants encourage groups to temper their advocacy tactics and to choose their issues so as not to jeopardize their financial support. On the other hand, supporters of government funding assert that it merely adds an element of fairness without undue intervention in the internal operations of the organizations. It is harder to assess the extent to which governmentfunded groups may be manipulated; they appear to be no less strident in their claims than groups supported solely by their members, but there is little doubt that they are vulnerable (Pross, 1986:198). It has already been pointed out that part of the coping mechanism for balancing the

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optimizing dilemma is the tendency to become dependent on existing sources of revenue. Therefore, the cuts to Secretary of State funding for "client" groups made in the federal budgets from 1989 through 1991 will place on these organizations the enormous strain of undertaking fundraising on a massive scale (Phillips, 1991:196-205). At least for the short term, perhaps four or five years, the need to give pre-eminence to fundraising may drain resources and energy from lobbying action and may have a general demobilizing effect on the New Social Movements. As Professor Paltiel observed, clientelism is a two-way exchange relationship: "most bureaucratic patrons make their disbursements to groups that share, support and will defend their view of social policy" (1982:206). Ironically enough, government departments as well as the social movements may be the losers if clientelism no longer is deemed to be affordable. In addition to funding, the federal government has promoted the legitimacy of the identities of the major social movements by designating parts of government as the "special identity state." There are, for instance, Ministers of State or departments responsible for women, aboriginal peoples, multiculturalism, youth and seniors (Graham, 1989:15). Although provision is made for the official recognition of these movement identities, Mahon asserts that there is a significant difference in the mode of representation available to these subordinate interests, as compared with modes employed by the power bloc: The representatives of all social forces perform two roles: representation of the specific interests of their respective groups in the negotiation process and regulation — the attempt to 'persuade' and/or coerce their group into accepting the compromise . . . The maintenance of the hegemony of the power bloc demands that the interests of the dominated classes, too, be taken into account — yet their subordinate position in civil society poses definite limits to their participation in general policy development through their representatives. The regulatory aspect of this relationship is, accordingly, more pronounced. (1977:183) An interpretation of the role of the special identity agencies in terms of process, rather than interests, suggests that they have been an important focal point at which the views of their respective client movements have been assessed and transmitted to other departments and that they have served as important lobbies from within. In this way, government has assumed, on behalf of the NSMOs, some of the responsibility for interest lobbying, thereby allowing the groups to be more focused on civil society. But in so doing, these designated state bodies have encouraged groups to attenuate the range of contacts that they might otherwise have

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had to build with officials in line departments (Burt, 1990:25; Phillips, 1990:322). Yet here again there is an irony: without such designated bodies, NSMOs would probably have been worse off because their identities and concerns might not have attained legitimacy at all. In sum, the effects of the increased demands for expert testimony, the professionalization of lobbying, the potential for litigation and the reduction of government funding have escalated the pressure to perform instrumentally and strategically. The new situation has created expectations that the NSMOs will act in a professional manner and has diminished the tolerance of policy-makers for confrontation. These pressures have also reduced the time available for direct action on civil society in the form of education, community events and social service. If NSMOs conform to these pressures and expectations, it is conceivable that, over time, identity politics will give way to interest politics. 2. POLITICAL ALIGNMENTS AND THE ELECTORAL PROCESS

Unless one focuses on a particular social movement it is difficult to discuss the details of alignments with political parties and other interest groups. There are, however, several aspects of the electoral process that are consistent for all social movements and affect their ability to alter political alignments and influence the views of political candidates. In sharp contrast to the situation in the USA, the participation of interest groups as financiers in the electoral process has historically been limited in Canada by the norms of interest group politics and by restrictions under the Election Expenses Act. Until amendments to the Election Expenses Act were made in 1983, third parties were allowed to incur expenditures only for the purpose of gaining support from the public for views on an issue of public policy, providing such expenses were made in "good faith" and did not circumvent the intent of the Act (Paltiel, 1988:143). Although the three Parliamentary parties succeeded in convincing the Chief Electoral Officer to restrict interest group spending still further, restrictions were nullified as a result of a court challenge brought by the National Citizens' Coalition; in consequence, there were virtually no legal limitations on interest group spending in the 1984 and 1988 elections. Although some interest groups showed signs of increased activity, notably the pro-life campaign and anti-free trade advocates, no social movement or interest group has spent a large war chest of funds in Canadian elections (Stanbury, 1986:460), whereas this is precisely what corporations have done. With the noted exception of Quebec nationalism, a brief appearance by the Feminist Party in the 1970s and minor cameos by Green candidates, identity politics has not been played out in the electoral arena.

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As financiers, NSMOs would have to be very successful at a task they do poorly: fundraising. As direct participants, they would have to face the criticism that their identity and interests do not have wider appeal. On the other hand, since social movements constitute new political spaces, they are necessarily exclusive to some degree and they cannot be interest brokers. Therefore their electoral participation is limited. The more successful roles of identity-based social movement organizations are those of translators and conduits between political candidates and movement constituencies. 3. AVAILABILITY OF ALLIES

The third aspect of a political opportunity structure is the availability of supportive allies and the active opposition of antagonists. While identity-based social movements cut across many different interests and therefore may, in specific struggles, enter into coalitions with a variety of other groups, there are two players whose support for the new movements has in many countries been of critical importance. These are the labour movement and the political left. In Canada, although many activists in the labour movement and the left participate in NSMOs as individuals, there have been few sustained linkages at the organizational level (Brenner, 1989; Magnusson and Walker, 1988:67-68). As Bashevkin (1985:ch 1) observes of women's groups, most NSMOs choose to remain independent of partisan alignments and, while many individuals have sympathies with the New Democratic Party, there are few formal ties. Consequently, lobbying on a new issue usually involves an NSMO in a renewed search for allies which adds an additional impediment for the group and creates a degree of instability in identity politics. Coalitions generally form late in the policy process and, indeed, often congeal only under conditions of impending crisis which force the movement and its supporters into a reactive position. In contrast, the movement antagonists are becoming increasingly vocal and cohesive and more closely allied with the federal government. The business community's strong participation and its support for the Tories were central features of the 1988 election and the Conservative government has established a "general climate of sympathy" for the business viewpoint (Graham, 1989:13-14). Moreover, leaders of major economic associations have begun to speak out on issues which they previously would have regarded as outside the scope of their mandate. The head of the Canadian Manufacturers' Association, for example, now has no compunction about speaking out on the need for cuts in social programmes — indeed, he views it as his association's duty to do this. In the absence of consistent, institutionalized allies and in the face of vocal

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powerful opposition that has the attention of the government party, the opportunity space for New Social Movements is now severely limited.

Conclusion No matter which identities and interests they represent, New Social Movements suffer unequal representation in the policy process due to the nature of the process itself. They are at a competitive disadvantage in lobbying because, being promoters of identities, as well as representatives of interests, they must operate in both the action field of the state and that of civil society. This duality necessarily requires them to engage in expressive as well as instrumental action. NSMOs therefore can accommodate strategic, state-directed action to a more limited degree than is the case with special interest groups or economic associations. Even if they had abundant financial resources, NSMOs would not conduct themselves in the same manner as other interest groups, due to the dilemma of optimization, that is, balancing pragmatic compromises and principled commitments, choosing between conciliatory and confrontational tactics, and acting as interest representatives rather than identity reinforcers. The opportunities for NSMOs have been gradually closing up in recent years because the political process is forcing greater instrumental action in two areas — lobbying and fundraising. At the same time, antagonists are increasingly vocal while supportive allies are inconsistent and the electoral arena is relatively inoperative. The implications of closure for the NSMOs are hard to predict. There is likely to be increased specialization in function and professionalization of operation within these movements, so that some organizations will become dedicated solely to lobbying, others to litigation, and others to providing social services directly to the community. There is also likely to be a fragmentation of identities and interests within movements, creating a situation in which there will be more special interest groups and fewer identity-seeking groups.5 Closure will hit hardest the minority groups with cross-cutting identities, and those in economically disadvantaged positions within social movements, such as visible minority or disabled women, who have neither the resources nor the constituency base to compete vigorously with other interests. Protest may be the only option for many groups. With greater specialization and fragmentation comes the need for stronger ongoing linkages among social movement organizations in order to maintain mobilization. Another tactic for the survival of identity politics is micro-mobilization — the reaching out and politicization of individuals within state, business and other institutions to create "femocrats" or "ecocrats" who can bring identity politics into these existing institutions.

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Finally, in order to appreciate the distinction between NSMOs and other types of interest groups, and to understand their role in the policy process, we, as scholars, need to think about their effectiveness in broader terms than their success in influencing a decision on a particular issue. We must instead develop criteria to assess their influence that can encompass the dualism of their position between the state and civil society.

NOTES 1 A "public interest group" is defined as a group whose members act together to influence public policy in order to promote their common, noncommercial interests and whose objective is rather to benefit people beyond their own membership than to provide direct economic benefit to their members (Pross, 1986:13; Berry, 1977:137). The terms "traditional" and "special" interest group are used here to refer to groups that represent interests, often quite specific and specialized ones, rather than identities. While NSMOs might be considered to be one type of the more generic category, public interest group, they are necessarily embedded in a network of other organizations and individuals that constitute a movement and therefore lack the autonomy of public interest groups. 2 Within this general pattern, there are differences in specific cases across levels as well as across types of organizations. Delineation of such detail, however, is beyond the scope of this paper. 3 The financial capacity of provincial governments to respond to the issues raised by NSMs may be affected to some degree by the capping of costsharing programmes by the federal government and by reductions in transfer payments. However, transfers under Established Program Financing (which were cut in the 1990 and 1991 federal budgets) are not conditional or directly cost-shared. Therefore, it can be argued that in these policy areas it has been the provincial governments that historically have not contributed sufficiently to meet demand (Maslove and Rubashewsky, 1986:112-3). However, this point is often overlooked by NSMOs because they have been so focussed on the federal government. 4 The Lobby Digest reports that the professional lobbyists whose services are for hire (officially registered under legislation as Tier I lobbyists) devote most of their activity on behalf of their clients to the policy fields related to economic interests. The most active area in 1990 was international trade (222 clients) followed by industry (204 clients) and government procurement (193 clients registered). The policy fields with the fewest registrations of professional lobbyists are multiculturalism (6 clients) and the Citizenship Branch of Secretary of State (8 clients). These statistics reflect the fact that in these latter areas groups conduct their own advocacy instead of hiring a professional firm. See The Lobby Digest (1990:3). Of the approximately 575 client organizations listed in the 1990 Compendium of

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registered lobbyists, only a handful are voluntary associations, and most of these are native organizations. Isis Research (1990). 5 As Conway observes in his contribution to this volume, the professionalization of environmental groups has been underway for several years, with the result that most national environmental groups are now run by professionals. To a lesser degree, women's organizations have also become specialized and professionalized.

REFERENCES Ash-Garner, R. (1977). Social Movements in America. Chicago: Markham. Bashevkin, S.B. (1985). Toeing the Lines: Women and Party Politics in English Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Berry, J.M. (1977). Lobbying for the People. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Brenner, J. (1989). "Feminism's Revolutionary Promise: Finding Hope in Hard Times." R. Miliband, L. Panitch and J. Saville, eds., Socialist Register. London: Merlin Press, 245-63. Brown-John, L. (1989). "Federal-Provincial Relations: The Changing Role of Provincial Deputy Ministers." Paper presented to the Annual Meeting of the Canadian Political Science Association, Quebec City. Burt, S.D. (1990). "Canadian Women's Groups in the 1980s: Organizational Development and Policy Influence." Canadian Public Policy 16:1, 17-28. Cameron, S. (1989). Ottawa Inside Out. Toronto: Key Porter Books. Cohen, J.L. (1985). "Strategy of Identity: New Theoretical Paradigms and Contemporary Social Movements." Social Research 52:4 (Winter), 663716. Eder, K. (1985). "The New Social Movements: Moral Crusades, Political Pressure Groups, or Social Movements." Social Research 52:4 (Winter), 869-890. Englemann, F.C., and M.A. Schwartz. (1975). Political Parties and the Canadian Social Structure, 2nd edition. Toronto: Prentice-Hall. Franks, C.E.S. (1987). The Parliament of Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gelb, J., and M.L. Palley. (1987). Women and Public Policies, revised edition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Graham, K. (1989). "Discretion and the Governance of Canada: The Buck Stops Where?" K. Graham, ed., How Ottawa Spends 1989-90. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 1-24. Hannigan, J.A. (1985). "Alain Touraine, Manuel Castells and Social Movement Theory: A Critical Appraisal." Sociological Quarterly 26, 435-51. Isis Research. (1990). Tier I Lobby Compendium. Ottawa. Jenkins, J.C. (1985). The Politics of Insurgency: The Farm Workers' Movement in the 1960s. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Jenson, J. (1989). "Paradigms and Political Discourse: Protective Legislation in France and the United States before 1914." Canadian Journal of Political Science 22:2, 235-58. Kitschelt, H. (1986). "Political Opportunity Structures and Political Protest: Anti-Nuclear Movements in Four Democracies." British Journal of Political Science 16, 57-85. Kriesi, H. (1988). "Local Mobilization for the People's Social Petition of the Dutch Peace Movement." B. Klandermans, H. Kriesi and S. Tarrow, eds., International Social Movement Research 1, 41-81. The Lobby Digest. (1990). February. Magnusson, W., and R. Walker. (1988). "De-Centring the State." Studies in Political Economy 26 (Summer), 37-71. Mahon, R. (1977). "Canadian Public Policy: The Unequal Structure of Representation." L. Panitch, ed., The Canadian State: Political Economy and Political Power. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 165-98. Mandel, M. (1989). The Charter of Rights and the Legalization of Politics in Canada. Toronto: Wall and Thompson. Mansbridge, J.J. (1986). Why We Lost the ERA. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Maslove, A.M., and B. Rubashewsky. (1986). "Cooperation and Confrontation: The Challenges of Fiscal Federalism." M.J. Prince, ed., How Ottawa Spends 1986-87: Tracking the Tories. Toronto: Methuen, 95-118. McCormack, A.R. (1977). Reformers, Rebels and Revolutionaries. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Melucci, A. (1984). "An End to Social Movements?" Social Science Information 23, 819-35. Morton, W.L. (1950). The Progressive Party in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Offe, C., and H. Wiesenthal. (1985). "Two Logics of Collective Action." C. Offe, ed., Disorganized Capitalism. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 170-220. Oloffson, G. (1988). "After the Working-class Movement? An Essay on What's 'New' and What's 'Social' in the New Social Movements." Acta Sociologica 31, 15-34. Paltiel, K.Z. (1982). "The Changing Environment and Role of Special Interest Groups." Canadian Public Administration 25:2, 198-210. . (1988). "The 1984 Federal General Election and Developments in Canadian Party Finance." H. Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls, 1984• Chapel Hill, NC: Duke University Press, 135-49. . (1989). "Political Marketing, Party Finance and the Decline of Canadian Parties." A-G. Gagnon and A.B. Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition: Discourse, Organization, and Representation. Scarborough: Nelson, 332-55.

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Phillips, S.D. (1990). "Projects, Pressure and Perceptions of Effectiveness: An Organizational Analysis of National Canadian Women's Groups." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Carleton University, Ottawa. . (1991). "How Ottawa Blends: Shifting Government Relationships with Interest Groups." F. Abele, ed., How Ottawa Spends 1991-92: The Politics of Fragmentation. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 183-228. Pross, A.P. (1986). Group Politics and Public Policy. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Robin, M. (1968). Radical Politics and Canadian Labour. Kingston: Industrial Relations Centre. Rosenthal, N., and M. Schwartz. (1989). "Spontaneity and Democracy in Social Movements." International Social Movement Research 2, 33-60. Rucht, D. (1988). "Themes, Logics, and Arenas of Social Movements: A Structural Approach." International Social Movement Research 1, 30528. Sawatsky, J. (1987). The Insiders: Government, Business, and the Lobbyists. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Schultz, R. (1980). Federalism, Bureaucracy and Public Policy: The Politics of Highway Transport Regulation. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press. Stanbury, W.T. (1986). Business-Government Relations in Canada. Toronto: Methuen. Study of Parliament Group. (1989). Interest Groups and Parliament. Ottawa: Study of Parliament Group. Tarrow, S. (1983). "Struggling to Reform: Social Movements and Policy Change during Cycles of Protest." Western Societies Paper, No. 15. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University. . (1989). "Struggle, Politics, and Reform: Collective Action, Social Movements, and Cycles of Protest." Western Societies Paper, No. 21. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University. Thorburn, H.G. (1985). Interest Groups in the Canadian Federal System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Vickers, J.M. (1989). "Bending the Iron Law of Oligarchy: Debates on the Feminization of Organization and Political Process in the English Canadian Women's Movement 1970-1988." Unpublished paper, Institute of Canadian Studies, Carleton University, Ottawa. Warhurst, H. (1987). "Managing Intergovernmental Relations." H. Bakvis and W. Chandler, eds., Federalism and the Role of the State. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 259-76. Weick, K.E. (1984). "Small Wins, Redefining the Scale of Social Problems." American Psychologist, January, 40-49. Young, W.D. (1978). Democracy and Discontent, 2nd edition. Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson. Zurcher, L.A., and D.A. Snow. (1981). "Collective Behavior: Social Movements." M. Rosenberg and R.H. Turner, eds., Social Psychology: Sociological Perspectives. New York: Basic Books, 447-82.

Sustainable Development and the Challenges Facing Canadian Environmental Groups in the 1990s Thomas Conway CARLETON UNIVERSITY The existence of an increased level of environmental consciousness, of the kind experienced in the 1980s, will create new opportunities for change. However, this situation in itself does not prefigure what the outcomes of that change will look like. Relations with our environment will not be set once and for all or encapsulated in one big "action plan," but will arise out of much trial and error, changed individual behaviour, political dispute and compromise, and diverse policy initiatives developed over time and unique to specific circumstances. Canadians concerned with how we will adjust to environmentally sustainable development in the 1990s and thereafter, will need to be as much concerned with consolidating new institutions and policy processes as with any discrete set of policy initiatives. The politics of the environment in the 1990s will be about what processes of decision-making will be developed, and what individuals and organizations will be in place to play a meaningful part in those processes. This chapter will provide one abridged assessment of the challenges facing Canada's environmental interest groups as they move into the 1990s. The discussion is based on the premise that adjustment to sustainable development will require, among other things, a strong environmentalist voice within legitimate democratic processes.

Sustaining an Alternative Discourse of Reform: The Example of the WCED and its Aftermath Environmental activists have always worked hard to raise the environment in the public consciousness and place it on the policy agenda of the state. Events in the 1980s made this task a little easier (Conway, 1989). It now appears that there is agreement that the environment is an "issue," and an ongoing debate about what an environmental agenda for change should be has intensified (Aitken, 1989; National Task Force

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on Environment and Economy, 1987; CEAC, 1987).* New circumstances appear to have left little room for any of those concerned to run and hide. Business groups with a huge stake in any redefinition of "proper environmental behaviour" have had to recognize the need for change, instead of resting on public apathy and lack of awareness. Large parts of the population have been frightened out of their apathy and are becoming more conscious of the situation. Government leaders have had to acknowledge the growing concern of the population and the real threats that environmental destruction poses for the future health and prosperity of the country. One especially cathartic event that helped produce these changes was the release of the report of the World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED) in 1987 (WCED, 1987). In many ways the work of the WCED both reflected the changes in international public awareness already under way by the mid-1980s and served as a major catalyst for the acceleration of these changes. The work of the Commission sent a signal that a significant bloc of the international establishment was beginning to take seriously the mounting evidence of environmental damage. Indeed, what mattered was not that the WCED revealed new information about the degradation of the environment — most of what they said had in any case been known for decades — but that they presented many of the facts in a high-profile international forum. The involvement of the United Nations General Assembly in sanctioning the work of the Commission through the World Environment Program, combined with the legitimized establishment status of the Commission members — in marked contrast with the outsider status of early environmentalists — conveyed a warning which vested interests could not safely ignore. The WCED can perhaps best be understood as an attempt to provide grounds for mediation between diverse interests across nations and across environmental and industrial groups (Conway, 1989). It is a brokerage report which, while acknowledging industrialism as legitimate — specifically with regard to Third-World development — has also incorporated a set of recommendations of a quite radical reformist nature. The significance of this fact is that the WCED report could be publicly supported by those who had historically been resistant to recommendations like those put forward (CEAC, 1987; Environment Canada, 1986, 1987; National Task Force, 1987; Pepper, 1984; Redclift, 1987). Many people within business and government quickly latched on to the development side of the WCED's central concept of "sustainable development," as can be seen by the Canadian government's own responses to the WCED, the

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work of the Task Force on Environment and Economy, and other public statements of business leaders, all of which I have analyzed elsewhere (Conway, 1989). People did, however, begin to talk about environmental concerns to a vastly increased extent. The downside of this development from the standpoint of environmental groups, is the challenge that it poses to their public leadership of the campaign to defend the environment. In terms of the concept of sustainable development everybody, it seems, is an "environmentalist." All movements for reform are in danger of having their calls for change superseded by others which incorporate the language of the movement in a programme of damage control. Environmentalists must confront this reality and seek to emphasize the uniqueness of their arguments before the public. For example, there has been very little public exposure of the arguments presented by the Commission regarding what David Pearce and his colleagues — among others — have called the "three key concepts" of sustainable development: "environment, futurity and equity" (Pearce et al., 1989). What this means is that sustainable development does not simply suggest a marginally more efficient use of raw resources or state controls placed on only the worst sources of pollution. It requires the incorporation of the environment into our traditional assessments of "quality of life," along with other factors such as employment prospects, real incomes and working conditions, educational and health standards. It also makes it necessary to understand the correlation which exists between poverty and practices which degrade the environment and threaten the well-being of future generations. One of the principal challenges to be faced by Canada's environmental groups, as well as other groups, is that of providing a forum for the continual nurturing and advancing of these sustainable development ideas. The narrowing of proposals for reform is quite understandable when one considers the balance of political forces at play and the fragmenting effect of specific environmental problems. Intuitively and scientifically we know that the very term "ecology" implies interconnectedness, but the reality is that specific environmental issues tend to flare up in a random and quite disconnected way. Environmental problems require their own blend of responses and practical solutions. These developments hinder the creation of links between issues and the establishment of clear long-range agendas for reform. An appeal to a general set of guiding principles, such as those drawn from the idea of sustainable development, is required. The tendency, under the pressure of limited resources, is to focus on individual issues and not consider the relations between policy sectors or between the problems faced by different groups of people. This has been one of the major barriers to alliance building

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among environmental groups, and between environmental groups and other sections of society which may have some common interests (Canadian Environmental Law Association, 1988; Mackenzie, 1987; Mansell, 1977).2 If we can agree that the value of the concept of sustainable development is that it forces people to see the relations between the environment, human needs and diverse policy initiatives, it would appear to be in the interest of environmental groups to continue to build on this concept and suggest and push policies which can be justified by direct reference to it.

The Problem of Organization and Alliance Building Canadian environmental groups were clearly brought in from the wilderness in the late 1980s. Their numbers are growing at an unprecedented rate. For example, the editors of the Friends of the Earth newsletter reported in February of 1989 that the group's membership had grown from 4000 in 1980 to 10,000 in 1989, with a 74% increase in budget. Other environmental groups have experienced similar, or even more dramatic, growth and the pace of expansion continues to intensify.3 The questions of simple survival, which preoccupied many of these groups in the 1970s and early 1980s, are now combined with more complex questions of managing growth, organizing and renewing support, and bringing about change while the conditions are ripe amongst the population and within the state. With the higher profile of the environmentalist cause have come increased pressures and responsibilities for articulating clear policy positions. This is a necessary development in a governing process where we expect groups to be accountable for the courses of action they recommend. The government will probably try to encourage a consensus among the groups, which are themselves very likely to see benefits in alliance building as a means of confronting resistance to change and communicating their views more effectively. Coalition building amongst environmental groups has always been an aspect of their strategy, as in the case of the Coalition Against Acid Rain. The issue orientation of many of Canada's environmental groups does, however, continue to pose a barrier to coherent policy formation and political alliance building. Many of the groups focus solely on one or two specific issues, while others, such as Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace and Pollution Probe, often spread themselves thinly over a diverse range of issues. The generalized nature of the environmental crisis — it can flare up almost anywhere at any time — spreads out available resources, draws on diverse and spontaneous public reaction and participation, provides less than fertile ground for constituency building and offers little

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predictability in the formation of alliances. Because the activism is not confined to one site — as it is with a trade union local, which benefits organizationally from the friction inherent at the point of production over a sustained period of time within one localized space — environmentalism must be organized around disparate sites or "flash points." Examples of this can be found in the struggles over the Temagami Region of Northern Ontario, the Stein River Valley, Rafferty/Alemeda Dam, the Rouge River Valley System, the Peace and Athabaska River pulp mills, Clayoquot Sound, Halifax Harbour, the Miramichi and Niagara rivers, and so on (Boisseau, 1988; Corbett, 1988; Gregorio and Baeremacker, 1988; Johnston and Gismondi, 1989; Karpan and Karpan, 1988; Kennedy, 1988; Persky, 1988; Watts, 1988). Activism around environmental flash points occurs mainly as shortterm public outrage. This form of expression does not require that other commonalities be sought between people, nor does it require the existence of a general consensus about the causes of, and possible solutions to, environmental problems. Sites of environmental struggle are almost always philosophically and ideologically diverse, leaving a tenuous basis for organizational coherence and ample opportunity for organizational conflict (Eckersley, 1988). When issue concerns cool down, people will often go their own way. The spontaneous character of many environmental protests is not necessarily a bad thing — in fact, it is an expression of democracy - but it does nevertheless present organizational and leadership problems for environmental groups in the 1990s as they seek to mobilize and channel public concern more effectively. There will be a need to convince people not only of the value of their participation but also of the relationship between what they are doing and the broader objectives of sustainable development, and of the significance their action can have for these objectives. Channelling this support more effectively will help to strengthen the bargaining position with government and industry, and decrease uncertainty for government in determining exactly what the groups and their supporters see as most important. In Canada, environmental groups also have other problems of organization and alliance building which stem from the geographical diversity and size of the country. The various regions of the country experience many of their own unique environmental problems because they have different economic profiles, specifically where natural resources are concerned. Organizing across the sheer spatial dimensions of these differences adds to the difficulties faced by environmental groups. It is also clear that the federal structure of the state contributes to the fragmentation of the groups. It is one thing to build an organizationally strong movement in a small country with a dense population and a unitary

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state, such as in Great Britain, and another to organize a support base spread over huge distances and concerned with many different issues and governments. The resources needed to do so are increased exponentially, as is the effort required to break down barriers to understanding and cooperation. This is a significant challenge encountered by all Canadian public interest groups.

Historical Divisions within Environmentalist!! The term environmentalism includes the ideas of a wide range of groups in Canada. The wildlife preservation groups, which trace their lineage back to the 19th century in Canada, have different roots and demonstrate concerns different from those of many other, more recently constituted environmentalist groups such as Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace, Energy Probe and Pollution Probe. The activities of the early preservationists were, for the most part, based on the commercial needs of those who worked in and drew sustenance from wilderness areas. The early Federal Commission of Conservation, for example, was established in 1909 by Wilfrid Laurier and Clifford Sifton as an expression of concern over the decline of an old way of life. During this period industrial production was rarely questioned but the balance struck between the old frontier and the new city was debated quite vehemently. Naturalist associations grew up in considerable numbers, and, as Janet Foster has pointed out in her book on the early preservation movement in Canada, much of the activity of these groups was related to concerns over wildlife stocks (Foster, 1978). The Royal Commission on Fish and Game, established by the government in the 1880s (its report was issued in 1892) reflected a growing popular concern. One key to understanding the preservationist groups is the fact that they were outgrowths of disputes between old and new commercial trends. Preservationism was in many ways, though not totally, a conservative defence of commerce originating in wilderness areas, such as sport fishing, hunting, trapping and touring. Group membership did not require common perspectives on other themes beyond the immediate wildlife and resource use issues to which they addressed themselves. This was evidenced in the limited challenge — with some notable exceptions — offered to environmentally damaging industries in spaces already developed. The goal was to control the worst effects of population growth and industrial development at the frontiers of the expanding society. Industrial society was devouring wilderness areas, but at the same time it provided the market for the goods extracted from the wilderness. It is interesting that the traditions of these early preservationist groups have been carried on by contemporary preservationist groups, such as

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the Canadian Nature Federation, Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society, Canadian Wildlife Federation, and World Wildlife Fund Canada, among many others. This is not to say that these groups are not important actors in defence of the environment, but only that their views do manifest strains of a preservationist tradition. In this respect they are distinct from many of the more recent environmental groups, which have a different tradition, philosophical basis, and membership composition. The more recently constituted environmental groups originated in the period following the 1950s. The larger anti-establishment protests that occurred in the 1960s throughout the developed liberal democracies provided fertile ground for their creation (Chant, 1981). Evidence of tremendous environmental damage since that time has been a continuing basis for their existence. While it is useful to classify these groups as separate from preservationist groups, it is not true to argue that there is a great deal of commonality among the new environmentalist movements. They were indeed commonly formed around concerns over pollution and the larger effects of industrialism, rather than wildlife resource issues specifically, but their respective approaches and views vary a great deal. One does not have to look far to identify wide differences in outlook both within and between these groups. Environmentalism throughout North America and Europe has in recent years been quite fractured, with divisions between Deep Ecology and Social Ecology, and between Ecocentric and Technocentric positions (Conway, 1989; FitzSimmons and Gottlieb, 1988; Pepper, 1984; Redclift, 1987). The recent dispute within Pollution Probe between the ousted president Colin Isaacs and others in the group is but one manifestation of such differences (Mitchell, 1989). Some of the groups have asked whether we have not had enough development altogether, while others have encouraged more managed growth with greater attention to the problem of environmental impacts. Some envisage a very strong role for the regulatory instruments of the state in enforcing sustainable environmental practices, while others have their roots in anarchist philosophy. In environmentalism, as in trade unionism, there is a business approach as well as a more radical social approach. To the extent that the leaders of these groups have an ideology, it tends to be highly fractured, as are the more general philosophical orientations of the membership. In fact, one of the major barriers to a consolidation of leadership views is the acknowledgement of membership diversity. This is likely to be a continuing constraint on the Canadian Environmental Network, a loose coordinating body linking together hundreds of environmental groups. As Dennis Hewlett has argued, social movement bodies of this type attempt to bridge many contradictions

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and "are the site of internal political struggles between conservative and sectarian politics and progressive or social politics" (Howlett, 1989:42). Bridging not only the historical divisions within environmentalism, but also the new ones that are likely to arise out of future developments, promises to be yet another major challenge to the environmental interest movement. One of the most serious threats to an alternative environmentalist voice in the 1990s is the selective support given by the state and powerful interests involved in the policy process for some environmental groups at the expense of others. At issue is due democratic process for all the groups and reasonable resources to permit participation. A sustainable environmental process will require that all the views and evidence be on the table.

Facing the State: The Dangers of Past Practices The efforts of environmental groups to mobilize resources have often fallen dishearteningly short of hopes and expectations. From very early on, the Canadian federal and provincial governments have participated in the funding of environmental groups, as they have in the funding of women's groups, native groups and others. This funding has been necessary, welcomed and limiting, all at the same time. In the case of environmental groups, the support has not come as "core funding," which would allow some latitude for agenda setting and political action, but instead as "project funding." Project funding is, of course, under much stricter scrutiny by government. The government wants limited resources spent in a particular way and wants to support and manage the environmental constituency in a fashion which is not out of step with what it views as realistic expectations of change. Structured relationships of this type between the state and interest groups have very important implications for political action. The tendency is to see policy proposals narrowed and made more conservative within policy communities. It will be a challenge for all environmental groups to try to increase their freedom from constraining relationships with day-to-day government problems and thereby enlarge the opportunities for independent consideration. Undoubtedly, such autonomy will rightly lead to a great deal of co-operation with the government, some business firms, labour unions and other groups, but proper democratic process requires that environmental groups have a reasonable capacity to beg to differ. Government involvement with the groups should focus on practical core funding as a start towards this goal and as a democratic right.

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New Policy Recommendations: Limiting Political Participation? One of the trends in the area of environmental policy in the late 1980s — which promises to continue in the 1990s — has been to seek alternatives to government regulation of the market (Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, 1988). This tendency reflects a high level of uncertainty about the best way to proceed in the context of rapidly changing political and economic conditions. Under political pressure to act more effectively in defence of the environment, the government is issuing alternative policy recommendations at a frantic pace. The recent release of the government's Green Plan has increased this flow, as has a series of conferences held by policy institutes (Block, 1990; Doern, 1990; D'Aquino, 1990). Many environmental groups which have envisaged the need for a strong regulatory role for the government have not found all of the most recent policy recommendations to their liking. Concerns about the international competitiveness of Canadian industry and capital flight within emerging trading regimes have helped sustain a criticism of proposals for strong government enforcement of environmental standards. Many recent proposals have recommended policy approaches more compatible with unhindered markets. Approaches of this type tend to involve two fundamental themes: first, continued socialization of industrial adjustment and environmental clean-up costs through general state revenues, and second, market pricing mechanisms intended to discourage the worst spillovers of industrial activity, such as clear-cutting of forests, burning of coal as an energy source and discharging of hazardous chemicals into the water supply. The socialization of industrial adjustment and pollution clean-up costs through government spending is, of course, nothing new. The Canadian state has always played a central role in funding business development and restructuring. However, because of government budget deficits, there are contradictory forces at play which present serious problems. Business organizations will, on the one hand, urge fiscal responsibility upon the government while, on the other, encouraging spending in disregard of new environmental standards of conduct. Trade unions will also seek adjustment assistance for displaced workers. There is no doubt that industrial adjustment to the true extent required for sustainable development will cost many billions of dollars. Under these conditions we can expect an intensified move to transfer funds from other government "social" portfolios into the environmental adjustment envelope. The move to reallocate resources will heighten the profile of the environment in the eyes of many other groups, such as labour and social welfare organizations, which will be affected by these changes. These

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groups will also seek to consult on the impact of the new tax burdens likely to arise from environmental protection initiatives. As people begin to see the complexity involved in adjustment to sustainable development, discussion and co-operation will be needed in forms which challenge environmental groups to defend their positions and show themselves accountable for them in the public eye. The proposed market mechanisms referred to above include, among others: taxation on environmentally damaging products such as fossil fuels and chemicals; charges on raw resources which more realistically reflect their value; marketable pollution permits; and pollution emission charges. Some of these measures are likely to be quite successful under certain conditions and will form part of the total adjustment package. However, there will undoubtedly be pressure to keep their impact to a minimum for an extended period of time, and also to use them as substitutes for regulatory standard setting. This development is likely to challenge the political effectiveness of environmental groups in at least three ways. First, the traditional secrecy of the tax system may limit the access of environmental groups to the governmental bodies charged with formulating the measures. Secondly, a stress on the technical difficulty of setting "economically feasible" tax rates, resource charges and so on, might restrict environmental group participation because such measures are claimed to be "outside their domain of expertise." And thirdly, business might invoke the logic of free-market allocative adjustment, demanding that this adjustment occur with a minimum of state interference, free from the uncertainty and obstruction caused by constant political debate. These developments threaten to disenfranchise certain groups with a vital stake in environmental policy making. Canada's environmental groups will have the daunting task of keeping the processes of decisionmaking open on these matters and making clear to the public that the setting of rates and charges is not an objective process but a political one. Political decisions will have to be made as to how much we as a society want to pay in environmental damage for certain types of business activity. Only open democratic processes can meet this need and point society towards sustainable development.

Conclusion In this chapter I have argued that a great deal of energy will need to be expended in constructing the institutions and policy processes necessary for Canada's adjustment to sustainable development. Researchers will also have to investigate the many challenges faced by important political agents and social groups. As always, positive social adjustment is

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never automatically assured although the conditions for change have improved. There are many possible relations with our environment which we could embark upon. These relations will not be set out in one large environmental action plan, but will be determined through trial and error, changed individual behaviour, political dispute and compromise, and many government policy initiatives. Canada's environmental groups face numerous obstacles to their participation in the processes of adaptation that will lead to sustainable development. Not the least of these is the need to articulate clear and alternative agendas for such development, while building stronger alliances so as to create an organizationally vibrant collectivity of groups able to participate in accountable processes of policy making. It will also be necessary to ensure that the work of paving the way to an era of sustainable development is not botched as a result of attempts to move the agenda for adjustment out of the realm of ongoing political discussion.

NOTES 1 This intensification has been particularly pronounced in the period following the report of the World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED). It has been increased still further by the federal government's indication that it is more determined to do something about the environment. The works cited here in the text are just a few examples of efforts to influence the political agenda. All the major business groups have developed official positions on the environment and are developing what they have called "environmental codes of ethics." In addition, policy institutes have also developed their positions. 2 The difficulty of alliance building becomes apparent in discussions with group leaders. It is also revealed in the difficulty the groups have in forming common political positions and in drafting common position papers on key issues. The document Selling Canada's Environment Short: The Environmental Case Against the Free Trade Deal — written prior to the last election (the "free trade election") — was one of the few successes; even so, it did not come easily. The first paragraph of this document trumpets the fact that it actually drew many of the groups together, but the document also reveals a political ambiguity. The environmental groups have also had a great deal of difficulty establishing links with groups not focussing on the environment, such as the trade unions. This can be seen in Mackenzie (1987) and Mansell (1977). 3 It is clear that environmentalists in Canada are feeling quite enthusiastic about this expansion, although many concerns do of course remain. See, for example, the series of comments published in the Winter 1989 issue of Probe Post.

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REFERENCES Aitken, W.R.O. (1989). "We Must All Become Activists." Policy Options 10:8 (October), 29-31. Block, Walter, ed. (1990). Economics and the Environment: A Reconciliation. Vancouver: Fraser Institute. Boisseau, Peter. (1988) "Domtar's Deadly Legacy." Probe Post 11:2 (Summer), 6-9. Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives. (1988). Canada Under the Tory Government. Ottawa. Canadian Environmental Advisory Council (CEAC). (1987). Canada and Sustainable Development. Ottawa: Supply and Services. Canadian Environmental Law Association. (1988). Selling Canada's Environment Short: The Environmental Case Against the Free Trade Deal. Toronto. Chant, Donald. (1981). "A Decade of Environmental Concern: A Retrospective and Prospective." Alternatives 10:1 (Spring/Summer), 3-6. Conway, Thomas. (1989). "The Concept of Sustainable Development." In Donald C. Rowat, ed. Canada and the Crisis of Environmental Destruction. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 1-52. Corbett, Lois. (1988). "Halifax Harbour's Cleanup Problems." Probe Post 11:3 (Fall), 16-18. D'Aquino, Thomas. (1990). Environment and Economy: Until Death Do They Part. Ottawa: Business Council on National Issues. Doern, Bruce, ed. (1990). The Environmental Imperative. Toronto: C.D. Howe Institute. Eckersley, Robyn. (1988). "Green Politics: A Practice in Search of a Theory?" Alternatives 15:4, 52-61. Environment Canada. (1987). Environment and Development: The Canadian Perspective. Ottawa: Supply and Services. Environment Canada. (1986). Submission by the People of Canada to the World Commission on Environment and Development. Ottawa: Supply and Services. FitzSimmons, Margaret, and Robert Gottlieb. (1988). KA New Environmental Politics." Mike Davis et al., eds. Reshaping the US Left — Popular Struggles in the 1980s: The Year Left 3. London: Verso, 114-30. Foster, Janet. (1978). Working for Wildlife: The Beginning of Preservation in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gregorio, Cathy and Glenn De Baeremaeker. (1988). "Battle for the Rouge." Probe Post 11:1 (Spring), 6-11. Hewlett, Dennis. (1989). "Social Movement Coalitions: New Possibilities for Social Change." Canadian Dimension (November-December), 41-47. Johnston, Barry, and Mike Gismondi. (1989). "A Forestry Boom in Alberta?" Probe Post 12:1 (Spring), 16-19.

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Karpan, Robin, and Arlene Karpan. (1988). "The Rafferty/Alemeda Controversy." Probe Post 11:3 (Fall), 12-15. Kennedy, Des. (1988). "B.C.'s Ancient Forests." Probe Post 11:3 (Fall), 6-9. Mackenzie, Hugh. (1987). "A Labour Perspective: Finding Common Ground." Alternatives 14:3, 13-17. Mansell, Jacquelynne. (1977). "Forum: Labour and the Ontario Environment." Alternatives 6 (Summer), 28-32. McKay, Paul. (1989). "Last Stand at Temagami." This Magazine 23:4 (November), 27-29. Mitchell, Jared. (1989). "No Deals." Report on Business Magazine (October), 72-78. National Task Force on Environment and Economy. (1987). Report of the National Task Force on Environment and Economy. Pearce, David, Anil Markandya, and Edward A. Barbier (1989). Blueprint for a Green Economy. London: Earthscan Publications Ltd. Pepper, David. (1984). The Roots of Modern Environmentalism. London: Groom Helm. Persky, Stan. (1988). "The Battle for the Stein River Valley." This Magazine 22:5 (October), 12-18. Probe Post. (1989). "The Environment and Environmentalism: Our Progress, Problems and Prospects." Probe Post 12:4 (Winter), 10-40. Redclift, Michael. (1987). Sustainable Development: Exploring the Contradictions. New York: Methuen. Watts, Dinah. (1988). "Citizens Organize for Lake Ontario." Probe Post 11:3 (Fall), 10-11. World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED). (1987). Our Common Future. New York: Oxford University Press.

VI Interest Representation and Class Politics in Quebec

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Les associations patronales comme groupes de pression dans la revolution tranquille* Michel Sarra-Bournet UNIVERSITE D'OTTAWA Lors d'un colloque sur les groupes de pression tenu en 1981, le Professeur Paltiel avait entretenu les participants du role de 1'Etat dans 1'emergence de nouveaux groupes d'interets publics dans les annees 1960, et de 1'effet de 1'arrivee de ces nouveaux groupes sur 1'action des plus anciens (Paltiel, 1982). C'est ce qui a inspire le sujet aborde dans ce chapitre. II existe deja de nombreuses monographies decrivant les associations patronales (Marier, 1949; Asselin, 1954; Senecal, 1954; Pellegrino, 1967; L. Belanger, 1970; Bauer, 1976). D'autres traitent d'ideologie (Hudon, 1976; Tremblay, 1977; Payeur, 1979; Pratte, 1985; Plouffe, 1987; Leblanc, 1988; Roy, 1988). Mais seulement deux abordent de front leurs activites, dont 1'une qui ne porte que sur les Chambres de commerce, et 1'autre sur les annees 1970 (M. Belanger, 1968a; Fournier, 1979). C'est pourquoi une plus grande attention sera portee dans cette recherche sur la correspondance et les proces-verbaux de ces associations que sur leurs publications et prises de positions publiques. Dans le texte qui suit, nous nous demanderons pourquoi les associations patronales, comme les syndicats d'ailleurs, sont demeurees des groupes d'interet et,

L'auteur aimerait remercier les organismes suivants pour leur soutien: le Conseil de recherche en sciences humaines du Canada, le Fonds FCAR du Quebec et le Centre de recherche en civilisation canadienne-francaise de 1'Universite d'Ottawa. Sauf mention contraire, les faits exposes dans ce texte sont tires des Fonds d'archives suivants (le depot ou on pent les consulter est indique entre parentheses): - Fonds du Centre des dirigeants d'entreprises (UQAM) - Fonds de la Chambre de commerce de Montreal (Universite de Montreal) - Fonds de la Commission Tremblay (Archives nationales du Quebec a Quebec [ANQQ]) - Fonds Jean-Lesage (ANQQ)

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par consequent, des groupes de pression dans leurs rapports avec le gouvernement, malgre les tentatives de planification concertee ou participative du debut des annees 1960. L'etude du patronat d'apres-guerre sous Tangle de la confrontation des groupes d'inte'rets a fait ressortir une caracteristique fondamentale du Quebec: sa nature conflictuelle. Voici done Interpretation preliminaire issue d'une premiere lecture des archives, des sources imprimees et des sources secondaires. Mais il est d'abord necessaire de faire un survol de 1'evolution des associations patronales et de leurs relations avec 1'Etat avant 1960.

Evolution des associations patronales avant 1960 A 1'etude des transformations patronales au niveau ideologique (la radicalisation du discours), il faut done ajouter le niveau organisational (la cohesion de 1'action). L'objectif de cet exercice est d'etudier la propension du patronat a agir en classe, en groupe qui defend ses interets, ou en groupe soucieux du bien commun. Jusqu'aux annees 1930, les associations patronales existantes etaient soit des clubs sociaux locaux ou on discutait de promotion economique et de bonnes affaires (Chambres de commerce), soit des lobbies protectionnistes agissant sur le gouvernement federal (Association des manufacturiers canadiens), ou bien des associations sectorielles d'etudes, de services et de representation (Association des manufacturiers de chaussures). Elles avaient tres peu a faire avec le gouvernement du Quebec dont la legislation du travail etait satisfaisante a leurs yeux. Quand les syndicats sont devenus assez puissants pour influencer 1'opinion publique et celle des gouvernants, et que les lois ont ete modifiees dans le sens d'une protection accrue des organisations ouvrieres, des organisations patronales se sont mises a faire pression dans le sens contraire. En 1934 fut adoptee la Loi de 1'extension juridique des conventions collectives, a la suite d'une campagne de la Confederation des travailleurs catholiques du Canada (CTCC). Cette loi permettait au gouvernement du Quebec d'appliquer par decret a tout un secteur de production (par exemple, electriciens, barbiers), les conditions de travail contenues dans une convention collective. La negociation de ces conventions devait se faire par des syndicats professionnels patronaux et syndicaux, et elles devaient etre appliquees par des comites paritaires (Chartier, 1963a:221-24). Les premieres associations patronales significatives au Quebec furent done les syndicats patronaux. On les qualifie d'associations verticales parce qu'elles ne representent qu'un segment du patronat. La premiere association horizontale exclusivement patronale fut 1'Association professionnelle des industriels, 1'API, fondee en 1943 par

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un jesuite, le pere Emile Bouvier, specialiste des relations industrielles. Elle avait pour but de former 1'esprit chretien des patrons, de favoriser la collaboration entre patrons et ouvriers dans 1'entreprise, d'ofFrir des services de relations industrielles aux employeurs et de defendre leurs interets "legitimes," c'est-a-dire compatibles avecle bien commun. L'API etait approuvee par 1'Episcopat catholique. Elle avait un aumonier. Elle s'efForgait de suivre la doctrine sociale de 1'Eglise, qui preconisait la recherche du bien commun par la collaboration des "corps intermediates," ces associations volontaires qui devaient faire le lien entre les individus et 1'autorite. La doctrine sociale de 1'Eglise etait corporatiste (voir Archibald et Paltiel, 1977:61-69; Genest, 1988:14-17). C'est pourquoi nous appellerons ce premier courant patronal le courant d'origine corporatiste. II comprend 1'API et les syndicats patronaux verticaux, euxmemes sou vent catholiques. Les Chambres de commerce, qui agissaient deja au XIXe siecle comme groupes de pression aupres des pouvoirs publics (Falardeau, 1966:136), representent le deuxieme courant patronal quebecois. D'envergure locale, elles se sont regroupees en une federation, la Chambre de commerce de la province de Quebec, qui a eu du mal a se maintenir sans le support de la Chambre de commerce du district de Montreal (L. Belanger, 1970:44). La Chambre de Montreal a une longue tradition liberale qui subsistera tout au long du XXe siecle (Roy, 1988). Les grandes Chambres quebecoises defendront le progres par la libre entreprise et ne reconnaitront d'abord a 1'Etat qu'un role "suppletif." La Chambre provinciale sera toujours un peu plus conservatrice parce que la plupart de ses membres se retrouveront dans des comtes ruraux et parce que les idees nouvelles naitront souvent des comites de la Chambre de Montreal avant de faire leur chemin dans le mouvement. Malgre leur recrutement dans plusieurs classes, les Chambres de commerce "sont generalement reconnues comme des associations d'hommes d'affaires" (M. Belanger, 1968b:85) parce que le phenomene de conditionnement de classe fait en sorte qu'elles soient apparentees au patronat (Hudon, 1980:265). Elles constituent done des associations patronales horizontales du courant d'origine liberal. Elles representent le patronat francophone, comme le Montreal Board of Trade represente les patrons anglophones. L'Association des manufacturiers canadiens, section Quebec, partage la meme ideologic, mais elle constitue la filiale d'un organisme pan-canadien oriente vers le gouvernement federal. Nous retenons done les Chambres de commerce comme representantes du courant liberal. A cause de la domination des Chambres par celle de Montreal, nous utiliserons dorenavant le mot Chambre au singulier pour designer la Chambre

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de commerce du district de Montreal, mais nos remarques s'appliqueront egalement a la Chambre provinciale. Puisque notre objet d'etude est le patronat francophone quebecois en tant que categoric sociale, nous nous interesserons done aux associations patronales horizontales: la Chambre de commerce d'origine liberale, et 1'Association professionnelle des industriels d'inspiration corporatiste. Cette caracterisation recoupe d'ailleurs les liens qui unissent ces organisations avec les partis politiques. L'API est proche de Duplessis, son fondateur etant un ami du premier ministre. Elle partage avec 1'Eglise et PUnion Nationale une vision du role de PEtat dans Peconomie et de 1'Eglise dans les affaires sociales. Elle preconise aussi la paix sociale par la collaboration patronale-ouvriere inspiree du corporatisme. La meme relation unit les Liberaux a la Chambre de commerce. Cette derniere en vient a proner un reel support de 1'Etat aux entreprises, tout en affirmant la primaute de Pentreprise privee et des libertes individuelles, la base du credo liberal (Plouffe, 1987:54-71). Cette acceptation de PEtatprovidence est illustree par sa demande, formulee des 1940, que 1'Etat intervienne au moyen d'un Conseil d'orientation economique (COEQ), ce que Godbout leur accorde trois ans plus tard (Chartrand, 1960:163). En 1960, le COEQ se retrouve a nouveau dans le programme du P.L.Q. Aussitot remis sur pied, le Conseil est preside par Pancien president de la Chambre provinciale, Rene Pare, Pami personnel de Lesage (Parenteau, 1970:680). Par ailleurs, Papproche organique de PAPI, sa vision paternaliste des relations de travail, est tout a fait compatible avec une conception de la societe divisee en classes. En effet, elle preconise la collaboration de classe au nom du bien commun, un element essentiel du corporatisme. La croissance des associations patronales est intimement associee a la montee du syndicalisme dans les annees quarante. Le militantisme accru des syndicats a provoque la radicalisation du mouvement patronal: pour 1'API, la classe ouvriere allait trop loin. Peu de temps avant la Greve de Pamiante, elle publiait un discours de son president intitule "Le patron est-il encore maitre dans sa maison?" (Heon, 1948). Le 11 avril 1949, elle tenait a Montreal une "Reunion d'urgence des patrons." L'API a approuve la politique gouvernementale lors de la greve, comme elle approuvait la politique generale de Duplessis en matiere de relations de travail. Ainsi, quelque chose de fondamental a change au tournant des annees 1950. On est passe au Quebec d'une societe consensuelle a une societe conflictuelle. Un premier clivage fondamental separe desormais les patrons des ouvriers. Mais si le discours corporatiste masque encore cette realite, le pluralisme se fait deja sentir, notamment par les idees emanant de la Chambre de commerce.

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La Chambre de commerce est une association d'hommes d'affaires regroupes autour des idees de progres et de libre entreprise. Comme 1'API, elle a bien sur denonce les greves. Mais elle a egalement incite le gouvernement a s'impliquer dans le developpement economique, et meme dans Feducation et la sante. Dans le but de forcer Duplessis a etudier cette question, et aussi a considerer Fetablissement d'un impot provincial, la Chambre de Montreal a suscite la mise sur pied d'une Commission royale d'enquete sur les problemes constitutionnels. Elle a habilement joue sur I'idee d'autonomie provinciale pour entramer des unionistes notoires dans son projet. Duplessis n'a pu resister (Durocher et Jean, 1971:338-41) et a mis sur pied la Commission Tremblay qui a, entre autres, fait sienne la recommandation de creer un Conseil d'orientation economique qui sera inscrite au programme des Liberaux en 1960 (Chartrand, 1960:183). Cette idee est importante en ce que la creation du Conseil, son fonctionnement, son succes ou son echec determineront si Feconomie du Quebec peut etre planifiee de fagon concertee, et, a partir de la, quelles sortes de relations entretiendront le patronat et FEtat. Ces relations etaient d'abord limitees a un lobby constant, surtout de la part de 1'API, pour une legislation du travail favorable a 1'entreprise. Puis la Chambre de commerce s'est declaree en faveur de 1'intervention economique de FEtat. A ce lobby, il faut ajouter les memoires annuels ou ponctuels, et les prises de position publiques sur des sujets precis. Par ailleurs, la Commission Tremblay, la premiere de cette envergure au Quebec, a donne Foccasion aux autres "corps intermediaires" quebecois de faire leurs premieres armes sur le terrain de la pression politique publique, bien avant la Commission Parent et le Bill 60. Nos deux associations n'ont pas fait exception et se sont comportees, vis-a-vis FEtat, comme des groupes de pression, c'est-a-dire qui defendent les interets de leurs membres. Cela n'a rien de surprenant dans le cas de la Chambre, mais dans celui de 1'API, qui devait penser au bien commun de la societe, on se justifiait en alleguant que les syndicats mettaient en danger le bien commun. La participation a des organismes publics de consultation ou de reglementation est un deuxieme mode d'interaction Etat-patrons. En 1940, le gouvernement Godbout creait le Conseil superieur du travail (CST) pour etudier des questions sociales reliees au travail. Vingt-quatre personnes en faisaient partie, les patrons, les ouvriers et les specialistes universitaires en formant chacun un tiers. On leur avait adjoint six fonctionnaires (Chartier, 1963b:347-48). Le CST a ete moins actif au retour de Duplessis. Si certains de ses representants etaient membres de 1'API, ils n'agissaient qu'a titre personnel. Peu avant la defaite de Godbout, la Loi des relations ouvrieres etait adoptee dans le but de mettre un peu

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d'ordre dans les relations de travail, notamment en creant la Commission des relations ouvrieres (CRO) (Chartier, 1963b:354-57). Get organisme administratif et quasi-judiciaire reglait les differends concernant le droit d'association, c'est a dire la certification des syndicats et le droit de greve. L'API etait consultee pour la nomination des representants patronaux, mais les syndicats y etaient representes par des hommes enclins a la collaboration. On considere que la CRO etait domine'e par le patronat (David, 1980 [1975]:234-35). Alfred Charpentier, ancien president de la CTCC et representant ouvrier a la CRO de 1950 a 1960, a defendu cette derniere de toute collusion, en admettant toutefois qu'elle ait commis quelques "erreurs" et connu bien des dissidences (Charpentier, 1961:33738). Doit-on parler de corporatisme dans le cas du CST et de la CRO? Si le concept de corporatisme fait reference a un systeme d'intermediation des inte'rets dans lequel des groupes representatifs des secteurs economiques de la societe et sanctionnes par 1'Etat se concertent dans le domaine de la gestion economique dans 1'interet de la collectivite (d'apres Ziegler, 1988), il faut bien croire que non. Dans les deux cas, les representants patronaux comme ouvriers etaient nommes par le regime. Deuxiemement, le CST n'etait que consultatif. Enfin, les representants de 1'API a la CRO y participaient dans le but de controler 1'application de la legislation du travail. D'apres Gerard Dion, qui faisait partie d'une faction dissidente de 1'API, cette derniere pratiquait un type de paternalisme qui visait a resister aux syndicats, sous des dehors de collaboration de classe (G. Dion, 1989). L'ideologie de 1'API etait peut-etre corporatiste, mais elle defendait avant tout les interets de ses membres, les patrons. Le patronage est un troisieme mode d'interaction avec 1'Etat. Puisqu'il ne concerne que des entreprises individuelles, il n'est qu'indirectement pertinent a notre propos. Le patronage peut avoir 1'effet d'entraver de nouvelles relations avec 1'Etat si ses recipiendaires ne veulent pas abandonner leurs acces privilegie au gouvernement pour des formes plus systematiques de redistribution des ressources (Parizeau, 1969 [1963]: 410).

Evolution des associations patronales apres 1960 De 1930 a 1960, quand le corporatisme faisait partie de 1'ideologic dominante, on ne comptait que deux experiences veritables de corporatisme. La premiere se pratiquait en dehors de 1'Etat, mais sous sa surveillance. II s'agissait des comites paritaires qui reunissaient patrons et ouvriers pour 1'application des decrets. La seconde est le conseil municipal de Montreal de 1940 a 1960, ou un tiers des conseillers etaient nommes par des groupes, un bon nombre par des associations patronales (Bourassa,

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1966:69-71). Par ailleurs, toute une serie de groupes, ou "corps intermediates," ont etc organises ou inspires par 1'Eglise dans le domaine social, soit sous le parapluie de 1'Action catholique (Clement, 1972), soit dans le monde cooperatif (Archibald et Paltiel, 1977), ou alors dans le reseau des services de sante, d'education ou de charite. Meme si 1'Eglise suppleait ainsi a 1'Etat, il ne saurait etre question de corporatisme au sens ou nous 1'avons defini plus haut, parce que ces organismes ne s'occupaient pas de concertation economique. Comme dans le cas des organisations patronales (Sarra-Bournet, 1990) et syndicales (Chartier, 1961), leur secularisation a debute bien avant la Revolution tranquille (voir Bois, 1988), ce qui les a detaches de 1'orbite de 1'Eglise. Certains d'entre eux ont survecu au-dela de 1960, d'autres ont disparu avant de reapparaitre dans le champ de gravite de 1'Etat, desormais interventionniste. On s'est d'abord demande si on pouvait toujours parler de corps intermediaires ou bien si on devait parler de groupes de pression (Semaines sociales du Canada, 1964). En d'autres termes, s'acheminait-on d'un modele corporatiste a un modele pluraliste? Archibald et Paltiel (1977:61) ont bien resume le phenomene, dans leur etude du Mouvement Desjardins: En organisant son action pour la relier a 1'Etat, un corps intermediaire devient un groupe de pression et n'est plus anime des principes Chretiens qui 1'ont fait naftre. II entre en conflit avec d'autres groupes et met de cote 1'idee a 1'origine des corps intermediaires. Au debut des annees 1960, les corps intermediaires de jadis paraissent done indiscernables des groupes de pression. L'arrivee au pouvoir des Liberaux a signifie deux choses: 1'Eglise perdrait le controle des systemes d'education, de sante, et d'assistance sociale, et 1'Etat interviendrait dans 1'economie. Selon toute vraisemblance, les groupes entreraient en competition pour une meilleure part des ressources publiques. Dans les annees 1960, 1'interventionnisme de 1'Etat a permis aux concepts corporatistes de coexister avec le pluralisme. Comme 1'ecrivait Leon Dion, cela est une condition necessaire a la concertation: Les associations libres ne peuvent etre organisees en "corps intermediaires" que par la volonte tenace des gouvernements. Laissees a leur mouvement naturel, en se politisant, elles se transforment en groupes de pression. (1966:34) L'idee de planification de 1'economie par la participation des groupes a travers le Conseil d'orientation economique du Quebec permettait de concilier les courants corporatiste et liberal. De ce point de vue, les deux associations patronales etudiees avaient, vers la fin des annees 1950,

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des ideologies compatibles. L'API preconisait la collaboration de classe et la Chambre de commerce voulait que 1'Etat vienne en aide aux entreprises. Par contre, 1'API avait toujours considere que 1'Etat avait un role secondaire, "subsidiaire," et la Chambre de commerce etait composee d'entrepreneurs jaloux de leur liberte. Alors, comment expliquer qu'au debut des annees 1960, ces deux organisations aient etc emportees par 1'engouement presque unanime face a la planification concertee? Brian Tanguay a enumere les causes structurelles de ce qu'il a appele le "corporatisme liberal" (parce qu'il coexiste avec le jeu des groupes de pression): force des syndicats et vulnerabilite de 1'economie nationale. II s'agit pour les agents economiques d'accepter un peu de coercition en echange d'une representation dans le processus de prise de decision (1984:368-69). C'est la route qu'a prise le Canada dans des domaines tres precis, 1'incitation a Paccroissement de la productivite, par le Conseil national de la productivite, ainsi que 1'etude et la prevision economique, par le Conseil economique du Canada. Pourquoi le Quebec n'a-t-il pas simplement emboite le pas? La reponse peut se resumer ainsi: les notions de planification et de participation devaient etre imprecises afin d'etre acceptees dans une societe divisee et conflictuelle: Au debut de la periode, 1'euphorie regne et tout semble possible: une nouvelle societe peut etre contruite sans combats dechirants, sans luttes violentes entre Quebecois. (David, 1980 [1975]:249-50) En effet, il y a eu une courte periode d'unanimite autour de 1'idee de planification participative. Cette unanimite n'a pas dure parce que les differentes interpretations auxquelles cette notion avait donne lieu refletaient les nombreux clivages de la societe quebecoise. II y a d'abord la polarisation de classe, et je cite les propos prophetiques de Fernand Dumont: Deux traits principaux paraissent distinguer les nouvelles ideologies de 1'ancienne ideologic unitaire: le role important accorde a 1'Etat, la volonte resolue d'une ample politique industrielle dont les Canadiens fiangais auraient la maitrise. L'un et 1'autre de ces themes sont partages aussi bien par les factions de droite que celles de gauche, dans une sorte de confusion qui ne saurait durer longtemps. II n'est pas temeiaire de croire que c'est la place explicite faite a la representation des classes qui va marquer bientot la ligne de clivage. (1965:21) EfTectivement, la syndicalisation du secteur public a creuse un fosse entre 1'Etat et une partie des syndicats, sans parler des dissensions a 1'interieur du mouvement syndical lui-meme. Deuxiemement, il y a la division du mouvement patronal. A son congres de 1962, 1'API, a la suite des

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pressions du gouvernement, a mis en branle le processus d'unification du patronat qu'elle justifiait ainsi: Vis-a-vis de la planification economique qui s'en vient, il est bien evident que s'il n'y a pas de coordination entre toutes ces associations, cette planification se fera, au mieux, sans les patrons, et au pire, centre eux. (Dagneau, 1962:467) En fait, si tine certaine cooperation entre les associations patronales existait deja (dans la redaction de memoires pour les differentes commissions d'enquete gouvernementales, par exemple, et on peut la faire remonter au-dela de la Commission Tremblay), Pavenement du Conseil du patronat du Quebec (CPQ) en 1966 est venu trop tard pour sauver 1'experience de planification concertee. Le CPQ integrait le Centre des dirigeants d'entreprise (CDE), telle qu'a etc rebaptisee 1'API; le Montreal Board of Trade, ce qui permettait aux patrons anglophones d'etablir une communication avec "1'Etat du Quebec" (Bauer, 1976:491); 1'Association des manufacturiers canadiens, section Quebec, qui participait ainsi a un instrument de pression aupres du gouvernement provincial; de meme que des dizaines d'associations sectorielles et de membres corporatifs. Ironiquement, ce sont les deux grandes Chambres de commerce, de Montreal et du Quebec, les marraines de la planification, qui ont decide de faire bande a part. Devant 1'echec evident de la planification, elles ont prefere conserver leur liberte de parole et d'action, presque centenaire. Le COEQ n'aura done pas survecu. Pour Dorval Brunelle, il s'agissait du "lieu strategique d'une classe dominante" (1978:113). Pour William Coleman, il representait 1'expression d'un consensus entre le patronat, les syndicats et la classe moyenne traditionnelle (1984:100). En tant qu'organisme de concertation, malgre ce qu'on en a dit (Archibald, 1984: 188-94), il n'a tout simplement jamais existe. En tant qu'organisme de consultation des groupes, il sera remplace par le Conseil de planification et de developpement du Quebec (CPDQ). En tant qu'organisme de planification, il se transformera en organe gouvernemental, 1'Office de planification et de developpement du Quebec (OPDQ). Inspire par des comites de fonctionnaires, il aura quand meme donne 1'impulsion initiale aux piliers de la politique economique liberate (Hydro-Quebec, SGF, Caisse de depot, Sidbec). C'est done un Quebec polarise, divise, conflictuel qui refait surface aux alentours de 1965. Les Quebecois sont divises en classes et en groupes d'interets. Sans parler du fosse entre le milieu urbain et le milieu rural qui a des incidences autant sur le comportement du patronat (voir M. Belanger, 1968b) que sur la notion de participation du milieu (voir

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Gagnon, 1985). Si le Quebec est si enclin a la division, comment expliquer que tous les groupes aient embrasse cette idee de planification concertee? Par nationalisme? Par atavisme corporatiste? Je propose une explication qui s'inspire des travaux d'Hubert Guindon (1988) et de Jean-Jacques Simard (1979). A Pepoque, on croyait a tort que la planification etait une technique neutre (G. Dion, 1963:388; Marceau, 1966:12) et que les "techniciens," ou les "experts," tels qu'on les nommait a 1'epoque, mettaient leurs connaissances au service de la societe. Je ne dis pas que les "technocrates" ont invente la "planification concertee ou participative" pour se hisser au pouvoir. J'affirme plutot que Pidee d'une planification qui ferait appel a la participation des groupes et des agents economiques ne resultait pas seulement du besoin d'expertise qu'avait 1'Etat dans la poursuite de sa politique economique, mais aussi de la presence simultanee dans les organisations de PEglise, du patronat, des syndicats et de PEtat d'une nouvelle generation de gens instruits dans les memes ecoles. Comme disait le ministre des Richesses naturelles de 1'epoque: C'est des hommes de 30 ans, parfois des hommes de moms de 30 ans, de toute fac.on des hommes de moins de 40 ans, dont on a besoin, ceux qui sont formes depuis la guerre. (Levesque, 1964:79)

Conclusion Voici done les idees-force de cette etude: Parmi les associations patronales, la Chambre de commerce est d'origine liberale et 1'Association professionnelle des industriels est d'inspiration corporatiste. Toutes deux ont agi comme groupes de pression bien avant 1960, parce qu'en tant qu'organisations economiques elles agissaient dans le champ de 1'Etat et non dans celui de PEglise. Le clivage social de 1949-50 a revele la nature conflictuelle de la societe quebecoise, a precipite Peloignement de 1'API par rapport aux idees corporatistes de 1'Eglise, et en a fait une organisation de defense des droits de patrons. La Commission Tremblay a marque le debut de 1'action des groupes sociaux sur le plan politique, en dehors de 1'Eglise. Au debut des annees 60, les concepts de planification et de participation ont etc populaires parce que: 1°) elles etaient compatibles avec les deux courants ideologiques patronaux; 2°) chaque partenaire social (Etat, patronat, syndicats) pouvait les interpreter a sa guise; et 3°) les syndicats etaient relativement forts et 1'economic en declin. Ce moment de consensus autour des notions de planification et de participation s'explique aussi par Parrivee d'une nouvelle classe moyenne

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dans les principales institutions quebecoises, Mais 1'exercice de concertation n'a pu demarrer avant que les clivages de la societe quebecoise ne refassent surface.

BlBLIOGRAPHIE Archibald, Clinton. (1984). Un Quebec corporatiste? Hull: Asticou. Archibald, Clinton, et Khayyam Z. Paltiel. (1977). "Du passage des corps intermediaires aux groupes de pression: la transformation d'une idee illustree par le Mouvement cooperatif Desjardins." Recherche* sociographiques 18:1, 59-91. Asselin, R.L. (1954). "Le statut juridique de 1'association professionnelle patronale et ouvriere dans la province de Quebec." These de maitrise, Universite Laval. Bauer, Julien. (1976). "Patrons et patronat au Quebec." Revue canadienne de science politique 9:3, 473-91. Belanger, Laurent. (1970). Evolution du patronat et ses repercussions sur les attitudes et pratiques patronales dans la province de Quebec. r5quipe specialisee en relations de travail (sous 1'egide du Bureau du Conseil prive), etude no. 14. Ottawa: Imprimeur de la Reine. Belanger, Marc. (1968a). "L'association volontaire: les cas des Chambres de commerce." These de doctorat, Universite Laval. . (1968b). "Les Chambres de commerce: groupes de pression ou cooperatives de developpement." Recherches sociographiques 9:1-2, 85-113. Bois, Helene. (1988). "L'figlise de Quebec et la 'deconfessionalisation' des institutions economico-sociales quebecoises (1940-1972)." Communication presentee au 68e Congres annuel de la Societe historique du Canada, Quebec, 3 juin. Bourassa, Guy. (1966). "Les groupes de pression a Montreal." Cahiers de 1'ICEA 2, 261-78. Brunelle, Dorval. (1978). La disillusion tranquille. Montreal: Hurtubise HMH. Charpentier, Alfred. (1961). "Analyse critique de la loi des relations ouvrieres et du reglement no 1 de la CRO." Relations industrielles 16, 59-82, 20637, 328-39. Chartier, Roger. (1961). "Chronologic de 1'evolution confessionnelle de la CTCC (CSN)." Relations industrielles 16:1, 102-12. . (1963a). "La creation du Ministere du Travail, 1'extension juridique des conventions collectives et les annees d'avant-guerre (1931-1939)." Relations industrielles 18:2, 215-29. . (1963b). "La seconde guerre mondiale, le Conseil superieur du travail et les lois ouvrieres de 1944 (1940-1945)." Relations industrielles 18:3, 346-62.

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Chartiand, Maurice. (1960). "Corps professionnels et Conseil d'orientation Economique." Semaines sociales du Canada, Syndicalisms et organisations professionnelles. Montreal: Bellarmin, 162-65. Clement, Gabriel. (1972). Histoire de {'Action catholique au Canada franc.ais. Montreal: Fides. Coleman, William D. (1984). The Independence Movement in Quebec 19451980. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Dagneau, Georges-Henri. (1962). "Pour la creation d'un conseil provincial du patronat." Relations industrielles 17:4, 465-68. David, Helene. (1980 [1975]). "L'fitat et les rapports de classe au Quebec de 1945 a 1967." Fernand Harvey, ed., Le mouvement ouvrier au Quebec. Montreal: Boreal Express, 229-61. Dion, Gerard. (1963). "Conseil du patronat et planification economique." Relations industrielles 18:3, 338-91. . (1989). Entrevue realisee par Michel Sarra-Bournet. Universite Laval, 29 decembre 1989. Dion, Leon. (1966). "La polarite des ideologies: conservatisme et progressisme." Fernand Dumont et Jean-Paul Montminy, eds., Le pouvoir dans la societ^ canadienne-frangaise. Quebec: Presses de 1'Universite Laval, 23-38. Dumont, Fernand. (1965). "La representation ideologique des classes au Canada frangais." Cahiers international de sociologie 38:1, 9-22. Durocher, Rene, et Michele Jean. (1971). "Duplessis et la Commission royale d'enquete sur les problemes constitutionnels, 1953-1956." Revue d'histoire de I'Amerique franc.aise 25:3, 337-64. Falardeau, Jean-Charles (1966). "Des elites traditionnelles aux elites nouvelles." Fernand Dumont et Jean-Paul Montminy, eds., Le pouvoir dans la societe canadienne-franc.aise. Quebec: Presses de 1'Universite Laval, 131-45. Fournier, Pierre. (1979). Le patronat quebecois au pouvoir, 1970-1976. Montreal: Hurtubise HMH. Gagnon, Alain-G. (1985). Developpement regional, Etat et groupes popttlaires. Hull: Asticou. Genest, Jean-Guy. (1988). "Le corporatisme au Quebec." Saguenayensia 30:3, 14-19. Guindon, Hubert. (1988). Quebec Society: Tradition, Modernity, and Nationhood. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Heon, Jean-Louis. (1948). Le patron est-il encore maitre dans sa maison? Montreal: Editions de 1'Association professionnelle des industriels. Hudon, Raymond. (1976). La defense d'interets economiques au nom de la defense d'un systeme: la culture politique de la Chambre de commerce. Quebec: Departement de science politique, Faculte des sciences sociales, Universite Laval. 2 tomes. . (1980). "Les groupes et 1'fitat." Gerard Bergeron et Rejean Pelletier, eds., L'&tat du Quebec en devenir. Montreal: Boreal Express, 263-84.

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Leblanc, Louise. (1988). "Analyse ideologique de 1'Association professionnelle des industriels (1956-1966)." These de maftrise, Universite de Montreal. Levesque, Rene. (1964). "La politique economique de 1'Etat du Quebec." L 'Action Nationale 54:1, 44-75. Marceau, Roger. (1966). "La planification est-elle possible au Quebec?" Cite Libre 17 (nov./dec.), 11-22. Marier, C. (1949). "Le declin de la Chambre de commerce de Quebec 19251945." These de maftrise, Universite Laval. Paltiel, Khayyam Z. (1982). "The Changing Environment and Role of Special Interest Groups." Canadian Public Administration 25:2, 198-210. Parenteau, Roland. (1970). "L'experience de la planification au Quebec (19601969)." L'actualite economique 45:4, 679-696. Parizeau, Jacques. (1969 [1963]). "La planification economique." RogerJ. Bedard, ed., L'essor economique du Quebec. Montreal: Beauchemin, 402-11. Payeur, Christian. (1979). "Les groupes d'affaires et la question nationale." These de maitrise, Universite Laval. Pellegrino, Mario. (1967). "L'importance, les structures et le role des associations patronales au Quebec." These de maitrise, Universite de Montreal, Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales. Plouffe, Omer. (1987). "Analyse ideologique de la Chambre de commerce du district de Montreal (1945-1955)." These de maftrise, Universite de Montreal. Pratte, Bernard. (1985). "Le Conseil du patronat du Quebec: role et ideologic 1963-76." These de maitrise, Universite de Montreal. Roy, Fernande. (1988). Progres, Harmonic, Liberte. Le liberalisms des milieux d'affaires francophones a Montreal au tournant du siecle. Montreal: Boreal. Sarra-Bournet, Michel. (1990). "La radicalisation du patronat catholique et la fin du Quebec consensuel." Communication presentee au 69e Congres annuel de la Societe historique du Canada, Victoria, 28 mai. Semaines sociales du Canada. (1964). L'£tat et les corps intermediates. Rapport de la 39e session (Quebec). Montreal: Bellarmin. Senecal, Yvan. (1954). "L'Association professionnelle des industriels ou une association patronale chretienne dans 1'entreprise." These de maftrise, Universite de Montreal. Simard, Jean-Jacques. (1979). La longue marche des technocrates. Montreal: Editions cooperatives Albert Saint-Martin. Tanguay, A. Brian. (1984). "Concerted Action in Quebec, 1976-1983: Dialogue of the Deaf." Alain-G. Gagnon, ed., Quebec: State and Society. Toronto: Methuen, 365-85. Tremblay, Laval. (1977). "Le Conseil du patronat du Quebec: organisation et discours." These de maftrise, Universite Laval. Ziegler, Harmon. (1988). Pluralism, Corporatism, and Confucianism. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

La representation des interets: les schemas corporatistes au Canada Clinton Archibald UNIVERSITE D'OTTAWA Introduction: de la legitimite d'une demarche controversee S'attaquer a un traitement de la representation des interets, a 1'interieur d'un livre portant sur la democratic et la quete de justice, en hommage a 1'un des grands politicologues canadiens, Khayyam Zev Paltiel, un des plus grands specialistes qu'ait produit notre pays dans le domaine de 1'analyse des moyens d'atteindre une meilleure representation des groupes et un meilleur forum electoral, constitue une entreprise hasardeuse a plus d'un titre. Encore davantage quand on accouple ce traitement a des schemes d'amenagement socio-politique! Hasardeuse parce qu'on a vite denonce, dans nos cercles marxisants, les tentatives neo-corporatistes de chez nous, comme n'etant que des vulgaires manoeuvres de recuperation des masses ouvrieres, isolees dans une sorte de marginalisation qu'elles subissent par 1'entente entre elites et dirigeants des divers corps socio-politiques qui font tout sur leur dos. Hasardeuse aussi parce qu'on a dit, des le depart, qu'on ne saurait parler de corporatisme et de neo-corporatisme, au Canada, parce que les premiers modeles europeens furent detestables (Harris, 1972:72). Hasardeuse enfin, parce qu'on affirme sans detours que la mediation sociale — qui n'est que le processus conjoint de production et de reglement des acteurs et des problemes politiques (Joubert, 1989:2) — ne peut se faire, dans la representation des interets, d'une fagon equitable. On veut bien done que des societes moins develop pees (et 1'on se garde toujours maintenant de parler de societes sous-developpees, par une sorte de respect d'aristocrates se penchant sur la realite de vulgaires manants de ces societes dites primitives), comme certaines en Amerique latine, aient ete (ou le soient encore) tentees d 'adopter des schemes d'inspiration corporatiste . . . en raison de leur inclination toute naturelle vers un certain autoritarisme. Mais parler du Canada — et encore davantage de cette societe distincte qu'est le Quebec — constitue

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soit un exercice inutile (qu'on balaie du revers de la main), soit une heresie totale (dont on se moque gaiement). La presentation qui suit, en depit encore une fois de son caractere irreverencieux et agnostique,1 ne vise qu'a montrer quatre choses: - d'abord qu'on a utilise au Canada — et encore davantage au Quebec — des modeles corporatistes, dans les idees et dans la pratique politique; - ensuite, que la representation des interets peut se faire adequatement par des schemes corporatistes; - en outre, qu'en depit des difficultes de mise en marche et de developpement, les pratiques corporatistes ont contribue' a acheter la paix sociale; - enfin, que les formes futures d'amenagement politique sur des bases (ou d'inspiration) corporatistes dependront des decisions politiques qui devront jouer un role d'incitation et d'orientation.

Du sens des mots: 1'appellation corporatiste Admettons tout de go que les modeles corporatistes, dans la foulee des theories des groupes (et de leur desir d'orienter la decision publique en leur faveur2) cherchent a colmater certaines des breches dans le processus de representation des interets. Processus ou les uns et les autres acceptent de jouer le jeu en presumant, en bonne theorie du pluralisme liberal, que les forces du contrepoids donneront des "echanges" a moyen et long terme qui viseront a offrir un equilibre entre gagnants et perdants d'hier pour assurer la "permanence de la competition . . ." (Ehrman, 1958). Sans retourner a des travaux precedents oil nous avons insiste sur les trois composantes du corporatisme — representation fonctionnelle des interets, institutionnalisation et determination conjointe des programmes publics, y compris leur execution (Archibald, 1984) — il nous faut avancer que le pouvoir des groupes (ou secteurs, ou fonctions sociales, ou corporations), dans le marchandage politique, ne peut devenir egal et partage que s'il existe des mecanismes de gestion concertee, dans la recherche d'un certain consensus (Lowi, 1979). De commenter un observateur attentif de ces pratiques quasi-medievales, "1'ideal des pratiques de consultations et de concertation en est un bien totalement collectif, par opposition aux frequents resultats de la confrontation des groupes qui ne peuvent qu'etre egoi'stes . . ." (Ellul, 1956:113). Le professeur Paltiel, qui connaissait toutes les facettes des theories dites groupistes, trouvait d'ailleurs que les pluralistes liberaux ne mettaient pas sumsamment 1'accent sur le fait que beaucoup de groupes

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etaient inorganises et demunis, qu'ils ne pouvaient competitionner facilement et librement avec "les autres" et qu'on devrait, un jour ou 1'autre, trouver des mecanismes pour permettre une certaine representation de "toutes les minorites" au processus decisionnel de la politique publique. Democratic et quete de justice, pour lui, n'etaient pas que slogans. A cet egard, une grande coherence et Constance marquent ses travaux sur le financement des partis et sur les groupes de pression! Faut-il rappeler, dans la meme veine, que les idees corporatistes ont evidemment des souches religieuses, dans le sens le plus noble du terme, ou le plus vil, selon les prejuges des observateurs. L'Eglise catholique a elle-meme cherche a se constituer en une grande corporation sociale universelle dont les lois etaient suggerees (imposees?) afin de regir toutes les activites humaines. Les diverses corporations, sous 1'egide de 1'Eglise, regrouperaient les membres ayant les memes interets et dont 1'union avait pour but d'etre mediatisees ultimement avec Dieu et le paradis . .. pergus comme la recompense des recompenses (Grand'maison, 1970). Durkheim, pour sa part, a plutot insiste sur la representation fonctionnelle des differentes corporations afin de creer une societe integree (Durkheim, 1893). Ultimement, chez les concepteurs d'une societe de concertation, (ou de participation, de co-gestion, ou d'auto-gestion) il est vital que les corps sociaux — syndicats, producteurs, consommateurs — participent a un systeme de relations socio-politiques oil la collaboration des classes est assuree. Plutot que niee, eliminee (comme dans les reves marxistes-leninistes) ou tout bonnement denoncee verbalement! Avec les developpements contemporains du capitalisme, 1'idee corporatiste a etc soulevee comme etant une simple adaptation-reaction du systeme qui perdure, adaptation-reaction aux realites de 1'individualisme a outrance et de la competition ouverte (et done inegale) qui menent a des conflits de classe qui en sont leurs sous-produits. D'ailleurs, Andrew Shonfield n'y va pas par quatre chemins, quand il ecrit sans detours que "toute planification dans le monde capitaliste implique un certain degre de corporatisme dans 1'organisation politique . . ." (Shonfield, 1965:233) Bref, pour eviter le chaos qui decoulerait de 1'opposition perpetuelle des classes (et des groupes qui ne peuvent qu'en representer les interets divergents), il faut chercher des mecanismes d'harmonie et d'ordre d'inspiration corporatiste. Qu'on les affuble d'expressions comme "recherche de consensus" (Taylor, 1970) ou "ajustement automatique," comme vocables simplistes, puisqu'ils peuvent reussir a donner 1'apparence d'une certaine stabilite sociale, d'une harmonie paisible et, ce qui est mieux (ou pire, chez les denonciateurs), d'un confort materiel, relie a nos societes de consommation de masse,3 n'a rien de scandalisant.

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On a dit, en certains milieux, qu'il y avait du jello verbal dans 1'application de tels modeles, bases sur une integration des groupes dans les mecanismes decisionnels socio-politiques. Mais ne depassent-ils pas les concepts vieillots de tripartisme, de concertation et de democratic de participation? Et, plus que tout, n'expliquent-ils pas la stabilite plus grande chez nous de nos formes d'amenagement socio-politique, si 1'on ose les comparer aux societes, disons, d'inspiration neo-marxisante? F

Du role de 1'Etat: Incitation ou incorporation forcee? Les approches neo-corporatistes se situent clairement, comme le dit Bruno Joubert, au niveau de la regulation globale de la lutte sociale et de 1'incorporation eventuelle du salariat comme acteur collectif dans la definition des strategies economiques et sociales de 1'Etat. Encore faut-il rappeler qu'elles presupposent une certaine mobilisation du membership, tout autant que de celle d'une intelligentsia qui apporte une expertise scientifique. Dans ce contexte, 1'Etat canadien — celui-la meme qui sert de point d'appui a 1'accumulation de capital, a une certaine legitimisation de 1'exploitation du systeme liberal et a une coercition execrable (Miliband, 1969; Panitch, 1976) — est-il oui ou non 1'acteur de force ou un acteur parmi d'autres? Dans toutes les formes qui ont eu cours chez nous (controle des prix et des salaires, privatisation par consultation avec le "marche," salaires minima, travail egal-salaire egal, services essentiels definis par mecanismes plus ou moins conjoints), ces types de mediations sociales n'ont pas fait disparaitre les autres dimensions de la mediation traditionnelle. On a continue a avoir — et au Quebec, sur lequel nous revenons plus loin, et au federal — une relation de service ou 1'Etat rencontre les usagers de ses outputs, qui, si 1'on veut, ont continue a avoir egalement des relations de mediation, et meme de clientelisme. On a continue a avoir egalement des relations plus ou moins definies de responsabilites civiques — peut-etre devrait-on les appeler des relations de citoyennete tout court — ou les membres des diverges collectivites, du palier provincial au palier local, en passant par la region, s'impliquent davantage dans la chose publique. Ces relations existent au sein des partis, au sein d'associations dites de compensations ou de charite, au sein de groupes populaires aussi! Partis, associations, groupes . .. qui n'ont pas participe necessairement aux me'canismes neo-corporatistes! Une certaine coexistence entre les secteurs fortement corporatises a facilement survecu chez nous (Joubert, 1989:3). Nos avocats, nos ingenieurs, nos medecins en sont des exemples criants. Mais la coexistence dont on parle a aussi ete maintenue entre ces secteurs corporatises

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et les autres corporations moins integrees au systeme de gestion sociopolitique. La force des mecanismes neo-corporatistes a done non seulement reussi a vendre un certain cri legitime a la consultation necessaire "avant de prendre la decision," mais egalement a faire passer subtilement par un marketing efficace une certaine delegation d'autorite aux conseils locaux, aux regions, aux groupes minoritaires.4 L'integration de toutes les branches sociales, pour employer la belle expression du professeur Schemeil (1989), n'ajamaisete envisagee comme etant necessaire a la socialisation de la societe tout entiere, dans ces mecanismes de co-gestion. Artificielle ou pas! Pour tout dire, 1'Etat peut etre un acteur autoritaire, dans certains secteurs; mais il peut etre egalement un acteur passif dans d'autres domaines, laissant aux corps sociaux une certaine gestion de leurs problemes. Ou, si 1'on veut, une certaine resignation, face a des situations dites incontrolables. L'Etat ne peut etre monolithique, d'ailleurs, dans un regime federal. On aurait tort de parler de la sante de 1'Etat comme n'etant rien d'autre que la somme des bonheurs ou des interets des diverses communautes. L'appellation "corporation sociale" tire son origine de la division de la societe en corps sociaux. Les corps ne peuvent etre qu'intermediaires, entre 1'individu et 1'Etat, comme nous 1'avons suffisamment demontre, avec le professeur Paltiel (Archibald et Paltiel, 1977). Les communautes, elles, peuvent etre reelles, fictives, souples, vagues. Un corps social est . . . social, un groupe a une ossature collective bien definie. Un corps social est beaucoup plus — qu'on nous pardonne 1'anglicisme — "cohesif" qu'une communaute. II s'apparente done — ce corps social — a la permanence necessaire de 1'Etat dans nos societes organisees.

Du cas quebecois: 1'Eglise, la Revolution tranquille, le PQ On connait suffisamment Pinfluence de 1'Eglise catholique du Quebec pour partir d'un postulat accepte: les institutions sociales quebecoises, avant 1960, ont toutes ete teintees d'un certain catholicisme (Lapierre, 1967). S'inspirant d'une doctrine moyenageuse de son role et d'une doctrine chretienne des corps intermediates, elle desirait que la socialisation des citoyens passe par elle — et, il faut 1'admettre, elle y reussit pour un certain temps, n'en deplaise aux revisionnistes actuels qui clament qu'elle etait hors d'ordre — et qu'elle ne soit autre (cette socialisation) que le service mutuel des uns envers les autres. Toutes les Encycliques papales en sont d'ailleurs empreintes. Cette oeuvre devait se faire en marge de 1'Etat, pour que les corps en question, sous sa ferule, agissent d'une faQon autonome pour le bien-etre de leurs membres . . . Mais les trois valeurs de cette societe traditionnelle (comme Brunet 1'a demontre) voleront en eclats avec la Revolution tranquille (Brunet,

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1957). Pour les neo-nationalistes en effet, 1'Etat devient un instrument de reformes. L'instrument des reformes! Dans cette optique, les corps interme'diaires meurent . . . Us ne peuvent plus etre mutualises. Us deviennent de vulgaires groupes de pression, nous repetait sans cesse le professeur Paltiel. Us sont tous impliques dans cette recherche, "a la Trudeau," de faire contrepoids dans ce vaste marche de 1'influence politique. Avec les divers programmes connus au Quebec (en education, en soins sociaux, en services de sante), 1'equipe du tonnerre de Lesage entrame une confrontation des deux pouvoirs (Dion, 1967). Un pouvoir religieux qui sera remplace par un pouvoir civil envahissant la vie des citoyens "pour les proteger . . ."5 Le corporatisme social de 1'Eglise devient done un corporatisme politique. Ce corporatisme ne sera jamais tres bien structure, avant 1'arrivee au pouvoir du Parti Quebecois, puisque les diverses tentatives de pseudo-animation du milieu et de cooperation voleront en eclat. En entramant, de temps en temps, un cran d'arret dans les schemes corporatistes quebecois. L'arrivee au pouvoir, le 15 novembre 1976, d'un gouvernement pequiste, marqua la mise en scene d'arrangements corporatistes a saveur social-democrate (Archibald, 1978). II ne s'agira plus d'un corporatisme social, mais d'un corporatisme visant a "inserer dans le politique" (en attendant la date fatidique de la grande consultation populaire) les elements dynamiques de la societe (grands entrepreneurs, syndiques, intellectuels, groupes fonctionnels, dont les artistes) qui se seraient opposes autrement. Les sommets sectoriels du PQ firent done asseoir a la meme table des ennemis potentiels. Mais les participants accepterent de jouer le jeu, plutot que d'etre marginalises. Tous, pequistes et autres, devinrent done anime's d'un certain espoir — comme celui qui anime les penseurs et acteurs d'une certaine Europe de 1992 — que les succes, reels, partiels, mitiges, dans certains domaines, entraineront d'autres succes dans d'autres domaines, du seul fait d'echanges d'opinions entre agents politiques, economiques et sociaux qui se "decouvrent" partenaires, plutot qu'adversaires. Dans une autre langue, on dirait qu'ils se mettent a la recherche d'un "magic consensus"! On nous a accuses — Paltiel et moi — de donner trop d'importance aux sommets pequistes. Nous y voyions une representation fonctionnelle importante, une manoeuvre habile (et sincere,) pour developper une conscience nationale, dans le but de mettre entre parentheses les oppositions de classes qui risqueraient d'etre diametralement opposees — enfin, il y a des conditions "objectives," nous crieront nos "amis" de la gauche — et de provoquer ultimement et rapidement la fin du reve

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. . . Le Parti Quebecois proposa done un nouveau "contrat collectif," sorte de contrat liant les groupes de la societe, au-dela des pretendues conditions objectives, par une vision de meilleure justice sociale. Resumons les faits. Pour reussir, le corporatisme social-democrate du PQ devait faire asseoir a la meme table des interets "qui voulaient sa perte" (lire: sa defaite au referendum) et, plus tard, sa disparition de la carte electorale. N'est-il pas etonnant d'ailleurs qu'il garda le pouvoir, apres avoir perdu sa consultation populaire sur la mise en marche de negotiations sur la souverainete-association? Et qu'au cours de son deuxieme mandat qui le conduira a un cuisant revers electoral, il oublia, sur le feu arriere, les essais fructueux des premiers sommets fonctionnels? Est-il possible qu'on ait oublie un peu vite, chez nos analystes futes, qu'il avait antagonise les syndiques, comme 1'avait fait, avant lui, le premier gouvernement Bourassa? Apres le retour des Liberaux au pouvoir — avec Robert Bourassa — apres deux cuisants revers pequistes (en 1985 et 1989), on pourrait peut-etre dire que les tentatives neo-corporatistes sont encore une fois releguees aux oubliettes. Pas tout a fait! Durant une periode economique prospere, il est etonnant de constater cette eclosion d'un nouvel entrepreneurship quebecois, de son role de leadership dans le debat constitutionnel, et de voir une tres grande solidarite des Quebecois, quant a leur avenir.6 Etonnant de voir aussi des formes de neo-corporatisme, dans 1'administration decentralisee de la ville de Montre'al avec son "incorporation" des quartiers et des citoyens qui y habitent! La ville a gagne, en 1990, le premier prix de 1'Institut d'administration publique du Canada, pour son innovation en gestion. Etonnant egalement de voir que les groupes populaires, de Hull a Chicoutimi, d'Alma a Gaspe, de Sherbrooke a BaieComeau, veulent qu'on imite chez eux ces modeles d'administration de la metropole! Serait-ce que Montreal, "c'est un peu beaucoup a tous les Quebecois?"7

Du cas canadien: King, les Fermiers-Unis, le CTC Deux courants corporatistes, sur la scene politique du Canada (anglais?), ont vu le jour: celui issu du Mouvement des Fermiers-Unis d'abord, celui d'origine neo-liberale ensuite. La pensee politique des mouvements agricoles du Canada central et de 1'ouest a grandi a partir d'une prise de conscience par les fermiers qu'ils pouvaient constituer une classe sociale en soi. Cela produisit des victoires electorales surprenantes (en Ontario, au Manitoba et meme au palier federal, au debut des annees 1920). Ces victoires peuvent paraitre anachroniques, de nos jours, car elles sont survenues alors que le pays

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sortait de sa coquille agricole et se developpait plutot deja comme une societe urbaine et industrielle. Comme producteurs inde'pendants, les fermiers ne s'opposaient pas a 1'entreprise privee. Ils en voulaient surtout aux intermediaires — surtout les banques — qui les forc.aient a obtenir des credits nouveaux sur une base individuelle. La plupart des ecrits des fermiers montrent qu'ils acceptent done les notions des cooperatives de vente et d'achat et qu'ils mettent de 1'avant une sorte de Commonwealth cooperatif. Au lieu de critiquer le systeme de propriete, ils louangent plutot les credos du libe'ralisme classique (chances egales pour tous), tout s'attaquant sans retenue aux grands patrons et aux banques centrales qui les ecrasaient. On pourrait affirmer que 1'originalite du Mouvement des fermiers residait dans leur doctrine politique. Ils rejetaient en effet le systeme des partis politiques et celui du gouvernement par cabinet qu'ils percevaient tous deux comme etant domines par les interets des gros entrepreneurs, des banques et des industriels importants; groupes sur lesquels finalement ils pensaient n'avoir aucun controle. Quant au depute, dans un tel systeme, il ne pouvait, selon eux, representer ses electeurs adequatement, parce qu'il etait soumis a une discipline de parti qui le paralysait. Pour eux, la democratic devait devenir le resultat d'une assemblee de delegues et d'un gouvernement "de groupe." Ils croyaient que les representants seraient controles par leurs organisations locales et qu'ils pourraient etre revoques tout bonnement. II est done important de souligner que les fermiers ne limiterent pas leurs propositions aux seuls interets agraires; ils voulurent les etendre a tous les elements de la societe et ils mirent de 1'avant des notions de representation des groupes professionnels au sein des nouvelles assemblies legislatives. Les processus economiques con verger aient done et les gouvernements deviendraient simplement des comites de gestion des partenaires sociaux (Paltiel et Archibald, 1979). En pratique evidemment, les gouvernements controles par les Mouvements de fermiers se conformerent aux pratiques traditionnelles du gouvernement par Cabinet et de la suprematie parlementaire. L'elimination du Mouvement fut consacree par la creation, sur sa droite, du Credit Social, et sur sa gauche, du CCF (Cooperative Commonwealth Federation), ancetre du NPD actuel (parti neo-democrate). Ces deux partis se comporterent (et se comportent encore, la ou ils reussissent a survivre) comme les autres partis. Mais ils s'inspirerent de la cooperation inter-groupes et de 1'harmonie des classes sociales. Le progres de 1'industrialisme qui avait provoque la creation de ces mouvements de protestation ne tarda pas a faire surgir la question dite

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sociale au sein de la societe capitaliste. Des reformistes mode'res, conscients des malaises entrames par les inegalites sociales et cherchant des me'canismes de cooperation pour, selon la sublime expression du professeur Panitch, "sauver le capitalisme et le liberalisme d'eux-memes" (Panitch, 1976), hesiterent a attaquer le systeme de propriete privee. Mais ils proposerent des solutions permettant de faire coexister les groupes conflictuels, afin de restaurer et maintenir un ordre social stable. William Lyon Mackenzie King gouverna le pays durant une bonne partie de la premiere moitie du XXe siecle. Mais sa reussite est peutetre liee justement aux idees qu'il avait ebauchees lorsqu'il etait etudiant aux Etats-Unis et lorsqu'il fut sous-ministre du Travail, de 1900 a 1911, dans les divers gouvernements Laurier. Dans son Industry and Humanity, King ecrit que la societe doit limiter les conflits, comme les greves d'ouvriers, au minimum, promouvoir en tout temps la paix entre les groupes et encourager la mise sur pied de mecanismes de cooperation des diverses fonctions sociales. Pour lui, la societe doit etre ordonnee. Les conflits de classe seront done perc.us par King comme un produit du progres technologique et de ['industrialisation qui creent une disparite entre les ouvriers et les dirigeants-entrepreneurs. Pour eviter que les antagonismes entre les deux groupes mettent en peril la survie de la societe organisee, il faut creer des institutions de co-partnership ou les representants du capital, du travail, des diverses communaute's et de 1'Etat cooperent afin de trouver des solutions visant a assurer la satisfaction materielle des uns et des autres. Le corporatisme n'est done pas 1'antithese du liberalisme, mais bien plutot un essai d'affronter le defi pose par le developpement du capitalisme et par la democratic representative a 1'anglaise. King ne reussit pas cependant a creer, durant ses nombreux mandats, son college corporatiste, mais il s'inspira continuellement des schemes qu'il avait prepares avant sa carriere politique pour diminuer les conflits socio-politiques et assurer une certaine paix sociale. Plus tard, on a de nouveau entendu parler de corporatisme par le Congres du Travail du Canada. Dans un document de travail a la fin des annees 1970, document qu'on affubla du vocable "manifeste," le CTC affirmait qu'il faudrait un neo-corporatisme social au pays pour le sauver de graves affrontements qui ne manqueraient pas d'avoir lieu, si 1'on ne faisait rien pour regler les mauvaises passes de 1'economie mal en point. Les propositions du CTC ressemblaient a celles faites pres de cinquante ans plus tot par un ambassadeur respecte, T.W.L. MacDermot, dans un texte qu'il ecrivit sur 1'impact du New Deal americam sur le Canada. MacDermot avait parle "d'arrangements" visant a 1'unification,

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la cooperation et le controle de la socio-economic par une sorte d'interde'ependance consacree dans des organismes de fermiers, d'ouvriers, de marchands, d'elus publics, pour assurer la solidarite nationale. On peut douter des intentions reelles du gouvernement federal et de son engagement sincere a des formes de corporatisme neo-liberal. Mais il faut mentionner qu'il a mis sur pied le Conseil de la productivity nationale, en 1961, le Conseil economique du Canada, la meme annee, la Commission des prix et des salaires, en 1969, et finalement le Conseil des relations du travail, en 1975. Ces tentatives preliminaires de cooperation n'ont pas toujours plu aux syndicats qui se retirent parfois en cours de route ou qui refusent d'y participer pretextant qu'on desire legitimer Pimposition de mesures qu'ils auraient enterinees par leur participation. Cela n'a pas empeche le CTC, dans le manifeste mentionne tan tot, de proposer qu'on cree un Conseil de planification sociale et economique, charge de reviser les legislations avant qu'elles ne soient soumises au Parlement.

De la faussete de la co-gestion societale: au-dela des masses? Leo Panitch (1977) estime qu'en Grande-Bretagne, en Allemagne et au Canada, depuis les annees d'apres-guerre, surtout en periodes de difficultes economiques et de menaces a la paix sociale (ou au consensus decrie par Taylor), des conceptions d'inspiration corporatiste animent parfois des tentatives pour retablir entre les partenaires socio-politiques (Etat, syndicats, capitalistes, groupes sectoriels) un engagement par des droits et obligations mutuels devant mener a des mecanismes de decisions conjointes. Mecanismes que Panitch estime faux parce qu'ils ne visent qu'a pactiser avec les classes ouvrieres, de fac,on a ce qu'elles moderent leurs demandes (salariales, surtout). On continuera a denoncer les tentatives des sommets, comme le fait periodiquement le CTC, apres avoir reclame la mise sur pied de mecanismes de representation et une plus grande consultation. Et, dans une periode ou Ton vient d'entamer un important debat sur un equilibre a atteindre entre droits individuels et droits collectifs,8 il est certain que les difficultes economiques et les menaces qu'elles suscitent pour la consommation des masses entraineront une recherche d'echanges corporatistes, ou tout au moins d'inspiration corporatiste! Comment reagissent d'ailleurs les disciples de Miliband aujourd'hui, au milieu des incidents qui ont cours en Europe de 1'Est, comme le dit sarcastiquement le maire de Paris, Jacques Chirac, a la tele du monde francophone? Comment peuvent-ils continuer a se reclamer de lui, quand on leur rappelle ces mots du maftre: "What follows the smashing of the existing state is the coming of another state proper, simply because a

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state proper is an absolute necessity in organizing the process of transition from a capitalist society to a socialist one . . ."? (Miliband, 1977:189) II est evident que le mode d'institutionnalisation de la mediation sociale est de premiere importance. Plus il sera segmente et fait en parcelles (a la piece, comme on dit ici), plus la gestion socio-politique et les defis economiques seront difficiles a surmonter. Mais le role de 1'Etat, dans une telle possibilite (celle de la fragmentation et du parcellement des groupes), devrait devenir capital. Or, nous n'avons pas de solutions toutes faites sur le role de cet Etat, tantot envahisseur, tantot passif "au boutte."9 Qui devrait etre responsable de la mediation sociale? Les elus? La bureaucratic? Les groupes? Et le "rank-and-file," lui, subit-il necessairement cette sorte de concordat entre elites, qui peuvent concocter, au-dela de lui, sans lui? Ne faut-il pas deplorer, chez nous, ce manque d'interet pour Panalyse des pouvoirs locaux, ceux-la memes qui sont les chefslieux de la nouvelle democratic a voir le jour? On dira que la, comme ailleurs, pour paraphraser Lorimer (1970), le capital fait la loi. Et il y a evidemment du vrai a cela. Mais n'est-ce pas au niveau local (et regional, par extension, en raison de nos larges conurbations canadiennes) que nous sommes tous devenus des clients de la chose publique? De ces choix qui choquent et derangent, tout en incitant a la creation de liens de dependance entre les partenaires potentials (elus, bureaucrates, groupes communautaires, contribuables)? N'est-il pas etonnant de voir aussi que c'est au niveau des villes que sont experimentees les solutions a trouver centre la pauvrete? N'est-il pas surprenant que 1'Etat local soit, encore trop souvent chez nous, perc.u comme un simple anachronisme dans la lutte aux problemes de 1'heure? Ceux de la protection de 1'environnement et ceux de la dependance complexe des associations par rapport aux pouvoirs qui devraient "leur appartenir."

Conclusion: Cohesion sociale et integration politique Les mecanismes de cohesion sociale sont souventes fois issus de tentatives de recherche d'integration politique. Paradoxalement, ces derniers doivent leur raison d'etre a la cohesion plus ou moins grande des corps intermediates qui creent une certaine harmonic dans la societe. II y a evidemment des liens de dependance entre les groupes; liens qui embrouillent le climat de cohesion sociale et politique, et qui peuvent aussi expliquer le fait que les masses soient tributaires des compensations qu'elles obtiennent, qu'on leur donne a bouffer, pour leur faire oublier qu'elles ne participent pas a la discussion (Baudrillard, 1982). Dans une societe libe'rale, dans un regime capitaliste, dans une situation ou

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les classes bien qu'existantes et "objectivement" polarisees perdurent, comment peut-on expliquer qu'il y ait une forte stabilite politique, en depit des successions (ou en raison?) de gouvernements en apparence differents? L'entente corporatiste a peut-etre remplace le compromis automatique des penseurs qui ont gobe facilement le determinisme socio-politique. Mais elle a aussi remplace celle — encore plus complexe et quasibordellique — des neo-marxistes qui ont tout soupese notre societe contemporaine, avec ses carences, et qui affirment sans rire que la gestion moderne est frivole, materielle et qu'elle ne peut etre qu'egoi'ste. Douce consolation pour un scheme d'ame'nagement de societe, tire de penseurs fascistes. Mais a bien y penser, ceux tires d'ideologues egalitaristes (une societe sans classe) ne viennent-ils pas d'en prendre pour leur rhume? On dira, bien sur, qu'ils ont abuse de leur doctrine. Comme ceux du corporatisme italien, espagnol, portugais, n'est-ce pas?10

NOTES 1 Comme nous 1'avons fait a PUniversite Laval, 1'an dernier, lors d'un colloque portant sur la regulation etatique de la democratic (Argentine, France, Canada), en denongant les analyses de certains politicologues qui affirment que les poetes-chanteurs-chansonniers ont tout dit sur notre societe et sa culture politique. 2 Comment se fait-il qu'on n'ait pas encore fait le lien direct, chez nous, entre 1'influence des groupes et le lobbying? 3 Pourquoi done les societes opprimees d'hier (Allemagne de 1'est, Hongrie, Pologne, URSS, . . .) cherchent-elles, a la veille de Pan 2000, a adopter le modele de Peconomie de marche? Serait-ce qu'elle serait — cette economic qui cree, malgre tout, des inegalites, des pauvres, des exploitations — un traitement plus attirant democratiquement que 1'autoritarisme d'hier et qu'elle permette un certain confort materiel d'un plus grand nombre? 4 On ne s'est pas penche suffisamment, chez nos analystes d'ici, sur Pechec plus ou moins assure de notre federalisme canadien et sur la cooptation artificielle des groupes par les agences gouvernementales (comme celle que subissent nos associations minoritaires de langue franc.aise, hors Quebec). 5 Comme nos marxistes occidentaux qui affirment que PEtat doit proteger les mechants capitalistes contre eux-memes. 6 "L'eclosion" ouverte est recente, mais 1'entrepreneurship canadien-francais a des racines profondes de trente ans. C'est la Revolution tranquille qui Pa engendre, dans sa forme actuelle. Et, quant a nous, c'est pour cela que

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE la place historique de Jean Lesage est plus importante que celle de Pierre Trudeau. Jean Dore, actuel maire de Montreal, est un pequiste "participationniste" de la premiere heure. Droits, droits, droits . . . . Mais les responsabilites, elles? N'est-t-il pas apparent qu'on fait constamment figure de paradoxe? L'Etat est nul! L'Etat intervient trop! L'Etat est demuni! L'Etat est envahisseur! L'Etat depense trop! L'Etat doit nous offrir plus! Fait-on encore du vulgaire journalisme, quand on ose simplement "demander"?

BlBLIOGRAPHIE Archibald, Clinton. (1978). "Les tendances neo-corporatistes du P.Q." Perception 2:2 (November/December), 14-18. . (1984). Un Quebec corporatiste! Hull: Asticou. Archibald, Clinton, et Khayyam Paltiel. (1977). "Du passage des corps intermediaires aux groupes de pression au Quebec: Une illustration par Pexemple du Mouvement Desjardins." Recherches sociographiques 18:1, 59-91. Baudrillard, Jean. (1982). A I'ombrc des majorites stlencieuses. Paris: Denoel-Gonthier. Brunet, Michel. (1957). "Trois dominantes de la pensee canadienne-franfaise: 1'agriculturisme, 1'anti-etatisme et le messianisme." ficrits du Canadafranqais 3, 33—115. Dion, Leon. (1967). Le bill 60 et la socie'te quebecoi&e. Montreal: Hurtubise HMH. Durkheim, Emile. (1893). De la division du travail social: tftude sur I'organisation des societes superieures. Paris: Felix Alcan. Ehrman, Henry. (1958). Interest Groups on Four Continents. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Ellul, Jacques. (1956). Histoire des institutions, Du Moyen-Age a 1789. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Grand'maison, Jacques. (1970). Nationalisme et religion. Montreal: Beauchemin. Harris, Nigel. (1972). Competition and the Corporate Society. London: Methuen. Joubert, Bruno. (1989). "Fragmentation sociale, scientisme et citoyennete democratique: probleme de la mediation sociale en France." Communication au colloque sur la regulation etatique de la democratic, Universite Laval, Quebec, avril. Lapierre, Laurier. (1961). Quebec: hier et aujourd'hui. Toronto: Macmillan.

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Lorimer, James. (1970). The Real World of City Politics. Toronto: James Lewis and Samuel. Lowi, Theodore. (1979). The End of Liberalism, 2nd ed. New York: W.W. Norton. Miliband, Ralph. (1969). The State in Capitalist Society. New York: Basic Books. . (1977). Marxism and Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Paltiel, Khayyam, et Clinton Archibald. (1979). "Involution de 1'idee corporatiste au Canada." fitudes canadiennes, numero special, 61-80. Panitch, Leo. (1976). Social Democracy and Industrial Militancy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. . (1977). "The Development of Corporatism in Liberal Democracies." Comparative Political Studies 10:1 (April), 61-90. Schemeil, Yves. (1989). "Le marche et 1'fitat en France aujourd'hui: deregulation economique et regulation democratique." Communication au colloque sur la regulation etatique de la democratic, Universite Laval, Quebec, avril. Shonfield, Andrew. (1965). Modern Capitalism: The Changing Balance of Public and Power. London: Oxford University Press. Taylor, Charles. (1970). The Pattern of Politics. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.

Devenir "maitres chez nous": emergence d'une bourgeoisie balzacienne au Quebec* Alain-G. Gagnon McGiLL UNIVERSITY Khayyam Zev Paltiel CARLETON UNIVERSITY La Speculation . . . c'est le commerce abstrait . . . un commerce qui restera secret pendant une dizaine d'annees encore . . . et par lequel un homme embrasse les totalites des chiffres, ecreme les revenus avant qu'ils n'existent, une conception grotesque, une fagon de mettre 1'esperance en coupes reglees, enfin une nouvelle Cabale! Nous ne sommes encore que dix ou douze tetes fortes initiees aux secrets cabalistiques de ces magnifiques combinaisons. Honore de Balzac, Cesar Birotteau Les annees 1980 ont etc marquees au Quebec par 1'explosion des activites entrepreneuriales d'une nouvelle classe des affaires jeune, innovatrice et dynamique. L'augmentation fulgurante des inscriptions aux ecoles de commerce du Quebec — les seminaires des annees 1980 — la hausse des investissements et la vigoureuse reprise de la Bourse de Montreal apres une incartade vers le gouffre de 1'oubli temoignent de Pepanouissement de ce que K.Z. Paltiel appelle la bourgeoisie balzacienne, ou la bourgeoisie des affaires (Paltiel, 1985-86). Ce phenomene annonce d'ailleurs une reorientation plus profonde encore du milieu socio-culturel du Quebec. Comme le note Graham Fraser: "[A partir de 1983] Pentrepreneur a etc eleve au piedestal jusqu'alors reserve aux poetes et aux chansonniers" (Fraser, 1984:338). Bien que ce phenomene ait deja fait couler beaucoup d'encre dans la presse, les specialistes des sciences sociales ont etc peu loquaces tant *Nous tenons aremercier Roger Butt, bureau du secretaire d'fitat (Ottawa) pour 1'assistance fournie au cours de la phase initiale de ce projet. De plus, nous tenons aussi a remercier Alain Desruisseaux du departement de science politique de PUniversite McGill pour la traduction qu'il a faite du present texte. La version originale de ce texte fut publiee dans Queen's Quarterly 93:4 (hiver) 1986, 731-49.

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sur les origines et 1'importance de cette bourgeoisie des affaires que sur Pamalgame exceptionnel d'evenements, de facteurs socio-politiques et de conditions economiques qui 1'ont favorisee. En effet, le theme dominant des ouvrages cents sur 1'evolution du Quebec apres 1960 fut plutot 1'emergence d'une "bourgeoisie techno-bureaucratique" ou d'une nouvelle classe moyenne (Guindon, 1960:533-51, 1964:150-63; Montcalm, 1983). Nous aliens soutenir ici que la strategic de 1'expansion etatique, mise en oeuvre en grande partie a la demande de cette nouvelle classe moyenne, a contribue, intentionnellement ou non, a cultiver et a amener a maturite une bourgeoisie francophone quebecoise qui dependait depuis longtemps du capital canadien-anglais et ame'ricain. Ironiquement, les promesses du slogan "maftres chez nous" lance pendant la Revolution tranquille se sont realisees dans la recente explosion de 1'entrepreneuriat quebecois (Office de la langue franchise du Quebec, 1986:11) qui aura precipite le declin de la nouvelle classe moyenne comme groupe social dominant au Quebec.

Origines et developpement de "la garde montante" Selon pratiquement tous les indicateurs, 1'economic quebecoise a ete historiquement dominee (ou etouffee) par le capital canadien-anglais et etranger. Les etudes de John Porter (1965), d'Andre Raynauld (1974), de Wallace Clement (1975), et d'Arnaud Sales (1979) temoignent toutes de la faiblesse du capital quebecois francophone et de 1'indubitable division culturelle du travail. L'interpretation de ce phenomene est passee par toute la gamme des explications possibles, des facteurs culturels aux facteurs structurels. Richard French observe sommairement qu'"une certaine combinaison de facteurs tels la discrimination, 1'education, la culture, la politique, 1'Eglise et les exigences de faire des affaires sur le continent nord-americain a reduit les chances de reussite des francophones dans le secteur prive" (French, 1984:161). Avant 1960, la classe sociale dominante du Quebec etait sans nul doute une petite bourgeoisie composee essentiellement de petits marchands, d'entrepreneurs, d'avocats, de medecins et de membres du clerge catholique. Ainsi, malgre son role mineur dans la structure economique globale, une bourgeoisie quebecoise existait deja bien avant les annees 1980. Quelques families francophones telles les Brillant, les Simard, les Rolland et les Raymond avaient deja reussi a percer au sein de 1'elite economique du pays. De plus, les capitaux disponibles auraient permis le developpement de grandes entreprises si les autres conditions avaient ete favorables. Behiels note que des 1956, les banques et institutions financieres canadiennes-frangaises detenaient plus de 2 milliards de

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dollars. II affirme que le "talon d'Achille des entreprises canadiennesfranc.aises etait leur incapacite ou leur refus de passer du stade interrnediaire des entreprises dirigees et financees par des families a celui des grandes societes anonymes dont les actions sont offertes au public" (Behiels, 1985:103-104). Selon Dorval Brunelle, par centre, c'est precisement ce trait du capitalisme quebecois qui devait se reveler comme sa force majeure. II note que le nombre anormalement eleve de petites unites de production a servi de mecanisme de defense centre le processus de concentration industrielle a 1'inte'rieur du systeme capitaliste nord-americain (Brunelle, 1978:98). Le nombre de filiales relativement moins eleve au Quebec qu'en Ontario a egalement constitue1, paradoxalement, un element positif: le Quebec a ete moins vulnerable aux fermetures de filiales et a etc force d'etre plus autonome et plus creatif (Steed, 1985:18). Ainsi, malgre les appels de visionnaires tels Jean-Charles Harvey, ancien redacteur en chef du journal Le Jour — qui durant les annees 1940 faisait deja 1'eloge de 1'initiative privee et du developpement, appuye par 1'Etat, d'une grande bourgeoisie quebecoise — il faudrait plusieurs decennies avant que le potentiel en veilleuse du capital quebecois ne se manifeste (Gagnon, 1970:230). Selon maints observateurs contemporains tels Gilles Paquet, il faudrait un environnement social, politique et economique approprie pour que le capital quebecois puisse enfin commencer a s'epanouir (Paquet, 1986:32). Vers la fin des annees 1950, 1'ideologie du laisser-faire qui ralliait 1'establishment quebecois fut remise en question par certains economistes eminents tels Roland Parenteau et F.-A. Angers de 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales (HEC). Ceux-ci preconisaient une politique de dirigisme selon laquelle 1'Etat etablirait une planification socio-economique globale et definirait avec precision ses priorites et objectifs generaux. Des strategies politiques et administratives seraient formule'es pour atteindre ces objectifs (Behiels, 1985:115). Cette approche n'etait pas nouvelle. La planification economique par PEtat avait ete preconisee des 1934 par Paul Gouin, chef de PAction Liberale Nationale. On ne donna toutefois suite a cette idee qu'apres 1'e'lection des Libe'raux en 1939. Quatre ans plus tard, un Conseil economique etait constitue et charge principalement de planifier la reorientation de 1'economie quebecoise vers des activites plus appropriees a 1'apres-guerre. Par la suite, 1'election de 1'Union Nationale et de son chef Maurice Duplessis en 1944 a entraine 1'abolition de ce Conseil qui ne devait renaitre qu'en 1960. Pendant qu'agonisait 1'ere Duplessis et que le Quebec etait plonge dans une recession, un cercle d'hommes d'affaires quebecois oeuvrant au sein de chambres de commerce locales se joignit a des economistes progressistes pour preconiser une participation accrue de 1'Etat dans

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1'economie. Comme le fait remarquer Behiels: "Les hommes d'affaires canadiens-frangais, aux prises avec la concurrence musclee des societes canadiennes-anglaises et americaines plus grandes et plus dynamiques, en vinrent a appuyer de plus en plus les demandes exprimees par la nouvelle classe moyenne composee de professionnels qui souhaitait 1'avenement d'un Etat quebecois interventionniste, lai'c et a 1'ecoute des besoins des francophones" (Behiels, 1985:17). L'election du Parti liberal dirige par Jean Lesage en 1960 devait permettre une telle experience. L'instauration du Conseil d'orientation economique du Quebec (COEQ) en 1960 marquait le premier pas vers cet objectif. Les travaux de cet organisme devaient eventuellement inspirer une strategic etatique visant a etendre et a asseoir le pouvoir du capital quebecois francophone dans une economic dominee par un capital monopolisateur en voie de concentration. La facpn d'atteindre ces objectifs consistait a reorienter les epargnes confiees aux institutions financieres "nationales." Le COEQ etait beaucoup plus qu'un instrument de la nouvelle classe moyenne qui faisait campagne pour 1'expansion de 1'Etat. Brunelle affirme qu'il a constitue "le lieu strategique d'intervention d'une classe dominante puisque la politique economique des hommes d'affaires [etait] alors directement articulee au pouvoir politique provincial" (Brunelle, 1978:113). En effet, au sein de ce conseil de 18 membres, deux anciens presidents de laChambre de Commerce du Quebec, un administrateur de la Chambre de commerce du Canada, et un groupe d'hommes d'affaires membres des conseils d'administration de 44 entreprises quebecoises dominaient nettement les deux fonctionnaires qui y siegeaient. Brunelle maintient que Palliance conclue au sein du COEQ entre les representants du Mouvement Desjardins, des institutions financieres et du capital industriel avait etc a 1'origine de la creation de la Societe generale de financement (SGF) en 1963 (Brunelle, 1978:109-10). A 1'inverse de la croyance populaire, certains elements de la bourgeoisie quebecoise percevaient nettement une intervention de 1'Etat dans 1'economie comme etant dans leur propre interet et participerent activement a 1'elaboration d'une strategic etatique appropriee. De nombreuses reformes issues de la Revolution tranquille ont generalement etc pergues comme beneficiant d'abord aux techno-bureaucrates et a leur projet d'edification de 1'Etat provincial, mais elles recelaient des avantages eventuels tres nets pour les capitalistes quebecois. La creation de la SGF, suivie en 1965 par celle de la Caisse de depot et placement, devait contribuer pour beaucoup a la formation et a la consolidation de la "nouvelle classe des affaires". D'autres observateurs, dont Richard French, ont souligne que les reformes de 1'education entreprises pendant la Revolution tranquille avaient joue un role determinant dans

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le developpement d'une classe de jeunes entrepreneurs instruits, dynamiques et confiants (voir Provencher, 1985:C-1). D'autres initiatives, telles la nationalisation de 1'electricite et de 1'industrie de 1'amiante, la participation gouvernementale aux megaprojets du Nord quebecois et la creation de societes d'Etat provinciales dans la me'tallurgie, 1'exploitation miniere et la recherche de ressources ont engendre des avantages directs importants pour le capital quebecois. Pour la premiere fois, des Quebecois francophones pouvaient aspirer aux postes de cadres superieurs que leur refusait le secteur prive domine par les anglophones. Gilles Paquet soutient que la legislation linguistique du Quebec, la loi 101, devait comple'ter la transformation environnementale necessaire a 1'epanouissement de la nouvelle classe des affaires. II ecrit: [. . .] declenchant une emigration importante de cadres anglophones et en decourageant 1'immigration de jeunes cadres anglophones du reste du pays, on creait des "opportunites" extraordinaires pour une generation de jeunes Quebecois tres bien formes et maintenant experimentes pour qui le rationnement de capital devait cesser d'etre une contrainte majeure. (Paquet, 1986:30)

Durant les annees 1970 et 1980, un groupe d'administrateurs tres bien forme's et experimentes, voyant que le secteur public leur offrait de moins en moins de debouches pour satisfaire leurs aspirations de carriere, commencerent a reluquer les possibilites qu'offrait un secteur prive francophone en plein developpement. Les politiques du gouvernement federal ont aussi contribue, bien qu'indirectement, a 1'emergence de la "garde montante." Sa politique linguistique eut pour consequence d'accroitre les possibilites de carriere des jeunes Quebecois, alors que la politique de developpement regional eut souvent pour effet de renforcer les interets d'affaires locaux et de permettre ainsi leur croissance et leur expansion. Par contre, 1'expansion indefinie de 1'Etat et la planification economique globale necessaires pour mettre fin a la concentration industrielle dans le corridor Montreal-Windsor etaient evidemment contraires aux interets et a 1'ideologie des capitalistes quebecois. Ainsi que le note Brunelle, la collaboration entre le gouvernement et le monde des affaires visait d'abord a rationaliser partiellement la structure economique et a promouvoir 1'accumulation du capital. Le processus n'entraina pas 1'e'galisation des revenus et tel n'etait pas son objectif, comme le demontra clairement le sabordement du COEQ en 1968 (Brunelle, 1978:117). Les reformes de la Revolution tranquille n'entramaient pas d'ellesmemes les transformations fondamentales de la structure economique quebecoise que d'aucuns prevoyaient. Entre 1962 et 1972, la SGF eprouva de serieuses difficultes de demarrage lorsqu'elle consacra la plupart de

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ses ressources a 1'achat d'entreprises familiales menacees de faillite au Quebec. Apres 1973, elle fut transformed en une societe d'Etat charge'e expressement de "creer des complexes industriels quebecois et de participer a la gestion et au financement de moyennes et grandes entreprises quebecoises" (Fournier, 1984:215). De semblable fagon, la Caisse de depot n'a obtenu que des resultats inegaux durant ses premieres annees de fonctionnement, et ce en grande partie a cause de sa tendance paradoxale a investir dans les grandes banques et dans les grandes institutions financieres canadiennes-anglaises plutot que dans les entreprises quebecoises clairement francophones (McRoberts et Posgate, 1980:108). A la suite d'une clarification de son mandat, par centre, la Caisse a joue un role fondamental, de concert avec les cooperatives d'epargne, les subventions gouvernementales et le capital prive, dans la stimulation tant de la nouvelle bourgeoisie quebecoise que de 1'ancienne. La Caisse est actuellement le plus gros actionnaire de quelques entreprises industrielles quebecoises de premier plan, telles Aluminium Alcan et les entreprises Bell Canada, et est maintenant representee au sein des conseils d'administration de Domtar et de Provigo. Son pouvoir a d'ailleurs fait recemment Pobjet de controverses parmi certains interets du secteur prive ainsi que des elements du gouvernement Bourassa que rendaient mal a Paise les prises de controle d'entreprises privees par un organisme charge de gerer les fonds d'un regime gouvernemental de retraite (Wallace, 1986:40). Un autre facteur preponderant du succes phenomenal de la nouvelle classe des affaires a etc le vide laisse par le declin d'apres-guerre du Quebec dans 1'economie nord-americaine, declin qui fut marque par le depart de nombreux sieges sociaux de Montreal, notamment apres 1976. L'investissement prive, toujours partage entre moins de 26% de la population quebecoise, inferieur aux 26% que represente la population quebecoise au Canada, degringola de 22% a 15% du total canadien entre 1974 et 1982 (French, 1984:167). De plus, comme 1'ont demontre Gagnon et Montcalm, le nombre de transactions effectuees a la Bourse de Montreal qui etait de 73,4% de celles effectuees a la Bourse de Toronto en 1950 n'etait plus que de 39,1% en 1965 et de 13,1% en 1980. Une classe des affaires quebecoise revivifiee a su tirer profit des possibilities offertes par ces developpements. Comme 1'a fait remarquer Jacques Parizeau: "quand toutes ces societes canadiennes-anglaises se sont retirees durant les premieres annees du gouvernement pequiste, j'ai conserve mon calme. Je me suis rendu compte que cela allait simplement permettre aux Canadiens frangais d'intervenir et de prendre controle de ces champs d'activite" (cite dans Wilson-Smith et Wallace, 1986:25).

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Un changement radical de 1'ideologie et des valeurs dominantes fut egalement une condition prealable a la renaissance entrepreneuriale. Richard French note que vers le milieu et la fin des annees 1970, les leaders des affaires ont developpe une analyse du monde quebecois des affaires qui opposait une contre-ideologie naissante au consensus nationaliste si largement propage par les elites mediatiques associees au Parti quebecois. L'Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales (HEC) a d'ailleurs joue un role preponderant dans ce courant. Fondee en 1910 alors que les affaires etaient considerees comme une offense aux sensibilites sacerdotales, 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales, affiliee a 1'Universite de Montreal, est la plus ancienne ecole de commerce de niveau universitaire au Canada. Ses diplomes les plus puissants, tels 1'ancien ministre pequiste des Finances, Jacques Parizeau, 1'ex-doyen des HEC et vicepresident de Alcan, Pierre Laurin, et Pierre Lortie, ex-president de la Chambre de Commerce de Montreal et de la Bourse de Montreal, et plus recemment a la tete de Provigo inc., ont remis en question la division culturelle du travail et remplace le nationalisme par 1'entrepreneurship et la concurrence qui sont devenus de nouveaux articles de foi et des debouches pour la creativite quebecoise. Parizeau declarait, non sans contraste avec la position traditionnelle du PQ: "A long terme, ce sont les investissements dans le secteur manufacturier qui revelent 1'imagination d'un peuple de meme que son aptitude a progresser en surpassant la concurrence" (Eraser, 1984:338). Cette transformation ideologique ne fut nulle part ailleurs aussi marquee qu'au sein du gouvernement pequiste lui-meme. Thomas Courchene pretend que 1'echec du projet pequiste d'inde'pendance politique cut pour effet de susciter un effort renouvele vers la realisation de 1'independance economique: La nouvelle politique economique du Quebec a toutes les caracteristiques d'une revolution socio-economique. Les Quebecois n'essaient pas seulement d'ameliorer leurs conditions economiques; ils font le pari "quantique" qu'ils sont capables de negocier rapidement la transition entre dependance economique a 1'egard des transferts a celui d'independance economique. (cite dans Drolet, 1986:B-1, B-15) Des 1979, lorsque fut publiee la strategic economique du gouvernement dans le document Bdtir le Quebec, il etait clair que le secteur prive serait le principal instrument de developpement economique (Quebec, 1979). La crise financiere de 1'Etat exacerbee par la recession de 19811982 et le declin precipite de la popularite du gouvernement pequiste contribuerent aussi a eloigner le gouvernement pequiste de ses politiques socio-democrates d'antan et a le rapprocher du liberalisme economique.

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C'est dans cette conjoncture que le ministre des Finances du Quebec, Jacques Parizeau, creait en 1979 le Regime d'epargne action du Quebec (REAQ) qui allait constituer un genereux abri fiscal pour les residents quebecois qui investissaient dans des entreprises quebecoises. Offrant une deduction d'impot sur le revenu de 100% et parfois de plus de 150%, le REAQ s'est avere un moyen extremement fructueux de stimuler les investissements dans les entreprises quebecoises. Le tableau I illustre bien la rapide croissance de la valeur des actions emises dans le cadre de ce programme: de $275 millions en 1979, les emissions sont passees a $980 millions en 1986 (Berube, 1986:25). Grace a ce programme, la proportion des Quebecois actionnaires d'entreprises quebecoises a plus que double, passant de 5 a 11% en cinq ans, bien qu'elle soit demeuree infe'rieure au pourcentage des detenteurs d'actions au Canada, qui est de 13% (Gagne, 1986b). En 1984, cependant, les investissements publics et prives au Quebec grimperent de 9,5% par rapport a 1983, pour atteindre 15 milliards de dollars, alors que le reste au pays se limitait a une maigre hausse de 1 pourcent (Steed, 1985:22). Tableau I Actions emises dans le cadre du REAQ 1979-1986 Nombre d 'emissions

1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 (fin juillet)

4 4 6 4 23 28 58 37

Valeur des emissions (en millions) $275 $121 $ 75 $141 $567 $260 $851 $980

Ces donnees excluent les programmes de reinvestissement et d'achat d'actions. Source: Finance, 11 aout 1986, p. 25.

Le virage a droite du Parti quebecois durant son second mandat, qui s'est traduit par d'importantes compressions des depenses du secteur public, par des mesures restrictives dans la legislation du travail, de meme que par 1'amelioration des stimulants offerts au monde des affaires du Quebec, fut tres bien accueilli par le milieu des affaires. Stephen Bigsby, directeur du Developpement economique de la Communaute urbaine de Montreal, note que "ce qui est interessant, c'est que de nombreuses bonnes choses furent accomplies par le dernier gouvernement"

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Question: "Dans la societe quebecoise actuelle, diriez-vous que les organisations suivantes ont trop, assez ou pas assez de pouvoir?"

19771979

(pourcentages) 1981 19821983

Gouvernement 23 25 36 trop 24 40 36 35 32 assez 38 38 27 22 pas assez 30 21 13 13 19 11 ne salt pas/n.r.p. 8 9 Syndicats 55 59 trop 54 56 62 20 22 22 assez 28 23 9 10 10 10 8 pas assez 13 9 9 14 ne salt pas/n.r.p. 7 Entreprise privee 11 17 12 12 trop 8 32 40 31 28 30 assez 40 49 35 33 42 pas assez 16 9 19 ne sait pas/n.r.p. 13 24 699 674 706 613 620 N Source: Conseil du Patronat du Quebec, Bulletin sur les Relations du Travail, vol. 14 (decembre 1983), p. 9. Les donnees de 1977 proviennent d'une enquete precedente: Bondages CROP, cite dans French, 1984:169. (cite dans Clugston, 1986:113). Dans ce qui fut un des plus remarquables revirements de la politique canadienne, les memes leaders des affaires qui s'etaient renfrognes lors de 1'election du Parti quebecois en 1976 en faisaient les louanges en 1985. Un sondage effectue un mois avant les elections du 2 decembre 1985, aupres de deux cents abonnes selectionnes de 1'hebdomadaire quebecois Les Affaires,revelait que 41% de 1'echantillon appuyait le Parti quebecois, alors dirige par Pierre-Marc Johnson, comparativement a 28% seulement qui appuyait les Liberaux diriges par Robert Bourassa (Gagne, 1985:2-3). II y eut aussi certains signes indiquant que les efforts conjugues du monde des affaires et du gouvernement pour embellir et consacrer 1'image du monde des affaires et de 1'entrepreneurship etaient rentables. Le tableau II revele qu'entre 1977 et 1983 le pourcentage de

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repondants croyant que 1'entreprise privee ne possedait "pas assez" de pouvoir augmenta de 34 a 49 alors que le pourcentage de ceux qui croyaient que le gouvernement avait trop de pouvoir grimpa de 24 a 40 dans la meme periode. En outre, les sondages Gallup indiquent depuis 1973 que les gens du monde des affaires sont aujourd'hui les personnes auxquelles on accorde le plus de respect et de confiance au Quebec, les gens d'affaires devanqant les notables traditionnels tels les me'decins et les pretres (Clugston, 1986a:23).

Manifestations de la nouvelle classe des affaires Vers le milieu des annees 1970, en depit du choc inflige par 1'e'lection d'un parti souverainiste, le Parti quebecois, le dynamisme economique se manifestait de fagon evidente. Certains elements de la bourgeoisie traditionnelle avaient pris la direction de societes geantes telles Provigo qui s'e'tendit agressivement dans des secteurs jusqu'alors reserves au capital anglophone. En 1978, par example, Provigo prit le controle de M. Loeb d'Ottawa, modifiant radicalement sa base de vente: jusque-Ia concentrees a 94% au Quebec, 63% des ventes de Provigo etaient des lors destinees a 1'exterieur de la province (Kerr, 1979:B-3). Power Corporation, empire constitue a partir d'une entreprise familiale par Paul Desmarais, menac.a des citadelles financieres anglophones telles Argus Corporation et reussit a s'approprier 12% des actions du Canadien Pacifique, le joyau de la Couronne des entreprises canadiennes-anglaises. La societe Bombardier, originairement une petite entreprise de fabrication de motoneiges fondee en 1942 par Joseph Armand Bombardier, est devenue une multinationale geante dont les ventes ont atteint 656 millions de dollars en 1985. Avec le contrat d'un milliard de dollars decroche en 1982 pour la construction de 828 wagons pour le metro de New York, Bombardier est devenu le leader nord-americain du transport en commun. De plus, le gouvernement federal annonc,ait le 18 aout 1986 que Bombardier avait fait la meilleure offre a 1'occasion de la vente de Canadair: Bombardier devenait alors proprietaire de cette societe federale de construction aeronautique dans une transaction de 200 a 300 millions de dollars. Bombardier represente aujourd'hui 1'une des plus grandes reussites parmi les entreprises privees appuyees par 1'Etat. La Caisse de depot et la Societe de developpement industriel investirent toutes deux plusieurs millions de dollars dans Bombardier. L'evolution du geant de 1'ingenierie Lavalin est un autre exemple interessant de croissance rapide d'une grande societe quebecoise au cours des vingt-cinq dernieres annees. Bien que vieille d'environ cinquante ans, Lavalin ne fut qu'une petite firme d'inge'nieurs-conseils jusqu'au debut des annees 1960. Son expansion debuta apres 1'e'lection du gouvernement

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Lesage en 1960 et co'incida avec les reformes de la Revolution tranquille. Alors que 1'attention du Canada anglais etait concentree sur la constitution de conglomerats dans les ressources petrolieres de 1'Ouest et a Toronto, les capitalistes quebecois comme Bernard Lamarre, president de Lavalin durant les quinze dernieres annees, faisaient discretement I'acquisition d'entreprises plus petites et prenaient de 1'expansion. En 1985, Lavalin englobait plus de 60 societes qui oeuvraient a la realisation de projets dans plus de 90 pays. Ses contrats a 1'etranger represented 45% de son chiffre d'affaires. Comme la plupart des entreprises quebecoises de la nouvelle generation des affaires, Lavalin a profite de subventions gouvernementales a 1'initiative, notamment celles qu'offrait la Caisse de depot et placement. A 1'automne de 1986, 1'entreprise prit avantage du REAQ en faisant une emission publique d'actions d'une nouvelle societe-parapluie: les Entreprises Lavalin. De plus, note Grigsby, la compagnie beneficie de sa "propension a bien maintenir de bonnes relations avec les politiciens au pouvoir et a les engager lorsqu'ils perdent le pouvoir"1 (Grigsby, 1986:58). L'industrie des pates et papiers s'est montre'e particulierement mure pour les initiatives des entrepreneurs quebecois. Cascades inc., appartenant dans une proportion de 62% aux freres Bernard, Laurent et Alain Lemaire de Kingsey Falls, vit ses profits nets bondir de 2,5 millions de dollars en 1982 a 19,4 millions de dollars en 1985, apres une emission publique d'actions dans le cadre du REAQ en 1982. En aout 1986, on disait que Cascades etait prete a acheter Dofor Inc., proprietaire de 30% des actions de Domtar, deuxieme plus grande compagnie de produits forestiers au Canada (Horsman, 1986:3). Les reussites exemplaires de Lavalin et de SNC, sa rivale, ou de la chaine de journaux quebecois et americains creee par Pierre Peladeau, ou encore des institutions financieres telles la Banque nationale, le Groupe La Laurentienne et les Caisses populaires Desjardins ont nourri 1'imagination de toute une generation de Quebecois. Confronted a 1'absence de debouches dans le secteur public, qui a absorbe un nombre disproportionne de leurs parents, les jeunes Quebecois suivent aujourd'hui des cours de commerce, d'administration et d'informatique. Des 1978, un tiers des etudiants inscrits dans les ecoles canadiennes de commerce etait au Quebec. Cette meme annee, les HEC durent refuser 1150 candidats. En 1979, ce nombre atteignait 2000. Actuellement, avec plus de 8000 etudiants, 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales est la plus grande ecole de commerce au Canada et depasse 1'universite York, sa plus proche rivale (Eraser, 1984:212; Steed, 1985:19). Vers le milieu des annees 1980, les six plus grandes ecoles de commerce quebecoises etaient pleines a

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craquer et decernaient plus de 400 maftrises en administration des affaires (MBA) par annee, soit un tiers du total canadien. Ces diplomes se precipiterent massivement vers le secteur prive. En 1985, seulement 5% des gradues des HEC se trouverent des emplois aupres du gouvernement, comparativement a 90% en 1970 (Provencher, 1985:C-1, C-20). Ce virage dans 1'orientation des etudiants dans les differentes disciplines universitaires temoigne aussi d'un certain bouleversement. Plus de 50% de 1'ensemble des etudiants admis en 1983-1984 aux divers programmes de sciences sociales au niveau du baccalaureat au Quebec etaient inscrits dans les programmes d'etudes commerciales, de management ou d'administration des affaires. Le recrutement dans ces champs d'etude, exprime en pourcentage du recrutement total, avait plus que double depuis 1972. De toute evidence, une volte-face s'etait produite depuis 1'epoque ou, comme 1'exprimait Jacques Parizeau, "si on avait de bonnes notes a 1'ecole, on s'orientait vers la medecine, le droit ou la pretrise; et si on avait de moins bonnes notes, on se dirigeait vers le commerce ou vers n'importe quoi d'autre" (cite dans The Gazette, 23 fevrier 1985:B-5). La renaissance du secteur prive stimule par 1'arrivee de ces nouveaux diplomes ne se manifeste pas seulement dans les sommets dominants de 1'economie. Nombre des nouveaux diplomes se casent dans les petites et moyennes entreprises de vente au detail et de fabrication dominees traditionnellement par les francophones ou deviennent eux-memes entrepreneurs. Cette tendance reflete la profondeur et la force de la nouvelle classe des affaires. Comme le note Michel Belanger, ancien membre du "brain-trust" de Jean Lesage et actuellement 1'un des grands pretres de la Revolution des affaires en ses qualites de president de la Banque nationale et de vice-president du Conseil d'entreprises pour les questions d'interet national (BCNI): Je pense que le developpement economique d'un pays est assure quand les gens de la base, les petits entrepreneurs, decident qu'il faut le faire [. . .]. Ce n'est pas avec des multinationals qu'on va se developper, mais avec des entreprises de petite et de moyenne taille, dans les villes comme dans les regions. (Blouin, 1980:46)

Au cours de 1'annee financiere qui prit fin en mars 1985, le nombre de petites entreprises qui se constituerent en societe au Quebec atteignait 29 000, cet etonnant total depassant meme le chiffre correspondant pour 1'Ontario. De plus, une etude de la Federation canadienne de 1'entreprise independante a demontre que, pendant les six premiers mois de cette meme annee, la proportion des emplois crees par les petites entreprises au Quebec (14,9%) avait depasse les resultats de

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toutes les autres provinces a 1'exception de PAlberta (18,9%) (Clugston, 1986a:23). La presse des affaires du Quebec et de Pexte'rieur est farcie d'histoires de reussites financieres personnelles qui n'ont rien a envier aux meilleures legendes exportees par "Miss Liberty" et inspirees par F"American dream." Entre autres, mentionnons les carrieres de Michel Gaudier, president fondateur de Sofati Ltee, de Paul Martin, president du groupe CSL Inc. de Montreal, de Raymond Garneau, president du Conseil d'administration de la Banque d'epargne de la cite et du district de Montreal, et de Jean-Luc Mercier, directeur general des Meubles Laurier. Les entrepreneurs regionaux ne sont pas en reste: Alfred Hamel, proprietaire d'une compagnie de camionnage du lac Saint-Jean, achetait Quebecair en 1979 avant de ceder cette entreprise au gouvernement quebecois qui devait recemment la revendre a Nordair. C'est dans cette meme region que naquit le reseau d'investissements financiers des Caisses d'entraide economique. La saga de Bertin Nadeau, actuellement P.D.G. et president du Conseil d'administration du holding montrealais Unigesco, commenqa aux HEC, ou il fit ses etudes et enseigna jusqu'en 1976. A son depart, il emprunta suffisamment pour acheter la manufacture d'orgues Casavant Freres Ltee de St-Hyacinthe pour a peine un million de dollars. Bertin Nadeau alia des lors de succes en succes. En 1982, il acheta 22% des actions d'Unigesco, s'emparant ainsi du controle effectif de cette societe. Le coup d'Etat devait survenir en 1985-1986. Grace a 1'emission publique d'actions d'Unigesco dans le cadre du REAQ et plusieurs arrangements complexes, Nadeau accumula suffisamment de fonds pour acheter 20,4% des actions de Provigo, participation suffisante pour lui donner le controle. La plupart des actions furent achetees a la Caisse de depot qui cherchait alors a se departir de ses interets dans Provigo a la condition que le controle de 1'entreprise demeure au Quebec. Cette transaction marquait 1'accession a la majorite du secteur prive quebecois. Guy Desmarais, courtier en valeurs mobilieres, declarait: "Pour la nouvelle generation, Nadeau constitue la preuve vivante qu'il est possible de reussir en affaires a partir de zero" (Allaby, 1986:25). Techmire est une autre societe quebecoise de la nouvelle vague qui est citee en exemple. Agee de seulement 13 ans, cette entreprise montrealaise de fabrication d'outils et de matrices dont le chiffre d'affaire annuel atteint 6,8 millions de dollars a etc un des grands beneficiaires des programmes d'appui aux entreprises du gouvernement pequiste. En 1982, cette societe obtint un pret de $500 000 en vertu du Programme d'innovation des PME et reunit 2,6 millions de dollars de plus en 1985 grace a une emission d'actions dans le cadre du REAQ. Age d'a peine trente-cinq ans,

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Tableau III Evolution de la part de la Bourse de Montreal dans le total des titres transiges aux Bourses de Montreal et de Toronto en %

1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 (7 mois)

Volume 13,23 11,49 11,33 12,96 11,93 11,66 11,49 15,88 15,32 17,80

Valeur 19,76 14,15 12,50 11,56 11,71 13,57 14,42 20,82 19,28 20,30

Source: Bourse de Montreal; Les Affaires,le 16 aout 1986, p. 3.

le directeur general de Techmire, Stephen Yaffe, declarait: "Une compagnie de notre taille n'aurait pu emettre d'actions nulle part ailleurs en Amerique du nord" (Clugston, 1986b). De plus, conformement a 1'image de dynamisme que se donnent les nouvelles entreprises quebecoises, Techmire est impatiente de voir enteriner 1'accord du libre-echange avec les Etats-Unis afin d'accroitre ses exportations . Une autre indication du nouveau climat est la tentative montrealaise de recuperer une part du prestige et du pouvoir que Montreal a perdus. La valeur des transactions de la Bourse de Montreal constitue un barometre eloquent. Alors que la part de la Bourse de Montreal avait flechi jusqu'a 11,5% de la valeur totale des transactions des bourses de Toronto et de Montreal, ce chiffre grimpa a 20,3% au cours des sept premiers mois de 1986 (voir tableau III). La bourse de Montreal inscrivait 38 nouvelles entreprises en 1983, puis 52 en 1984 et 71 en 1985; le nombre prevu pour 1986 etait de 90 (Gagne, 1986a, 1986b). Le retour de la societe petroliere Ultramar de Toronto a Montreal a Fete de 1986 semble marquer 1'interruption de la tendance d'apres-guerre, bien que selon de nombreux autres indicateurs, tels la perte d'industries lourdes, le processus de desindustrialisation et de peripherisation se poursuit. Deux facteurs semblent directement responsables du boom actuel a la bourse. En 1982, le president Pierre Lortie, lui-meme representant eminent de la bourgeoisie balzacienne, lanc,ait une entreprise de modernisation de la Bourse de Montreal: parmi les innovations, dont le cout devait atteindre 5 a 6 millions de dollars, on note 1'etablissement de

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liaisons avec des bourses etrangeres, de nouveaux instruments de commerce, notamment les nouvelles options sur les contrats a terme, et une impressionnante panoplie d'appareils electroniques, initiatives qui en ont fait la bourse la plus progressiste au pays. Le second facteur fut 1'impact du Regime d'epargnes-actions du Quebec qui augmenta radicalement le nombre d'entreprises quebecoises aptes a tenter des emissions publiques d'actions. Andre Saumier,2 president sortant, signale egalement 1'importante augmentation du nombre de societes de 1'exterieur du Quebec qui faisaient des affaires a la Bourse de Montreal: II nous est maintenant beaucoup plus facile de les attirer ici. Avant, il fallait defoncer la porte. Ce n'est plus le cas. C'est pas mal entre dans les moeurs en effet qu'une compagnie nationale inscrive ses actions a la Bourse de Montreal. On n'a manque qu'une demi-douzaine d'emissions nationales 1'an dernier. (Gagne, 1986a) Sur la scene Internationale, la Bourse de Montre'al a eprouve des difficultes a percer sur un marche etroitement controle par New York, Londres et Tokyo. D'avancer Saumier: "Notre strategic ne peut etre que souterraine" (Gagne, 1986a). Les statistiques sur les exportations fournissent une autre indication du dynamisme de la nouvelle classe des affaires. Les exportations quebecoises a 1'exterieur du Canada sont passees de 4,4 milliards de dollars en 1973 a 16 milliards de dollars en 1981 et, apres un flechissement en 1982, sont revenues a 15 milliards de dollars en 1983. Plus spectaculaire encore fut 1'accroissement des exportations vers les Etats-Unis, qui bondirent de 25% entre 1983 et 1984 pour atteindre 13 milliards de dollars (Steed, 1985:22; Clugston, 1986a:23). De plus, les Quebecois semblent craindre beaucoup moins la liberalisation des echanges avec les Etats-Unis que les Canadiens-anglais. Selon Ian McKinnon, president de Decima Research, les sondages d'opinion montrent que les Quebecois sont "plus surs d'eux-memes, plus dynamiques et plus ouverts au monde international que le reste du Canada" (Fraser, 1986:A-8). Une nouvelle ere est arrivee. Dominique Clift ecrit: L'accession a 1'unite interieure, 1'adoption de valeurs individualistes et 1'affirmation d'un nouvel esprit d'entreprise enconragent toutes 1'expansionnisme economique et contribuent a creer un nouveau Quebec qui n'agit plus sur le reste du Canada de la meme maniere qu'il le faisait autrefois. On se retrouve devant une situation inedite. (Clift, 1981:186-87) Les revues de critique sociale d'un passe recent telles Cite Libre et Parti pris ont ete remplacees par Finance (1979) et Le Devoir economique (1985) comme phares d'une societe en transition. Les Affaires, une

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autre importante revue d'affaires au Quebec, fondee en 1928, a double son tirage pour atteindre 78 000 au cours des quatre dernieres annees. De toute evidence, comme le fait remarquer Richard French, 1'hegemonie des technocrates quebecois, des nationalistes specialistes des sciences sociales et de 1'intelligentsia litteraire a etc minee par 1'emergence d'une nouvelle bourgeoisie d'affaires (French, 1982:7). Des 1982, Dominique Clift formulait cette prediction au sujet de 1'ere qui s'offrait au Quebec: Deja, il apparait que le secteur prive sera appele a devenir le secteur le plus dynamique de la societe quebecoise, celui dont les realisations seront determinantes pour 1'avenir, de la meme fagon que la creation de 1'appareil bureaucratique francophone a Quebec 1'aura etc pour la periode qui se clot actuellement. L'fetat, les homines politiques et les gestionnaires des administrations publiques devront inevitablement se rapprocher de ceux qui font carriere dans 1'entreprise et les soutenir socialement et moralement au moyen de politiques adaptees a leurs besoins et a la situation de concurrence dans laquelle ils se trouvent. (Clift, 1981:167)

Bourassa II: la vengeance de la libre-entreprise L'election des Liberaux diriges par Robert Bourassa en decembre 1985 rapprocha cette prediction de la realite. Les mesures prises par le gouvernement depuis son entree en fonction eliminerent tout doute quant a 1'intimite des rapports entre 1'Etat et la nouvelle classe des affaires. Le nouveau premier ministre du Quebec declarait: "la presence d'entreprises quebecoises fortes, dynamiques et bien etablies signifie que le pouvoir economique demeurera entre des mains quebecoises. Mais au lieu d'etre assume par 1'Etat, il sera dorenavant entre les mains d'entrepreneurs quebecois" (cite dans Wilson-Smith et Wallace, 1986:25). Cette approche s'harmonisait bien, evidemment, avec celle de la communaute des investisseurs, car la societe Moody's Investor Service haussa la cote de credit du Quebec de Aj a AA3. Cette cote avait ete reduite en 1982. La composition du cabinet Bourassa temoigne avec eloquence de son orientation entrepreneuriale. Chose interessante, les ministres issus des milieux des affaires et de la finance representent 34,6% du nouveau cabinet Bourassa, comparativement a 20,4% dans le cabinet Levesque et a 25,9% dans les cabinets Lesage. Cette proportion de 34,6% equivaut a peu pres a la composition du precedent gouvernement Bourassa et a celle de 1'actuel cabinet federal de Mulroney oil les gens d'affaires constituent environ le tiers de 1'effectif. Enseignants et journalistes ne representent

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que 15,3% du cabinet Bourassa II comparativement a 35,2% dans les cabinets Levesque (voir tableau IV). Le nouveau gouvernement n'a pas perdu de temps pour hausser les investissements du secteur prive de 17 a 20% du produit interieur brut. Dans un mini-budget presente en mars 1986, il abaissait les taux marginaux d'imposition de facpn a ramener de 9 a 4% 1'ecart entre les taux les plus eleves du Quebec et de 1'Ontario (Gray, 1986:A-16). De plus, dans son budget du premier mai, le gouvernement bonifiait ses stimulants destines aux petites et moyennes entreprises en exemptant les nouvelles entreprises de I'impot sur le revenu pour les profits inferieurs a $200 000 ainsi que de la taxe sur les gains de capitaux de moins de 2 millions de dollars pour leurs trois premieres annees de fonctionnement. Enfin, les societes quebecoises peuvent maintenant etablir des fonds de partage des profits en fiducie arm que leurs employes puissent profiter d'une deduction d'impot supplementaire de 25 pourcent lorsqu'ils achetent des actions de leur employeur dans le cadre du REAQ. Le parti pris categorique du gouvernement en faveur de la libreentreprise devient evident lorsque 1'on observe la composition des trois principaux groupes d'etudes gouvernementaux sur la privatisation, la dereglementation et la reorganisation de 1'appareil gouvernemental, de meme que le contenu de leurs rapports diffuses recemment. Diriges par les deputes Reed Scowen, Paul Gobeil et Pierre Fortier, ces groupes d'etudes domines par le monde des affaires ont recommande un brusque virage a droite de la societe et de 1'Etat quebecois. Recommandant la vente de dix societes d'Etat, des compressions massives dans les depenses gouvernementales — dont une reduction d'effectif de 25% dans les echelons superieurs de la fonction publique, 1'ajout d'un impot sur le revenu pour les $2000 premiers depenses en services de saute, et la devolution au secteur prive de certains etablissements et services de sante, II est des lors clair que 1'interventionetatique, dans son sens traditionnel, est maintenant chose du passe au Quebec. Fortier declarait lui-meme: "Une nouvelle classe de managers francophones a pris la releve dans de nombreux secteurs de 1'economic. II devient alors de plus en plus difficile de justifier 1'intervention gouvernementale a partir des lacunes de 1'entrepreneuriat quebecois" (Cormier, 1986:A-7). Au meme moment, la communaute des affaires s'oppose a la reduction de ses concessions fiscales et de ses subventions a 1'initiative. Selon Jacques Parizeau, alors a la faculte des HEC: "L'Etat devrait demeurer 1'incubateur des affaires quebecoises, particulierement si le libre-echange devient une realite" (cite dans Wilson-Smith et Wallace, 1986:25). En effet, la position du gouvernement Bourassa a 1'egard du libreechange revele clairement la nature plutot etrange des relations entre

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Tableau IV Repartition procentuelle des ministres, par profession, dans les gouvernements quebecois posterieurs a la Seconde Guerre mondiale

Agriculture Adm. affaires Finance/Entrepreneurs Droit Journalisme Education Medecine Genie Adm. publique Autres

Duplessis Lesage Johnson Bourassa Levesque Bourassa 19851944-59 1960-66 1966-68 1970-76 1976-85 1,9 10,9 — 4 — 1,9 20,4 34,6 25,9 44 39,1 38,5

25 1,6 6,2 7,8 — — 9,4

48,1 11,1 7,4 3,7 1,9 — —

22 — 12 10 4 — 4

34,3 2,9 10 2,9 4,2 — 7,2

20,4 9,3 25,9 5,5 1,9 — 14,7

26,9 3,8 11,5 — 7,7 3,8 11,5

Tableau fonde sur une evaluation subjective des professions. Un demi point etait donne si deux carrieres etaient poursuivies (c'est-a-dire un demi point pour chacune d'elles). Les carrieres politiques etaient exclues. Compile par Colin Stewart et Roger Butt, et fonde sur la publication du Gouvernement du Quebec, Repertoire des Parlementaires Quebecois, 1867-1978, Quebec, Assemblee Nationale du Quebec, 1980.

1'Etat et le monde des affaires au Quebec. D'une part, M. Bourassa a enonce une serie de conditions et de reserves. Le gouvernement insistera pour conserver sa capacite d'aider a 1'amelioration technologique des petites entreprises, et il demandera une periode de transition pour les industries traditionnellement fragiles, notamment celles du textile et de la chaussure. D'autre part, le gouvernement reconnait le dynamisme de la nouvelle classe des affaires qu'exprime de facpn caracteristique Bertin Nadeau de Casavant Freres: "Nous avons 1'impression que nous sommes bien formes et prets a conquerir le monde" (Steed, 1985:20). Le fait que Jake Warren, ancien negociateur pour le Pacte de 1'automobile et les accords du GATT, et tenant du libre-echange, ait ete nomme president du Comite consultatif sur la liberalisation du commerce pour le gouvernement du Quebec manifeste 1'intention ferme de ce gouvernement d'en venir a un accord.

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Conclusion La profondeur des changements sans precedent exposes jusqu'ici temoigne de 1'abandon collectif du projet nationaliste etatique au Quebec. Alors que 1'aile souverainiste de 1'"elite divise'e" (Fraser, 1984:208) du Quebec, dirigee par Rene Levesque, a semble maintenir son emprise durant la plus grande partie du regne pequiste, la defaite referendaire, 1'emergence de la "bourgeoisie balzacienne" et 1'explosion concomitante de 1'entrepreneuriat temoignent d'une tardive adoption de 1'option "federaliste-individualiste." Cette derniere optique, exprimee des plus clairement par Pierre Trudeau, Albert Breton et al. dans leur manifeste de 1964, "Pour une politique fonctionnelle," embrassait, a 1'egard de rinternationalisme et du libre-echange, des notions moins romantiques que 1'ideologie nationaliste rivale: Un ordre de priorite, au niveau politique et social, qui repose sur la peisonne est totalement incompatible avec un ordre de priorite appuye sur la race, la religion ou la nationalite. [L]es tendances modernes les plus valables s'orientent vers un humanisme ouvert sur le monde, vers diverses formes d'universalisme politique, social et economique. Or, le Canada constitue une reproduction en plus petit et en plus simple de cette realite universelle. (Breton et al., 1964:11, 17) Les evenements recents ont clairement appuye cette vision. L'emigration vers le secteur prive de grands commis de 1'Etat de la generation de la "revolution bureaucratique," tels Michel Belanger, Claude Castonguay, Pierre Lortie, et Andre Saumier 1'illustre bien. Certains d'entre eux disent regretter le temps et les efforts qu'ils ont consacres en vain a 1'intermede nationaliste. Belanger note: "Ce que je trouve tragique, c'est que tout un groupe de gens intelligents ait depense cette somme folle d'energie pendant plus de quatre ans — tout cela pour un referendum" (cite dans Fraser, 1984:214). La releve de la garde a la Societe generate de financement et a HydroQuebec, la privatisation de societes d'Etat quebecoises et les pressions exercees pour limiter et meme eliminer des programmes sociaux appuyes par 1'Etat ont annonce 1'adoption de nouvelles strategies etatiques ouvertement favorables a la classe entrepreneuriale naissante. Malgre la recente prudence affichee par le gouvernement liberal nouvellement elu a 1'egard des questions sociales, ces developpements nous amenent a penser qu'il faudrait revoir 1'hypothese de Guindon qui accordait la preponderance a une classe techno-bureaucratique orientee vers la construction d'un "Etat moderne."3 On pourrait bien estimer retrospectivement que cette classe et son programme, resume dans les connotations

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de la Revolution tranquille, ont simplement constitue les precurseurs et les batisseurs des institutions auxiliaires et des infrastructures financieres requises pour la consolidation de la classe des affaires naissante au Quebec. L'orientation de la bourgeoisie balzacienne, groupe social indiscutablement dominant du Quebec d'aujourd'hui, etait, jusqu'a 1'epoque recente, fermement federaliste. Or, depuis 1'echec de 1'Accord du lac Meech, on a pu noter une remise en question de cette orientation federaliste aupres de la bourgeoisie balzacienne. En effet, les discussions entourant le lac Meech ont amene les gens d'affaires du Quebec a se rapprocher des tenants du nationalisme liberal quebecois. Cette remise en question de 1'allegeance politique de la bourgeoisie quebecoise aura sans doute de profondes implications pour 1'avenir du Canada.

NOTES 1 Comme 1'illustrent bien les cas de Marcel Masse, ex-membre du cabinet de Daniel Johnson et plus tard ministre federal de 1'Energie, et de Pierre de Belleval, ex-ministre du cabinet pequiste: ces derniers ont etc membres du Conseil d'administration de Lavalin. 2 Saumier semble etablir un lien entre 1'evolution des carrieres et des valeurs au Quebec. Ex-grand seminariste, grand commis de 1'Etat a Ottawa, ensuite haut fonctionnaire a Quebec, et enfin cadre superieur de Richardson Securities of Canada, courtier en valeurs mobilieres a Winnipeg, il presida la Bourse de Montreal, succedant ainsi a 1'ex-ministre liberal provincial et federal, Eric Kierans. 3 Certaines des idees exprimees ici ont fait 1'objet d'un developpement plus approfondi dans Gagnon et Montcalm (1990).

BlBLIOGRAPHIE Allaby, Ian. (1986). "The Successors: Canada's Emerging Business Leaders." Canadian Business, August, 24-62. Behiels, Michael. (1985). Prelude to Quebec's Quiet Revolution: Liberalism Versus Neo-Nationalism, 1945-1960. Kingston and Montreal: McGillQueen's University Press. Berube, Gerard. (1986). "La valeur des emissions inscrites au REAQ devrait atteindre le cap du $1,3 milliard cette annee." Finance, 11 aout. Blouin, Jean. (1980). "Le defi de Michel Belanger." L'Actualite', juin, 42-3, 46-7.

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Breton, Albert, Raymond Breton, Yvon Gauthier, Marc Lalonde, Maurice Pinard, et Pierre Elliott Trudeau. (1964). "Pour une politique fonctionnelle." Cite Libre XV:67 (mai), 11-17. Brunelle, Dorval. (1978). La disillusion tranguiUe. Montreal: Hurtubise HMH. Clement, Wallace. (1975). The Canadian Corporate Elite: An Analysis of Economic Power. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Clift, Dominique. (1981). Le de'clin du nationalisme au Quebec. Montreal: Libre Expression. Clugston, Michael. (1986a). "Going Flat Out." Canadian Business, May, 21-3, 113. . (1986b). "High Tech and Bilingual: Why Techmire is a Model for Quebec." Canadian Business, 27 May, 27. Cormier, Michel. (1986). "Quebec Plan on Privatization is a Hot Potato." The Globe and Mail, 27 May, A-7. Drolet, Daniel. (1986). "The Economic Resurrection of Quebec." The Citizen, 23 August, B-l. Foutnier, Pierre. (1984). "The New Parameters of the Quebec Bourgeoisie." Alain-G. Gagnon, ed., Quebec: State and Society. Toronto: Methuen, 201-27. Fraser, Graham. (1984). Rene Levesgue and the Parti Qudbecois in Power. Toronto: Macmillan. . (1986). "Mandarin's Appointment Veils Quebec Trade Stance." The Globe and Mail, 22 March, A-8. French, Richard. (1982). "La crise d'hegemonie." Le Devoir, 16 decembre, 7. . (1984). "Governing Without Business: The Parti Quebecois in Power." Victor V. Murray, ed., Theories of Business Government Relations. Toronto: Trans-Canada Press, 159-80. Gagne, Jean-Paul. (1985). "Bondage exclusif aupres de 200 abonnes du journal." Les Affaires, 16 novembre, 2-3. . (1986a). "La bourse de Montreal vise 30% du marche des actions." Les Affaires, 16 aout, 3. . (1986b). "Ce serait un desastre de toucher au REA." Les Affaires, 16 aout, 4. Gagnon, Alain-G., et Mary Beth Montcalm. (1990). Quebec: Beyond the Quiet Revolution. Toronto: Nelson Canada. Gagnon, Marc-Aime. (1970). Jean-Charles Harvey: Precurseur de la Revolution TranguiUe. Quebec: Beauchemin. The Gazette. (1985). "Much to Celebrate as HEC Marks 75th Year." 27 August, B-5. Gray, Alan D. (1986). "Chastened Bourassa Wins Corporate Leaders' Backing for new Policy." The Gazette, 31 March, A-16. Grigsby, Wayne. (1986). "Master Builder." Report on Business Magazine, September, 58-64.

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Guindon, Hubert. (1960). "The Social Evolution of Quebec Reconsidered." Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science 26:4 (December), 533-51. . (1964). "Social Unrest, Social Class and Quebec's Bureaucratic Revolution." Queen's Quarterly 71:2 (Summer), 150-162. Horsman, Matthew. (1986). "Quebec Forestry Firm Eyeing Domtar Takeover." The Financial Post, 23 August, 3. Kerr, Wendie. (1979). "French-Canadian Firms are Growing Through Mergers in English Canada." The Globe and Mail, 26 November, B-3. McRoberts, Kenneth, et Dale Posgate. (1980). Quebec: Social Change and Political Crisis. 2nd ed. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Montcalm, Mary Beth. (1983). "Class in Ethnic Nationalism: A Comparative Study of Postwar Quebec Nationalism." These de doctorat, Universite Carleton. Office de la langue frangaise du Quebec. (1986). Les jeunes et I'entrepreneurial. Quebec, Secretariat de la jeunesse. Paltiel, Khayyam Zev. (1985-86). "The Emergence of a Balzacian Bourgeoisie: Some Notes on the Rise of the New Business Class in Quebec." Article non public, Universite Carleton, hiver. Paquet, Gilles. (1986). "Entrepreneurship canadien frangais: mythes et realites." Memoire presente au colloque de la Societe Royale du Canada sur "les francophones au Canada." Winnipeg: Universite du Manitoba, juillet. Porter, John. (1965). The Vertical Mosaic. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Provencher, Normand. (1985). "Third of all MBA to Graduate from Quebec Schools." The Gazette, 23 February, C-l. . (1985). "The Young Turks Take Over." The Gazette, 23 February, B-l. Quebec. Ministere du developpement economique. (1979). Bdtir le Quebec. Quebec: Editeur officiel. Raynauld, Andre. (1974). La propriete des entreprises au Quebec. Montreal: Presses de 1'Universite de Montreal. Sales, Arnaud. (1979). La bourgeoisie industrielle du Quebec. Montreal: Presses de 1'Universite de Montreal. Steed, Judy. (1985). "The Unquiet Revolution." Report on Business Magazine, May, 18-25. Wallace, Bruce. (1986). "Controlling the Caisse." Maclean's, 5 May, 40, 42. Wilson-Smith, Anthony et Bruce Wallace. (1986). "Quebec's New Entrepreneurs." Maclean's, 4 August, 24-5.

The Changing Face of Class Politics in Quebec: The Representation and Expression of Business Interests in the Policy Process Bruce Wise GREAT NORTHERN CONSULTING The 1980s witnessed the rise of a new and powerful francophone business class in the province of Quebec, which Gagnon and Paltiel (1986) have called a "Balzacian bourgeoisie." This is a fitting concept, for it alludes to the great French writer and social critic of the July Monarchy, who documented the changes in social structure resulting from the industrial revolution in France, particularly the ascendancy of a commercial class whose concerns were with wealth, position and power. In similar fashion, economic change has brought Quebec's new francophone business class to a dominant place within politics, government and society, so that it has direct input into the formulation of public policy. Before examining how this class is represented and how it has made its influence felt, it may be useful to trace the forces contributing to its current status, as well as its relationship to the group which previously dominated Quebec's state and society, the technocratic middle class.

Technocratic Class Interests and the Formation of a Francophone Bourgeoisie In the immediate post-War era, Quebec did not possess a strong, francophone business class and the efforts to account for this social fact inspired considerable debate among social scientists (Rioux and Martin, 1964; Behiels, 1985:103-104). Some of the reasons advanced for its absence depended on explanations in terms of culture. For example, it was argued that francophone firms tended to range in size from small to medium because of conservative and limiting business practices which emphasized security of family-ownership (Taylor, 1964:272-73). This precluded a transition to large-scale enterprise through such devices as public share offerings. Other explanations placed importance on geography and the historical evolution of Quebec's economic structure. Quebec, like New

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England, suffered during the transition from a commercial to an industrial economy. Initially, development of heavy industry occurred in Ontario and the eastern and central states because of shorter distances to coal and iron ore reserves. The capital needed for expansion into these kinds of enterprises accumulated in American and English Canadian hands. As a result, industrial development of this type in Quebec was often characterized by absentee-ownership. Finally, the tendency of monopoly industries to concentrate — a process which also affected the older, labour-intensive ones, such as textiles — made it difficult for newcomers to gain entry into these established sectors of the economy (Faucher and Lamontagne, 1964:269-70). But if Quebec lacked a large, indigenous and francophone bourgeoisie at that time, it certainly did possess a large middle class (and an increasingly militant working class) with all the material aspirations which membership in a modern and industrial society implied. By 1950, the prestige attached to traditional occupations in law, medicine and the Church was being transferred not just to technologically based professions, such as architecture and engineering but, also, to economic professions like corporate management, investment banking, and even factory ownership (Falardeau, 1964:118). For a variety of reasons, however, the way into such occupations remained blocked. In the first place, the overall provincial economy was weak. After the Second World War, it was clear that Quebec's economic position with respect to Canada and the rest of North America was one of increasing marginality (Gagnon and Montcalm, 1990:3-15). Falling levels of investment, the decline in value of transactions on Montreal's stock exchange as compared with its Toronto counterpart, and the departure of corporate head offices all served to indicate that the economy could not generate the white-collar, middle- and upper-management jobs desired by growing numbers of Quebeckers. Furthermore, existing jobs at these levels were found almost entirely in the private sector and because these institutions operated in the English language, francophones had few opportunities for gaining employment. Finally, it appeared that there was no possibility that occupations of these kinds would be created in the public sector, for at a time when many governments were expanding their services and instituting social programmes, successive political regimes in Quebec (closely allied to the Church and anglophone capital) continued their laissez-faire practices and refused to intervene in order to shore up a flagging economy. Thus, much of the sociological impetus for the Quiet Revolution came from the fact that there were no prospects for either the development of a large, francophone bourgeoisie or the provision of interesting

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and prestigious occupations for a new middle class with rising expectations. Even before the Lesage Liberals came to power in 1960, it was readily apparent that mounting social pressures would bring profound change in political and social organization. As Hubert Guindon (1964:161) noted at the time, The decisive significance of the new middle class is now clearly assured. Its first act when it reaches actual power ... will be to organize a truly competent civil service, a task which had been impossible under the old game of rural politics. Naturally, a truly competent civil service means a smoothly operated bureaucracy accompanied by enhanced status for the new middle class. Administrative social science, which in the final analysis, is the only kind of social science wanted by these dominant bureaucracies, will have its heyday.

What Guindon foresaw was a new or "technocratic" middle class prepared to use an enlarged and interventionist state in its own self-interest. And social scientists would indeed play an extremely important role in formulating and articulating the policies and projets de socie'te of the Quiet Revolution. In conjunction with other academics, journalists and other members of the literary intelligentsia, this group formed an intellectual vanguard and provided the technocratic middle class with its social and political leadership. Most closely associated with the governments of the Lesage Liberals and the Parti Quebecois, these elements possessed a vision for the modernization of Quebec's state and society which successfully challenged and replaced the conservative ideology of the Duplessis regime (Gagnon, 1988:19-20). Not only did this give them and their professions legitimacy, but it provided the technocratic middle class as a whole with material benefits in the form of prestigious occupations created through the massive expansion of the state apparatus and huge expenditures in such fields as education, health services and social welfare (Renaud, 1984). In addition to forestalling the continuing marginalization of Quebec's economic position and providing advantages for the technocratic middle class, the rise of state capitalism also contributed to the formation of a francophone bourgeoisie. The nationalization of hydro-electricity and the creation of other state enterprises, such as the Caisse de depot et placement, were just some of the policy instruments which strengthened strategic economic sectors in Quebec and gave francophones the opportunity to acquire technical and managerial skills. It is important to realize, however, that these reforms were the product of a technocratic middle class acting in its own self-interest and not under the direction of an already dominant francophone bourgeoisie. While FrenchCanadian business did have input into government planning agencies,

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such as the Conseil d'orientation economique du Quebec (COEQ), in the early stages of the Quiet Revolution it simply was neither strong nor influential enough to oversee and direct the enormous scale of change (Gagnon and Montcalm, 1990:69, 107). The ideas inspiring reform during the Quiet Revolution were not the product of a francophone business lobby, but had been circulating within the intellectual community for some time. The role of schools, such as Laval University's Ecole des sciences sociales, in the institutionalization of social and critical thought, has been well documented (Gagnon, 1986:78-79). Jean-Charles Falardeau, Albert Faucher and Maurice Lamontagne, whose ideas concerning the cultural division of labour in Quebec are cited above, all taught within that faculty in the 1940s. Also at Laval, in the capacity of the associate director of the Ecole de pedagogic, was Arthur Tremblay, who became Deputy Minister of Education in 1964. Tremblay explicitly linked a secular education system to the integration of francophones into private enterprise by providing corporations with skilled managers and technical personnel. A reformed education system was thus a crucial first step in the training of future industrial, commercial and financial elites. Writing in 1955, Tremblay observed that, [Ejven if access to the control of large corporations through the acquisition of a majority of the shares has become almost impossible for French-Canadians, there remains another method of gaining control of their behaviour and attitudes, . . . if French-Canadians provide these corporations with technicians at the levels which will determine and direct their concrete policies. (Behiels, 1985:162) The reforms of the Quiet Revolution, which aided in the formation of a francophone bourgeoisie, were therefore not simply policy instruments aimed at strengthening certain Quebec industries or economic sectors. They also comprised the vision of a modernizing and nationalist technocratic middle class and included massive social projects such as the secularization of the education system and the regulation of language in the workplace (Gagnon and Paltiel, 1986:734). Finally, it should be emphasized that changing class relations in Quebec must be placed within the context of an underlying economic dynamic. The province's continuing peripheralization within the continental and international economy contributed to the growth of francophone business by allowing it to move into the vacuum created by the departure of English-Canadian and American capital. But this same process, which earlier had enabled the technocratic middle class to empower itself through the use of state capitalism, ultimately imposed limits on the latter group's strategy. By the late 70s and early 80s, economic contraction,

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combined with enormous fiscal pressure, obliged the Parti Quebecois — the one political party which might have been more disposed toward interventionism than any other — to repudiate state capitalism and the interests of the technocratic middle class and look to the private sector for future economic development. The policies which followed, such as the severe restrictions placed upon the public sector unions in 1982-1983, or tax incentives like the Quebec Stock Savings Plan, earned the PQ a reputation for being the most business-oriented government in Canada at the time (Gagnon and Montcalm, 1990:12-13).

The Francophone Bourgeoisie: Political Representation and Policy Interests By the early 1980s, Quebec had entered a period of social and political transformation rivalling that of the sixties and seventies. For many, the changes occurring in Quebec constituted a second Quiet Revolution although, as one observer put it, the more accurate term might be quiet counter-revolution (Tanguay, 1987-88:395). Both academic literature (Gagnon and Paltiel, 1986) and the popular press (Fraser, 1987) detailed the extraordinary rise to prominence of the francophone bourgeoisie. The list of entrepreneurs and their enterprises was extensive and it only needs to be noted that the "emergence" had taken place in every sector: finance, commerce and industry. In terms of class relations, it was apparent that the power of the once dominant technocratic middle class had given way to that of the new francophone business class. This led Dominique Clift (1982:126) to say that, in the future, public servants and politicians would have to "establish a close relationship with those who are pursuing careers in private business." This close relationship was cemented during the 1985 provincial election. Although the PQ during its final term had shifted the orientation of its economic policies almost completely toward the interests of Quebec's private sector, the 1985 election marked the francophone bourgeoisie's formal accession to power and integrated it directly into the political and governmental power structure. In the 70s, the two major parties had been divided more or less along class lines, with business finding a home in the Quebec Liberal Party and elements of the technocratic middle class in the PQ (McRoberts and Posgate, 1980:186). But during the 1985 campaign both parties courted business, attempting to recruit highprofile business leaders as candidates (Globe and Mail, 1985b). Thus, regardless of party affiliation, the change in social representation from the 1981 to the 1985 National Assembly gives an indication that the francophone business class had increased its power at the expense of the technocratic middle class.

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In both the 1981 and 1985 National Assemblies, the largest group of members categorized their professional backgrounds as administrative, with no reference as to whether this was in the "public" or "private" sector. But in the case of members whose occupational status was explicitly defined, a shift could be perceived. In the 1981 National Assembly, 13 members classified their backgrounds in such private sector occupations as "industriel," "entrepreneur," "commerc,ant," "hommes/femmes d'affaires." In the 1985 National Assembly, this number increased to 20. Similarly, in 1981, there were 37 members whose backgrounds could be equated to technocratic occupations; for example, "professeur," "journaliste," or "enseignant." In the 1985 National Assembly this number declined to 23. Of particular interest in this latter group are those who classified their occupations as "professeur"; their numbers declined from 18 in 1981, to just 5 in 1985 (Directeur general des elections du Quebec, 1981:20-31 and 1986:35-40). The shift toward more business and less technocratic political representation in the National Assembly was also evident in the Bourassa cabinet. Gagnon and Paltiel (1986:743-44) found that a little more than a third of the ministers — 34.6% of the cabinet — had careers in business or finance compared to a little more than a quarter of the Levesque cabinets or 25.9%. On the other hand, teachers and journalists made up only 15.3% of the Bourassa cabinet, compared to 35.2% in the Levesque cabinets. Representation in the 1985 Bourassa cabinet was also noteworthy because of the particular strata of business from which ministers were drawn. Many were corporate executives and were appointed to economic portfolios. Examples include Pierre Fortier, the Minister Responsible for Privatization, who was Director of Projects and Vice-President of managing subsidiaries in Canada and abroad for the SNC Group, as well as President of Alsthom-Canatom Inc.; Pierre MacDonald, Minister for International Trade and Technological Development, whose background was in the insurance industry and who was also a Vice-president of the Bank of Montreal; Paul Gobeil, President of the Treasury Board, a lawyer who worked for Provigo Inc. from 1974 to 1985 (from 1981 to 1985, he was also President and CEO of Loeb Inc. and Vice-President of IGA Canada Ltd); and Andre Vallerand, the Minister Responsible for Medium and Small Business, an economist and Executive Vice-President of the Montreal Chamber of Commerce (Normandin, 1986). Finally, the new business class was inserted directly into the state structure and bureaucracy through the use of discretionary appointments. Pierre Bibeau, a former vice-president of public relations for Labatt's brewery, was made Bourassa's chief of staff and was in charge

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of the appointments process. By February of 1987, 444 positions had been filled for various boards, agencies and committees. The appointees were primarily drawn from the business sector and were not very representative of a wider social profile. For example, just 19 percent were women, and only 14 percent of those — 11 women — made it to top positions. Only 10 percent of all appointments went to persons of ethnicminority descent. Furthermore, in 1986, the government eliminated the practice of paying members of many agencies for their appearance at board meetings. This policy restricted representation to those who had the time and financial means to attend. According to former Liberal minister Jean-Paul L'Allier, these people were not necessarily close to the Liberal Party but to its ideas, i.e., privatization, deregulation and the reduction of state bureaucracy (Marotte, 1987:A5). Turning to the expression of business interests in the policy process, it has been noted that the PQ had shifted its orientation toward the private sector in the years preceding the 1985 election. It was important, therefore, for the Liberals not to be outflanked. In an interview in February of 1985, Robert Bourassa gave a good indication of this when he said: It's a question of the Liberal Party adapting itself to the new economic era which is now characterizing the Western World. Even under socialist governments you now have anti-redistiibution policies. In France, Sweden and Spain they are cutting direct taxation, helping the rich, in fact. [The Liberal Party is] putting the priority on the private sector because we cannot rely any more on the public sector. It could be called a turn to the right, theoretically speaking. But, in my view, it's only a pragmatic approach. (Globe and Mail, 1985a) During the election campaign, business associations were forthright in what they expected from a new government. Both the Montreal Board of Trade and the Quebec Chamber of Commerce listed tax cuts as a major priority (Globe and Mail, 1985b). The new Liberal government responded positively the following year when it lowered the marginal tax rates and reduced the spread between the top levels in Quebec and Ontario from 9 to 4 percent. In addition, the May 1986 budget gave small and medium-sized firms tax exemptions of up to $200,000 on profits and $2 million on capital, for the first 3 years (Gagnon and Paltiel, 1986:744). Business also wanted the reduction in taxes to coincide with cuts in government expenditures and a reduced state apparatus. To this end, three task forces were set up to examine the possible privatization of Crown corporations, social and economic deregulation, and the reorganization of government (Quebec, 1986a, 1986b, 1986c). Business had

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significant input into these policy exercises. The task force on deregulation, headed by the Premier's parliamentary secretary for economic policy, Reed Scowen, had among its members Pierre Clement, a Director of the Canadian Federation of Independent Business and Sebastien Allard, then President of the Conseil du patronat. The task force dealing with government reorganization, under Treasury Board President, Paul Gobeil, also had representatives of the business community in Pierre Lortie, then President and CEO of Provigo Inc., Yvon Marcoux, the VicePresident of the Montreal City and District Savings Bank, and Michel Belanger, President and CEO of the National Bank of Canada. And the membership of the task force on privatization, headed by Pierre Fortier, included Claude Castonguay, President of the Laurentian Group, and Raymond Cyr, President of Bell Canada. The task forces studied ways in which to disengage the state from Quebec's economic and social life, and in some instances the policy strategies overlapped. For example, privatization was the principal subject of the Fortier task force, mandated to consider the appropriateness of transferring to the private sector various commercial and industrial Crown corporations. The Gobeil task force also proposed to use privatization in the reorganization of some government services. One of its recommendations raised the possibility of turning over the administration of hospitals to private management. Linked to this were recommendations that the determination of working conditions and the negotiation of collective agreements be the responsibility of decentralized management; and that there be extensive use of contracting out, by turning over the management of support services to private firms under contract (Quebec, 1986c:44). Thus, not only would the state be reduced through privatization, but the government would gain the additional advantage of extricating itself from the arduous task of conducting labour relations with a section of the public service which had seen a great deal of conflict in recent years. Disengagement of the Quebec state also meant amending or abolishing many of the social and economic regulations framed in legislation over the years. The Scowen task force stressed that over-regulation had a deleterious effect on the province's economy: Over the last decade, the idea that the Quebec government has devised legislation and regulations which are more avant-gardiste, restrictive and costly than anywhere else in Canada or in the United States has become increasingly wide-spread . . . [T]he pace of creation of new companies, the expansion of existing companies and the entry of outside firms during this period have all been adversely

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During the election campaign, business made it known that many of the regulations it wished to see changed were those which applied to labour relations. Jean-Paul Letourneau, an executive Vice-president of the Quebec Chamber of Commerce, expressed dissatisfaction with the costs companies had to incur for the provincial work health and safety board (Globe and Mail, 1985b). The task force on deregulation was apparently sympathetic, for it made the following three recommendations: first, that the costs of the worker's compensation programme in Quebec be held down, so that they would not exceed those of Ontario's. Second, that the costs of the programme to Quebec companies be maintained at levels comparable to those in Ontario. And third, that inspections related to occupational health and safety, as well as other programmes, be paid for out of public funds by the Quebec government (Quebec, 1986b:27). But of all the legislation governing industrial relations, the Labour Code's anti-scab provisions (section 109) and the regulations covering sub-contracting (sections 45 and 46) seemed to provoke the most hostility in business circles. The Scowen report argued that the anti-scab laws and, by extension the rules covering sub-contracting, not only made Quebec business uncompetitive, but were unjust because they altered the balance of power during industrial disputes. Specifically, "they radically alter the rules of the game by taking away from the employer the effective response to the strike, namely his right to continue operations. Moreover, they can actually lead to serious injustices when, for instance, they halt all production in a plant which supplies an independent factory with secondary products" (Quebec, 1986b:28-29). The report went on to recommend that the laws restricting sub-contracting be loosened and that the anti-scab provisions be amended to bring them into line with legislation in other provinces (Quebec, 1986b:30). Task force chairman Reed Scowen, said that Quebec's anti-scab provisions should be modeled on those of Ontario's, where it is legal to hire outside workers during a strike, but not professional strike-breakers. The fact that the task force reports were so responsive to the concerns of business should not be found surprising, given the representation on the committees of that constituency. When the reports were released, the recommendations were enthusiastically endorsed by the business community and the Quebec Chamber of Commerce sent a brief to all members of the National Assembly urging their adoption as quickly

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as possible. Louis Lagasse, President of the Chamber, specifically mentioned the need to restore the right to work during strikes and the abolition of constraints on sub-contracting (Globe and Mail, 1986b). Needless to say, the response of organized labour was one of utter condemnation: a representative of the Federation des travailleurs du Quebec declared the proposals to be the equivalent of "a declaration of war" (Marotte, 1986). Nor was organized labour the only social group alienated from the government's policy exercises. Members of the technocratic middle class were appalled at the Gobeil Report's recommendation calling for a 25 percent reduction at both the senior and professional levels of the public service (Quebec, 1986c:40). Yves Martin, a senior counsellor in the Ministry of International Relations, who had been a deputy minister in the Education Ministry during the early years of the Quiet Revolution, was despairing of the Liberal Government and said it was "going too far in questioning the purpose of social scientists" (Globe and Mail, 1986a). It appeared at this time, however, that the interests of the technocratic middle class and those of the business-oriented government were antithetical.

Conclusion It should be noted, by way of conclusion, that the Bourassa government did not fully implement the recommendations of the task force reports. While, for example, some Crown corporations were privatized, a wholesale reduction of the state did not take place. Opposition to the reports was widespread, manifested in editorial criticism and complaints from labour and other popular groups that the task force committees were stacked in favour of business. Despite the wishes of Quebec's new business class, the disengagement of the state from society and the economy was not a process to be accomplished in one term of government. It took two decades to put the state apparatus in place and it will probably take some time to remove it. The agenda of the francophone bourgeoisie appears, therefore, to be a project for the next number of years and the title of the Fortier Report — "From the Quiet Revolution to the Year 2000" — seems to indicate this. If such is the case, the threat to the position of the technocratic middle class will be from piecemeal erosion over time, rather than from a swift and complete restructuring of the state. As for the position of labour, the Quebec government has made extensive use of ad hoc legislation in its attempts to control industrial disputes through back-to-work orders. One of the harshest anti-labour measures ever (Bill 160) was introduced in 1986 to put an end to a strike

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in the health services sector. Interestingly, one of its provisions allowed for the hiring of outside workers, thus circumventing the anti-scab law (Panitch and Swartz, 1988:84). Finally, one might wonder if the class character of Quebec provincial politics now resembles, at least on the surface, that of other Canadian provincial and federal governments. Panitch (1977:12) has noted that, within these jurisdictions, representatives from the private sector and the political sphere have crossed over from one realm into the other with relative ease. But in the past, the absence of an indigenous francophone bourgeoisie meant that political recruitment in Quebec drew mostly on petty bourgeois elements. One can only speculate as to whether Quebec politics has undergone a permanent change in this regard.

REFERENCES Behiels, Michael D. (1985). Prelude to Quebec's Quiet Revolution: Liberalism Versus Neonationalism, 1945-1960. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press. Clift, Dominique. (1982). Quebec Nationalism in Crisis. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press. Directeur general des elections du Quebec. (1981). Rapport des resultats officiels du scrutin du 13 avril, 1981. Bibliotheque nationale du Quebec. . (1986). Rapport des resultats officiels du scrutin du 2 decembre, 1985. Bibliotheque nationale du Quebec. Falardeau, Jean-Charles. (1964). "The Changing Social Structures of Contemporary French-Canadian Society." Marcel Rioux and Yves Martin, eds., French-Canadian Society. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 106-22. Faucher, Albert, and Maurice Lamontagne. (1964). "History of Industrial Development." Marcel Rioux and Yves Martin, eds., French-Canadian Society. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 257-71. Fraser, Mathew. (1987). Quebec Inc. Toronto: Key Porter Books. Gagnon, Alain-G. (1986). "The Development and Nationalization of Social Sciences in Quebec." Quebec Studies 4, 71-89. . (1988). "The Influence of Social Scientists on Public Policy: An Assessment and Further Proposals." Paper prepared for presentation at the XlVth World Congress of the International Political Science Association, Aug. 28-Sept. 1, Washington D.C. Gagnon, Alain-G., and Mary Beth Montcalm. (1990). Quebec: Beyond the Quiet Revolution. Scarborough: Nelson Canada. Gagnon, Alain-G., and Khayyam Z. Paltiel. (1986). "Toward Maitres chez nous: The Ascendancy of a Balzacian Bourgeoisie in Quebec." Queen's Quarterly 93:4, 731-49.

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Globe and Mail. (1985a). "Bourassa says policies painted in Tory blue key to Liberal victory." February 6, A-l. . (1985b). "Business issues central in Quebec election." November 11, B-8. . (1986a). "Mandarins of Quiet Revolution oversee shrinking empire." August 2, A-8. . (1986b). "Business seeks reform of Quebec's policies." September 26, B-4. Guindon, Hubert. "The Social Evolution of Quebec Reconsidered." Marcel Rioux and Yves Martin, eds., French-Canadian Society. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 137-61. Marotte, Bertrand. (1986). "Relaxed anti-scab law urged in Quebec deregulation study." Globe and Mail, July 5, A-4. . (1987). "Bourassa cultivates new image with appointments from business." Globe and Mail, February 2, A-5. McRoberts, Kenneth, and Dale Posgate. (1980). Quebec: Social Change and Political Crisis. 2nd ed. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart Ltd. Normandin, Pierre G., ed., (1986). Canadian Parliamentary Guide. Ottawa. Panitch, Leo., ed., (1977). The Canadian State: Political Economy and Political Power. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Panitch, Leo, and Donald Swartz. (1988). The Assault on Trade Union Freedoms. Toronto: Garamond Press. Quebec. (1986a). Comite sur la privatisation des societes d'Etat. De la Revolution tranquille . . . a Van deux mille. [Fortier Report]. . (1986b). Final Report of the Task Force on Deregulation. Regulate Less: Regulate Better. [Scowen Report]. . (1986c). Groupe de travail sur la revision des fonctions et des organisations gouvernementales. Rapport. [Gobeil Report]. Renaud, Marc. (1984). "New Middle Class in Search of Hegemony." AlainG. Gagnon, ed., Quebec: State and Society. Toronto: Methuen, 150-85. Rioux, Marcel, and Yves Martin, eds., (1964). French-Canadian Society. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Tanguay, A. Brian. (1987-1988). "Business, Labour and the State in the 'New' Quebec". American Review of Canadian Studies 17:4 (Winter), 395-408. Taylor, Norman W. "The French-Canadian Industrial Entrepreneur and His Social Environment." Marcel Rioux and Yves Martin, eds., French-Canadian Society. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 271-95.

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VII Party Finance, Party Organization, and Party Decline

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Khayyam Zev Paltiel and Theories of Public Financing Herbert E. Alexander UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA Khayyam Zev Paltiel was a Renaissance man. The breadth of his knowledge, the depth of his understanding, the height of his wisdom, the frequency of his insights, all attest to a unique human being with great talent and vision. Colleagues, students, friends, family, all learned from him on innumerable subjects. His range of concerns is manifest from the panel discussions listed for this conference. The overarching theme of "Democracy with Justice" is most appropriate because it informed all of Khayyam's thinking processes and his concerns. One remembers fondly his originality, his wit, his deep laughter, at times his outrage at things as they were. He was a cautious reformer but once he committeed himself to a set of principles he was steadfast and determined. Permit me a few reminiscences and thoughts. As I write, I reflect on how Khayyam would have savoured the recent events in Eastern Europe and the USSR. This will be a year of elections — unusual elections in some notable circumstances. Elections have become an extension of diplomacy, and there will be much to observe and study. Through our Research Committee on Political Finance and Political Corruption, established by the International Political Science Association, Khayyam heard papers and participated in discussions of transnational transfers of funds, country to country, from public or private sources, for party and election campaign purposes. He knew of the transfusions of foreign money into Spain and Portugal after dictatorships had been set up — and into Israel under starkly different circumstances and on a continuing basis. He would have been alert to flows of money into Poland and other Eastern European countries accompanying the efforts to build infrastructures, such as political parties and interest groups, that underpin free elections. Sadly, Khayyam passed on before our Research Committee Round Table at the University of Warsaw last spring enabled some of us to observe the Polish elections of June 4, 1989 (Alexander, 1989b). Khayyam's

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expansive mind would have had much to say about the movement toward democracy — we hope with justice — in these countries. He would have revelled in the unfolding irony called the end of ideology; while we perceive the demise of communist ideology we stand in awe at the sudden rise of the ideology of freedom, the right of peoples to choose their governments. That was his, and this is my, subject matter: elections. I will focus on what I know best: political finance and election reform. In these areas Khayyam was learned but always ready to listen to others and to learn from them. He was always quick to point out the unanticipated consequences as well as the intended results of the reforms he proposed. He was, of course, involved in reform both as an academic expert and as a government adviser. In fact, I met him only a few years before his service as Research Director of the Canadian Committee on Election Expenses, 1964-1966 (Canada, Committee on Election Expenses [Barbeau Commission], 1966a). The compendium of studies he directed and edited stands as a seminal work on Canadian government and processes (Canada, Committee on Election Expenses, 1966b), and led to far-reaching legislation. His later public service as an expert witness and consultant on legislation was rightful recognition by those who used his services of his knowledge and wisdom. On a personal note, I recall his and my continuing dialogue on the various roles of money in politics — one of our few differences, but a difference in emphasis and not of principle. I tend to stress political contributing as a form of political participation, ranking it with voting and other indices (see, for example, Nie, 1979:17 [table 22]; cf. Milbrath, 1965:18 [figure 3]); he emphasized contributing as a way to seek influence and power, and as an activity that could readily lead to corruption: hence the linkage of our Research Committee, which embraces both political finance and political corruption. He thought I was naive. I thought he was cynical. Of course, we were both right: there is much more ideologically-motivated giving than many admit, ranging, for example, from dues-paying party memberships to supporters of minor parties and lost causes; and of course, there are scandals from time to time, in country after country — the United States, West Germany, and Japan are among the most recent cases. Scandals represent a going over the line, an abuse of contributing, if you will, at times bordering on bribery (see, for example, Lowenstein, 1985; also Noonan, 1984). Just as there are needy politicians and greedy donors, we have also learned that there are greedy politicians seeking out needy donors. Extortion for political funds is not unknown, as Khayyam was quick to point out. Thus the connections of political finance and political corruption can be very close, indeed intimate. Khayyam always said: the key is

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transparency of contributions, the disclosure, which must be provided for by law. I am proud that Khayyam's posthumous article appeared in the recent book I edited, Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s (Paltiel, 1989:51-75; see also Paltiel, 1979:15-39), and that we dedicated the book to him. We miss him. We remember him with fondness. We honour his memory. In preparing this chapter, I canvassed Khayyam's writings and decided to focus on an article of his that gives expression to his views on government aid or assistance in politics and campaigns: in the United States and elsewhere it has now received the positive appellation of public funding, replacing the pejorative term subsidies. Summarizing his article, "Public Financing Abroad: Contrasts and Effects" (Paltiel, 1980:354-70), allows me some opportunity to elaborate and to inject my own views, to engage in the kind of dialogue that Khayyam loved to participate in — hopefully spirited dialogue, and informative.

Reviewing Paltiel's Views While Khayyam Zev Paltiel was interested in the broad field of comparative political financing, his main area of concentration was on the subject of public funding. He was interested particularly in the motives, or the goals, of public funding, both the real and the hidden. He sought to clarify what the democratic goals for public funding were, how those interested in democratic government felt public funding could bring about those goals, and why those whose motives were less altruistic also wanted public funding of political activity and elections. And, after an assessment of limited years of experience with public funding, he added the answers to the crucial questions: who benefits and in what ways? He laid out the rationale of the liberal democratic ideology and why the allocation of public funds to parties and candidates, and the regulation of election financing, seemed to be important to democratic goals. The motivation for public funding, as he articulated it, was that it is a means of assuring equality of opportunity for all candidates and political parties, and an instrument to help candidates and parties to reach out to the electorate whose support they seek. This equality of opportunity serves the electorate, the party and the candidate. The voters are benefited by being more fully informed and so are able to cast more intelligent votes. By equalizing the access of candidates to the electorate, the voters get a chance to know what policy alternatives are available and to learn about the platforms of the parties and the positions of the candidates.

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As far as candidates are concerned, access to public funding will help to reduce their need to engage in money-raising activities and to solicit large contributions from special interests to pay for campaign expenses. In consequence, they can express their views on issues more honestly, uninfluenced by whether such views might offend private contributors and possibly decrease private political funding. The candidates would be free, as Paltiel put it, of "the temptation to resort to questionable sources of funds" (Paltiel, 1980:354), and in this way public funding would make the electoral process more transparent and pure. Actually, as Paltiel noted as an aside, these rationales for public financing plans often obscure the real motives underlying a campaign for public funding, which may be much more mundane. Politicians, he contended, often found the cost of elections rising precipitously, requiring more and more contributions. An informed electorate, appalled by the huge amounts of money spent on elections and campaigning, was beginning to demand financial stringency. He also worried that the electorate perceives a taint of corruption in reliance on certain private financing sources, and might try to prohibit the use of such sources altogether. The funding of elections from the public exchequer seemed a very acceptable solution, particularly since that solution can also be conveniently used to support the rhetoric of democratic reform, satisying all the good intentions which people seek to realize through clean elections. For whatever reasons — good or simply real reasons — public funding has been instituted in most of the mature democracies in the world. Paltiel directed his talents to studying the methods by which public funding took place in those democracies. In his comparative research, he found a great variety of legal frameworks and methods, the variations depending on the particular country's national history and culture, its government structure (i.e., parliamentary, presidential, or a mixture of both), the strength or weakness of the traditional party system, and other variables. In this area he was particularly meticulous and classified the systems carefully, not only by their purposes but by the way in which the intentions were implemented. Public funding, Paltiel told us, takes place in a number of ways. Direct subvention is one. And there are a great number of ways in which direct subventions are made. As an example, some countries, such as Denmark, give subventions at the earliest sign of political election activity, with grants of money for parliamentary caucuses of recognized or registered parties. Other countries, such as Austria, Norway, Sweden, and Israel, give the parties an annual allocation for organizational expenses. Still others, such as West Germany and Puerto Rico, give

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cash advances or subsequent reimbursements for a portion of the total campaign expenses of qualifying parties and candidates. Another common means of public funding consists of grants or services for specific election activities, and these too cover a wide array of activities, from the most publicly oriented to the most parochial. Paying the costs of voter registration and permitting the free use of public facilities for meeting and other purposes are on one end of the scale. Paying the costs of press and information bureaus, mailing and bill-posting, paper, travel and transportation is another method; payments for these go directly to the parties or the candidates. Still other forms of public financial support are tailored to the specific requirements in particular countries: the payment for travel to nomination meetings, or the operation of women's and youth groups, or the subsidizing of party education and research foundations. The latter, particularly the West German Stiftungen, have been active in transnational transfers of funds.1 Finally, there are the indirect subsidies that are offered. Tax credits are sometimes given for contributions to parties or candidates, or tax deductions are allowed for contributions made to parties or candidates. Tax benefits are, of course, provided here in Canada. Paltiel also includes, as part of this indirect means of public funding, the unwitting contribution made from the public exchequer through the systematic kickbacks to the treasurers of their political parties by parliamentarians and public officials who are directly nominated or public servants who are directly appointed by the parties. And, of course, there is indirect assistance in the form of free access to broadcasting networks. In his intensive research and review of all these national systems of public funding for political and election activity, Paltiel found that there appeared to be a single commonality underlying every plan for public financing. Accordingly, he advanced a hypothesis, one that he felt was supported by the facts about public financing that he had discovered; it was that legislators have sought to stabilize the party systems and entrench their electoral positions through the institution of a regular, reliable, and predictable source of funds, by setting up a system of getting money, directly and indirectly, from public funds. In support of this thesis, he points out that, in every known instance, public subventions have been introduced by the parties in office — and there is no reason to expect incumbents to adopt measures that will be to their detriment. Support of the programmes of public funding comes not only from these parties in power, but also from their smaller coalition partners, and from the long-established major and minor opposition parties which have some reason to believe that eventually they too will be the party in office and will benefit.

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Paltiel maintained that any close scrutiny of the regulations governing the subvention aspect of public funding tends to corroborate the impression that the major promoters and beneficiaries are the incumbents and the established parties. He pointed out, with specific examples, that direct grants and specific grants for services are given to those parties and candidates which have already achieved a certain percentage of the vote. Even the indirect tax incentives, he noted, are biased toward those in power. Not only are the laws slanted toward those already in office, but there is a significant tendency to entrust the administration of these schemes to bodies made up, or subject to the overview, of representatives of the parliamentary parties. In the administration of the laws, a clear distinction is often made between the established parties inside parliament and those outside parliament, with the system tilted toward the former. Finally, he asserted, the biggest immediate beneficiaries of direct cash subsidies tend to be the central party organizations and the party staff professionals who serve them, except where laws or statutes make provision for funding regional or local party organizations. It was seen that, in many of the European countries, public subventions have been accompanied by a vast expansion in the apparatuses of the party organizations. As a result, there appears to have been a growing tendency toward political conformity and the freezing of limited available choices within the parties. Yet he also noted the apparent transformation of some parties from closed-membership groupings to open voters' parties, which stress the personalities of the top party leadership to the detriment of the party militants and middle-level leaders, and to the de-emphasis of ideological policies in election campaigns. To Paltiel, the end result is clear. Despite the fact that the regulation of campaign financing has fostered a degree of transparency and equity in the monetary aspects of the election process, the legitimizing of public subventions has made it easy for parties to resort to the state treasury to pay for rising political costs. Moreover, because the rules of public subvention were drawn up by the incumbents, new groups have found it more difficult to enter the competitive electoral struggle; the laws may actually promote ossification of the party systems. Finally, in subsequent discussion of the article I have focused on, Paltiel (1989) questioned the propriety of certain international activities of the party foundations. In all this, he warned, lies the danger that those who are allowed only limited participation in the democratic political process may feel themselves alienated from democratic methods of change and feel that they have no way of participating except through extraparliamentary

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opposition, sometimes leading to tactics of violent confrontation. Hence I interpret his conclusion to be that participation in public financing programmes should allow for eligibility of minor and fringe parties to the greatest extent possible.

Elaborations and Embellishments Now the dialogue begins. I want to elaborate and embellish certain of Paltiel's points in order to extend his analyses and thereby provide still more understanding. An additional goal is to further our recognition of the consequences of some of his formulations. In most of the countries with subsidies, governments fund the parties annually, not only at election time. Historically, most of the subsidies were given at first in small amounts to supplement private resources already available to the political process, and later increased when the system adjusted to the infusion of new funds. Particularly in parliamentary systems, political parties underwent growth and development that led to important transformations. Parties were no longer campaign organizations that were election-oriented. Because elections were not fixed but could occur whenever a vote of confidence was lost, the parties became large and permanent organizations, with education and research appendages, party presses, and party foundations. Because these party organizations are so large, they need constant support, and so fund raising is a continuous process. Money becomes so important that subtle changes occur in the system. Instead of raising money only for campaigns, parties must obtain it to maintain their organization. This in turn affects the government in parliamentary systems, because incumbents are enlisted to adopt public policy positions that will benefit the party. As a result, government and parliamentary leaders are involved day by day in helping to sustain the parties. Thus permanent campaigning occurs, triggering permanent fund raising and pressuring incumbents to work more and more to get money for the party. This outcome has implications for theories of representation if parties compete with constituents as a main focus of interest for elected representatives. Moreover, as Karl-Heinz Nassmacher points out (1989:250-51), public funding may transform parties from voluntary associations into political institutions, shifting the balance of power to a party bureaucracy, and possibly centralizing the locus of power within the party. These developments are also relevant to political party theory, to the extent that parties move from closed membership to open voter parties, as illustrated by Otto Kirchheimer's "catch-all parties"; this increases costs by political consultants — the modern-day Hessians — to apply their

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skills to the employment of new techniques, intended to attract new voters (Kirchheimer, 1966:177-200). This in turn creates new demands for public funding, or for increased amounts of it. Hence the circle widens. This conceptualization leads to a little recognized similarity developing in both candidate-oriented election systems, such as that of the United States, and in party-centred systems such as most of the parliamentary democracies of the United Kingdom and Western Europe. Increasingly, both systems tend toward permanent campaigning (Blumenthal, 1980); both now embrace continual fund raising, and both now use political consultants. All of these conditions call for more and more money that the private sector may not be able to supply reliably and in adequate quantities. Hence more calls for more public financing.

Understanding Money and Politics2 With this bridging concept of the interrelationships between governments and political parties, one which Paltiel felt supported his hypothesis that legislators tend to use the instrument of public financing to stabilize the party system and entrench their own electoral positions, we can raise the analysis of money and politics to a further conceptual level. The effort to understand the relationships between money and politics is as old as the development of political theory. From Aristotle on, many political philosophers have regarded property or economic power as the fundamental element in politics. The problem of money in politics, according to some, has been that it reflects and exacerbates economic inequalities that exist in society. The traditional remedy, broadly based political power, provided through universal suffrage, is seen as helping to mitigate the political effects of disparities in economic resources. The wealth of one group may thus be matched by the human resources or voting power of another. I myself wrote in this vein in a companion piece to Paltiel's (Alexander, 1980:333-53). Now, however, another factor must be incorporated into the equation. I refer to the power of government to set the rules of electoral competition and especially to provide public funds for use in the electoral process. The government factor has altered the complexion of the process. In the context of political donations made by individuals or groups in virtually all societies, money serves as the significant medium by which command over both energies and resources can be achieved (Alexander, 1984:3). A distinguishing characteristic of money is that it can be transferred without necessarily revealing its original source. In politics, the convertibility of money is of particular advantage. Money can buy goods, skills and services. Other resources in turn can be converted into

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political money, an option which is implicit, for example, in an incumbent's use of public office to award contracts and jobs, control the flow of information, and make appropriate decisions. Skillful use of ideology, issues, and the perquisites or promises of office attracts financial support to political actors — in legitimate forms such as contributions or dues, or unethical or illegitimate forms such as personal bribes. But money is symbolic. The deeper competition is for power, prestige or other values. In this sense, money is only an instrument; its importance lies in the ways in which it is used by people to gain influence by converting it into other resources or by using it in combination with other resources to achieve political power. This conventional analysis, however, focuses only on the role or impact of private money in the political process. Little has been said of the role of money when the funding is public; that is, when it flows directly from the government and only indirectly from the taxpayers. A whole new set of questions arises: Is money neutral when it comes from government sources? Does the piper call the tune when the government is the source? What influences are then at work? How is government power utilized in the electoral and political arenas? Does government funding lead to more or to less competition? Is equality of opportunity enhanced or diminished? These are questions that have rarely been asked, and attempts to seek answers have been rarer still. If we are to find the answers, a new framework of understanding must be constructed. Political power is built upon three constituencies: the electoral, the financial, and the organizational. These in turn are composed of three sources of political power: numbers of people, material resources, and social organizations (Bierstadt, 1950:737). Both human and material resources are necessary to acquire, retain and nurture political power, resources which can be purchased or volunteered and which, if they are to be used effectively, must be organized, patterned and channelled in varying combinations (Alexander, 1976:413-14). Thus human resources, that is, numbers of persons situated in electoral constituencies, find political expression through their elected representatives who are grouped according to political party. The power of social organizations, or interest groups, stems from the combination of two factors, people and material resources. And material resources, or just plain resources, are brought to bear upon the political process in many ways, through many available channels. Government fits into this three-constituency formulation because it comprises both the organizational and resource components. But government power embodies several characteristics that distinguish it from

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the private-sector elements that make for power. First, government sets the rules by which the three constituencies operate; it controls elections and sets the parameters for the use of aggregations of people, resources and social organizations. Second, government can apply sanctions, or the threat thereof, which the private sector does not have available, namely, the enforcement of the laws. When government imposes contribution or expenditure limitations, or when it prohibits contributions from certain sources or provides direct or indirect assistance, the equations change. In these senses, government is not necessarily a neutral factor but becomes a player that might help or hurt certain other players. In the context of the three constituencies — electoral, financial and organizational — one can argue that the central one is money, that is, the financial dominates the other two, the electoral and the organizational (Bretton, 1980:331). However, one might also argue that government, with its powerful control of the political arena, through its ability to impose sanctions and its tax-supported capacity to provide significant funds for parties or candidates, has supplanted money as a central factor, or, at the least, has reinforced money as a crucial factor by making it available in large amounts. Of course, the cynical might argue that, since government is often controlled or influenced by monied interests, the two may be synonymous.

Public Financing in Comparative Perspective Paltiel, as I have mentioned, enunciated the rationale for public financing and why the regulation of election financing seemed important for the achievement of democratic goals. On those grounds, or for reasons just as compelling, the principle of government funding of political parties or candidates or election campaign activities has become well established across the democratic world. Attempts have been made by many countries to formulate systems of public funding of elections that are open and fair. At least 21 countries have forms of public funding, as have certain provinces in Canada and Australia, some American states, counties and cities, and some West German and Austrian Lander, among other jurisdictions (Alexander, 1989a:14-15, tables 1 and 2). But the implications of the various public funding plans for the democratic political system have raised questions that challenge certain basic assumptions. Some analysts have posed the possibility that fundamental changes in the political structure of electoral processes have results which are neither beneficial nor benign. Some critics, for example, have argued that the state is not obligated to help meet the financial needs of parties, and that the government should not relieve parties of the risk of failure and the responsibility

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that goes along with it (Schneider, 1989). By protecting parties from the failure which results from a lack of public enthusiasm for their platforms, public financing may make it less necessary for parties to respond to the real political issues of the day, thereby interfering with the effectiveness and responsiveness of the political system as a whole. Other critics have charged that in most democracies private donations cannot be completely prohibited by law and are not necessarily morally wrong. In fact, they argue, private donations are a form of political participation to be encouraged. Further, as Michael Pinto-Duschinsky has noted, public financing tends to supplant individual contributions to political campaigns rather than those of large corporations and labour unions, often the original targets of such legislation (Pinto-Duschinsky, 1981:9). When public financing programmes are enacted, some individuals may feel that government has assumed primary responsibility for the financing of politics and therefore they need no longer give. Organized interests, whose donations are more closely tied to their lobbying activities, continue to contribute in any case. While public financing may strengthen the position of party professionals by assuring their livelihood, in other ways it may weaken parties. As an extension of Pinto-Duschinsky's point that public financing tends to discourage contributions from individuals, government subsidies may also create a distance between the parties and the electorate by relieving the parties from even making the attempt to solicit individual contributions. "Once party professionals are released from the need to raise money from the ordinary members," he writes, "a major incentive for recruitment is lost" (Pinto-Duschinsky, 1981:292). Evidence suggests that this is the case at least in Israel, West Germany and the United States. In this context, limitations on private giving raise still more constitutional and public policy questions, and these must be considered part of the subsidy question. Apart from philosophical objections to public financing, the operational and pragmatic problems of setting up a public funding framework that enhances an open and fair election process are very great. The main design difficulties in public funding are in determining who should receive the subsidy, and how and when it should be made. Presumably, the goal of government subsidization is to help serious contestants, and at the same time to retain enough flexibility to permit an opportunity to challenge those in power, without supporting with significant tax dollars parties or candidates merely seeking free publicity and without attracting so many candidates or parties that the electoral

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process is degraded. Accordingly, the most difficult problems in working out fair subsidies are definitional. For example, how does one define major and minor parties? In the American system, how does one distinguish between serious and frivolous candidates seeking nomination? To eliminate the latter, certain screening devices have been used, based upon past vote, numbers of petitions, posting of money bonds, or other means. But some of these means require "start-up" funds, or masses of volunteers to get petitions signed, and other plans, such as matching incentives, require popular appeal that can best be achieved through incumbency or years of exposure, which also costs money. While any standards must be arbitrary, certain protections should be provided to ensure that unpopular voices are heard. Policy makers must ensure that public financing plans do not do violence to equality of opportunity; an ill-advised — or ill-intended — formula might do damage to that principle.3 As we have already noted, Paltiel observed that, by enacting laws which, in practice, do not allow equal chances for parties to emerge and grow, policy makers run the risk of alienating citizens from the democratic process. In turn, he wrote, such alienation "may stimulate recourse to extra-parliamentary opposition tactics of violent confrontation" (Paltiel, 1980:370). We have already said that all standards are arbitrary; clearly he saw that some which are more arbitrary than others may cause unwanted consequences. In addition to the difficulties inherent in designing an equitable form of direct or indirect state aid, there is always the possibility that the power of government may intentionally be used unfairly, through employment practices, the granting of contracts, threats or changes in policies, or the use of the airwaves or the mails, to favour one party or candidate over another. Public funding may increase the power of government to bias the political process if the party in power gains control over the funding of its opposition. The advantages of incumbency extend to the formulas used to define who gets public funding and under what conditions. As Paltiel wrote, the laws regulating public funding can lead to institutionalization of existing party systems, generally favour central party organizations over local ones, freeze relationships among major parties or dominant coalitions, or lock out new or emerging movements while maintaining current practices, perhaps after support for them has diminished (Paltiel, 1980:364-70). What is at stake in the consideration of political financing is the viability of free elections. In the past, questions have been raised regarding the dominance of private money in elections. Now the entry

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of the government itself into the game, through public funding, extends such concerns in considerable measure.

Conclusion In the past decades, public funding has emerged as an important force in democratic systems, largely as the result of concern about past abuses attributable to the dominance of private money and private influences in the political process. Now that public funding is in place in so many of the mature democracies, new issues have emerged concerning the political consequences of this influx of public money into the political system. The task for public policy making in this context is to strike an appropriate balance between the competing forces of private and public monies. While there are common issues — and, perhaps, even imperatives — regarding both public and private sources of funding, accumulated experience seems to indicate that the appropriate mixture is best decided by individual countries, in the context of their own particular processes and cultures. Public funding has not been in existence long enough for its impact to be evaluated conclusively. It remains to be seen whether more countries will adopt public funding, and with what mixture of public and private funds. As Hans-Peter Schneider points out with regard to the latter, it is important for government to take suitable measures to support the efforts of parties to raise private funds from members or the citizenry at large (Schneider, 1989). This is in accordance with the notions that parties should seek to remain independent of the state and that citizens' rights to participate financially should be assured. This analysis of the various roles of government affecting the uses of money in politics recognizes the possibility that its regulations, and the infusion of money, may affect the outcome of elections. In weighing the governments' unique role in the electoral process, and in building a conceptual framework relating to governments' roles, it is imperative to recognize that, however well-intentioned their motives in enacting laws, unintended as well as intended consequences may result. The consequences of government policies do not always impact equally on all parties or candidates. Some accommodate better than others. The party or parties in power may regulate to their advantage, or may write laws that tend to squeeze out minor or emerging parties. In order to progress, a tradeoff may be necessary, in which the greater good overweighs the occasional hurts. I have stressed the consequences of governments' activities, not in order to criticize their roles but to admit their presence as significant actors in the electoral process. Previous theoretical formulations have

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failed to take the roles of government into account, but we must now extend these analyses. While further experience and refinement are necessary before authoritative conclusions and a fully integrated theory can be presented, the additional dimension of government, which involves providing dollars and imposing regulations, and affects both aggregates of voters and concentrations of wealth, is something that we must, from now on, appreciate and evaluate. What Paltiel started, I have tried to round out and expand. His analyses have stimulated me to carry on his work. I hope I have added to them, to our broader understanding of the intersections of money and politics, and to the roles public monies and regulations play, not only in evolving political theory, but also in political reality.

NOTES 1 Party foundations are special organizations established by parties for continuing political research and education. They receive public subsidies in Austria, Israel, the Netherlands, and West Germany. The West German party foundations are also involved in international activities, such as the Konrad Adenauer Foundation's work establishing co-operatives, community development projects and trade unions in Ceylon and Latin America, and the Frederic Ebert Foundation's assistance to fraternal parties in Italy and Spain. 2 The substance of this section and the one that follows is derived, with modifications, from Alexander, 1989a:9-23. 3 Examples are in West Germany and Spain, explained in detail in Alexander, 1989a:17-18.

REFERENCES Alexander, Herbert E. (1976). "Campaign Resources." Dictionary of American History. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 413-414. . (1980). "Political Finance Regulation in Internationa] Perspective." Michael J. Malbin, ed., Parties, Interest Groups, and Campaign Finance Laws. Washington: American Enterprise Institute, 333-53. . (1984). Financing Elections: Money, Elections and Political Reform, 3rd ed. Washington: Congressional Quarterly Press. . (1989a). "Money and Politics: Rethinking a Conceptual Framework." Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 9-23. . (I989b). "Solidarity Ushers in an Era of Pluralism." Los Angeles Times, June 15. Bierstadt, Robert. (1950). "An Analysis of Social Power." American Sociological Review 15, 737.

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Blumenthal, Sidney. (1980). The Permanent Campaign. New York: Simon and Schuster. Bretton, Henry. (1980). The Power of Money: A Political-Economic Analysis with Special Emphasis on the American Political System. Albany: State University of New York Press. Canada, Committee on Election Expenses [Barbeau Commission]. (1966a). Report. Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Canada, Committee on Election Expenses. (1966b). Studies in Canadian Party Finance. Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Kirchheimer, Otto. (1966). "The Transformation of Western European Party Systems." Joseph LaPalombara and Myron Weiner, eds., Political Parties and Political Development. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 177200. Lowenstein, Daniel H. (1985). "Political Bribery and the Intermediate Theory of Politics." UCLA Law Review, 32:4, 784-851. Malbin, Michael J., ed., (1980). Parties, Interest Groups, and Campaign Finance Laws. Washington, B.C.: American Enterprise Institute. Milbrath, Lester W. (1965). Political Participation: How and Why Do People Get Involved in Politics? Chicago: Rand McNally and Co. Nassmacher, Karl-Heinz. (1989). "Structure and Impact of Public Subsidies to Political Parties in Europe: the Examples of Austria, Italy, Sweden and West Germany." Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 236-67. Nie, Norman H., Sidney Verba, and John R. Petrocik. (1979). The Changing American Voter. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Noonan, John Thomas. (1984). Bribes. New York: Macmillan. Paltiel, Khayyam Zev. (1979). "The Impact of Election Expenses Legislation in Canada, Western Europe, and Israel." Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Political Finance. Sage Electoral Studies Yearbook, 5. Beverly Hills and London: Sage Publications, 15-39. . (1980). "Public Financing Abroad, Contrasts and Effects." Michael J. Malbin, ed., Parties, Interest Groups and Campaign Finance Laws. Washington: American Enterprise Institute, 354-70. — . (1989). "Canadian Election Expense Legislation, 1963-1985: A Critical Appraisal or Was the Effort Worth It?" Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 51-75. Pinto-Duschinsky, Michael. (1981). British Political Finance, 1830-1980. Washington: American Enterprise Institute. Schneider, Hans-Peter. (1989). "The New German System of Party Funding: the Presidential Committee Report of 1983 and its Realization." Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 220-35.

Ethical Elections: Political Finance and Related Issues in France and Ireland* Kenneth M. Gibbons UNIVERSITY OF WINNIPEG "Political finance has always been enveloped in an aura of mystery." Khayyam Z. Paltiel (1970a:3) "The collective or public good must be perceived as something else: clean, fair, honest elections."

Gary C. Jacobson (1980:202) The centrality of "clean, fair, honest elections" — what might reasonably be called ethical elections — in a democratic system is widely understood by citizens, politicians and academics alike. The very nature of democratic legitimacy rests, in large part, on the integrity of the electoral process, however this integrity might be defined. Given normal expectations typical of many sociopolitical concepts, this definition will vary in detail from one political system to another, or from one subsystem to another within the same political system. Nevertheless, the publicly perceived need for ethical elections seems almost a banality, until it is confronted by Paltiel's accurate portrayal of political finance as existing within "an aura of mystery." The degree to which such mystery exists may vary from system to system, and from subsystem to subsystem, yet it is surely one of the key factors in assessing the ethicality of elections and, in turn, the legitimacy of the system. Moreover, it also seems reasonable to assert that one important way to reduce the mystery and, concomitantly, to increase the ethicality of elections is to create appropriate public guidelines (e.g., laws) for various electoral activities, including political financing. The author would like to thank the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the University of Winnipeg for the financial support they gave to this project, and Betsy Gibbons and Pratik Modha for their research assistance.

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The lifting of the "aura of mystery," both in the academic and practical sense, was a major part of Khayyam Paltiel's special contribution to Canadian political research (Paltiel, 1970a, 1970b, 1975, 1976, 1985; Canada, Committee on Election Expenses, 1966). As well, he was an important part of a larger international body of scholars (often American) who devoted, and still devote, their energies to this important aspect of democratic legitimacy (Jacobson, 1980; Alexander, 1972, 1984; Heard, 1960; Pinto-Duschinsky, 1981). It is important to stress that this research has had an obvious impact on the development of recently formalized guidelines (legislation, etc.) regarding political finance. These same contributions rarely discuss other, ethically dubious election activities (fraud, vote-buying, "dirty tricks," etc.), but clearly the formal prohibitions relevant to these practices predate these works and are largely outside the normal range of controversy, except in terms of their application to specific cases. Even so, some controversial issues do exist at the fringes of the ethical elections debate and these often relate to the political finance question, directly or indirectly (especially when this term is defined to mean "campaign"). Discussion of these "fringe" or subsidiary issues will form part of my analysis in this chapter. It is clear that an international literature on ethical elections (especially political finance) exists. It is worth noting, however, that the English-language version of this literature is — unsurprisingly — largely devoted to English-speaking countries. At least, this was the general view expressed at the concluding session of the International Political Science Association's Research Committee on Political Finance and Political Corruption, at their Round Table held at Bellagio, Italy in 1987. Exceptions were noted, but also mentioned were a number of democracies for which English-language literature, both on party finance and on the related area of political corruption, was rather rare. Examples of the latter included, inter alia, Belgium, Ireland, Luxembourg and France.1 For each of these countries, one could suggest the "aura of mystery" about "clean, fair, honest elections" remains, at least for most Englishspeaking academics. As a result of this collectively held perspective, this author has initiated a research project on party finance and political corruption in these four countries, which is partly based on library research gathered in Europe in 1988. Due to the limitations of that research and of the space permitted in this analysis, we will here address the situation in only two of these four countries: France and Ireland.

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Conceptual Dimensions The discussion of political finance and its related issues has been placed in the context of "ethical elections." This term is used for two reasons. First, it seems to summarize rather neatly the observations made at the very start of this discussion. Secondly, it also avoids the more starkly uncompromising term "corrupt elections." The latter point is based on the assumption that the issues under review here are not clearly within the realm of "corruption," though they may fall into that categorization in particular cases. Rather, the intent is to suggest that such issues raise ethical quandaries, which often fall far short of implying outright corruption.2 Indeed, the provision of reasonable political finance regimes indicates, instead, the existence of a strong sense of ethical political behaviour. The ethical quandary, should it exist, is normally the result of the absence of any such political finance regime, or at least the absence of what might be regarded generally (i.e., within the given society) as a "reasonable" regime. These absences are identified by the level of public and academic debate surrounding political finance issues, and by the tone of this debate. Three dimensions of the ethical elections idea will be discussed. The primary concern is political finance (which incorporates the narrower term "campaign finance," and applies to both party and candidate), but subsidiary attention will be given to two dimensions which, either directly or indirectly, relate to the political finance issue and, therefore, the ethical election concept. These two subsidiary dimensions are "multiple office-holding" and "local notables." The relevance of the first dimension to ethical elections seems evident, but the latter two dimensions — which have particular significance for France and Ireland — require some explication. The multiple office-holding concept relates to the ability of elected officials in some countries to hold two or more public offices concurrently. This phenomenon is no longer familiar to North Americans, but it is still practised in France and Ireland. The issue raised by this concept is whether such multiple office-holding provides unfair, and hence unethical, advantages to some participants in the electoral process, in a fashion which might have the same effect as illegitimate or corrupt political finance. Political finance rules have been created and modified in certain jurisdictions as a means of making elections more ethical or fair. The question might be asked, then: "Is multiple office-holding an ethical election issue?" Similarly, and often in connection with the last point, the role of "local notables," a group that might sometimes be called local "power brokers" in the language of clientelist literature, also needs illumination.

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In the analysis which follows, local notables might be politicians who hold two offices, wherein the local office provides a power base (ethically or not, as this is yet to be decided) for national office. Equally, if not more likely is the unelected local notable acting as a power broker "behind the scenes," perhaps as a source of party finance or, more broadly, as the chief organizer of a party "machine" which provides money and other resources for electoral purposes. Once again, the question can be raised: "Is this an ethical situation?" Broadly speaking, political finance literature tends to give little attention to the two subsidiary dimensions discussed above. What follows is therefore a rather preliminary and cursory examination. Nonetheless, it is apparent that these dimensions do require some discussion if we are to attempt to lift, even if only partially, the "aura of mystery" relating to "clean, fair, honest elections" in France and Ireland. With this caveat in mind, let us turn to an analysis of each of the three dimensions, starting with the primary concern: political finance.

Political Finance The debate over political finance has taken different directions in the two countries studied. France has only recently moved toward seriously regulating the political finance issue with its new law relating to "la transparence financiere de la vie politique" (Loi organique, no 88-226 du 11 mars 1988). The new law, which extensively amends a law of 1962, addresses campaign finance for presidential elections and deputies of the National Assembly. (It also deals with the declaration of patrimoine on the part of members of Parliament, but this is another topic.) The mechanisms for applying this law were contained in a companion law (Loi no 88-227 du 11 mars 1988). The inspiration for these new laws on financial "transparency" in political life came, at least in part, from a particular French concern for what is generally called "1 'argent cache" or "1'argent secret" (i.e., hidden or secret money), which is said to be available to ministers in the first case, and parties in the second (Gibbons, 1989a:10; Jeanneney, 1981; Deslhiat and Mare, 1988:11-14; Campana, 1976). This hidden or secret money is often alleged to be used for campaign purposes, such as in a recent (post-law) case relating to influence peddling in the city of Nancy, where the Ralhement pour la RepubUque (RPR) was alleged to have benefited from gifts amounting to 10% of the cost of establishing new businesses in the area. The money was said to have been collected by means of issuing false bills to the companies through the local chamber of commerce (Rouard, 1988).

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Earlier cases which occurred before the law's passage apparently led to a swelling of interest in political finance reform in the pre-1988 period. This interest can be seen as coming from four "levels": the public, academia, the print media and the political class. Public interest was evident in a report from a national survey sample conducted in 1978, where 59% of respondents supported state financing of parties (Lardeyret, 1979-80:96). Academic interest was noted in a number of publications appearing in the period just prior to the law's enactment, including a full issue of the journal Problemes politiques et sociaux (Masclet, 1985; Masclet and Mutignon, 1986; Lenain, 1987:65-66). Media interest was reflected in a feature article which appeared in the news weekly, Le Point, in 1987, entitled "Les finances secretes des partis" (Coignard, 1987). Finally, the interest of the political class, and especially the Union pour la democratic francaise (UDF) parliamentarians, was manifested in numerous articles in journals as well as a notable "parliamentary" debate initiated by Raymond Barre in mid-1979 (L'Annee politique, 1979:80-81, 98-99). The law which emerged out of this background provides for public financing of parties (through reimbursement) proportionate to the parties' seats in the National Assembly and Senate, and of candidates who received 5% of the first round vote, be they candidates for the Parliament or for the presidency. It also addresses the issue of ceilings for expenses for parliamentary candidates and presidential candidates. These stand at 500,000 FF for deputies and 120 million FF for presidential candidates (140 million FF in the second round). It also establishes limits for campaign donations at 20,000 FF for individuals (personnes physiques) and 50,000 FF for companies (personnes morales). Certain corporate donations are forbidden, e.g., by casinos. Gifts in kind cannot exceed 20% of the total contributions. Criticism has already been directed at the campaign finance law. Political scientist Yves Meny has argued that "les possibilites 'd'evasion' sont trop nombreuses, les instruments de controle trop imparfaits . . ." (Meny, 1988:19). Nonetheless, he concluded his analysis on a modestly hopeful note (applying the term "glasnost" to the new law), saying that amelioration can occur and, if so, "consideree sous cet angle, la nouvelle loi constitue une contribution critiquable mais non negligeable a 1'assainissement d'un probleme vieux comme la Republique" (Meny, 1988:19). Journalist Marc Riglet, writing in the same journal as Meny, was far more negative. He suggested that Parliament had produced "un bel oxymoron" which he called "1'opaque transparence," because the law still hid so much from the public eye (Riglet, 1988:4; italics in original). While such disparate views may suggest rough times for the acceptance

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of the law, an even larger problem exists with the recent Constitutional Court decision to annul parts of the law. It had particular concern for the 5% rule and its effect on democratic values.3 In Ireland, the debate over political finance might best be understood as a non-debate. The issue is rarely discussed in academic (or other) circles, and when it is, it is usually prefaced with remarks such as "party finance in Ireland is shrouded in secrecy" (Gallagher, 1985:130). There is no law on political finance, in regard either to limitations or disclosure of revenues or to expenses for either party organizations or candidates (Gallagher, 1985:130). This silence on political finance has been acknowledged by informal "elite" interviews.4 Nonetheless, political finance does occasionally focus attention. Journalistic "memoirs" or essays are one source of rare insight into this issue, though these are normally offered, at best, in cryptically brief asides. One such illustration is the reference to "Taca" (gift), a group of businessmen who contribute money to Fianna Fail, Ireland's perennial leading party (Coogan, 1987:19). However, some academic work has touched upon the political finance question if only in a brief account within a broader work. Two recent examples include short passages in Michael Gallager's Political Parties in the Republic of Ireland (1985:130-31) and Peter Mair's The Changing Irish Party System (1987:106-13). According to Mair, and, by way of confirmation, in a recent interview with a diplomatic official, there is no obligation for the parties to publish data on income and expenditure. Even so, limited data are provided regularly, particularly on the parties' head office expenditure and income. As one would expect, the amounts spent and raised (calculated in 1975 Irish pounds) have increased dramatically in the period 1976-1985, especially for the two major parties. Nonetheless, specifics on either expenditure or data are difficult to obtain. On the income side, this cloudiness results from the parties' practice of drawing their funds from undifferentiated "Trustees' funds" (Mair, 1987:106-12). While the parties themselves are relatively secretive about their finances, the state does play a formal role in the finance question. Since 1938, the government has provided aid to parliamentary opposition parties, which are required to hold a minimum of seven seats in the Bail (lower house) to qualify for aid. In 1985, Fine Gael, the leading opposition party, would have received about 153,000 Irish pounds (punts) and the second opposition party, Labour, would have received about 76,000. Parties also receive assistance in forms recognizable to most parliamentary systems: secretarial assistants for TDs (MPs), and administrative assistants for each party proportionate to the number of seats the party holds in the Dail (Mair, 1987:112-13). The state broadcasting system,

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RTE, also provides a system of allocating party broadcast time during the pre-election period (Sinnott, 1978:120-22). Interestingly, despite the relative absence of political finance rules in Ireland, it seems that there is little or no pressure for reform. One possible explanation for this may be that money is not as significant a factor in Irish elections as it might be in France or elsewhere. This argument is based on the widely held notion that Irish politics are personal and localized politics (Bax, 1976; Carty, 1981; Chubb, 1982; Prager, 1986). This characteristic is partly the result of the peculiarities of the electoral system. Ireland has multi-member districts with a single transferable vote. This system promotes both interparty and intraparty competition, that is to say, given a relatively stable party vote in many districts, there is much competition between candidates of the same party. This situation manifests itself in the strong focus given by candidates to questions of local constituency interest and a campaign style which is more personal than media-oriented. Thus, Roland Sturm notes, "all prospective Irish TDs relied on personal canvassing and only 68 per cent on the electronic media" (1986:67). Chubb (1982:154-57) speaks of the need for voters to be "carefully nurtured" in terms of personal contacts, and this is particularly so in the areas outside of Dublin. This personalized style of politics is said to be expected or even desired, in other words it is not condemned as unethical or unfair by academic or popular literature. Consequently, it can be argued, personal canvassing is unaffected by financial considerations, save the trivial travelling expenses in what are small constituencies by Canadian geographical standards. In this limited sense, the role of money in elections is partially replaced with the role of personal contacts, and the issue of fair (perhaps even ethical) elections shifts from the area of income and expenditure to the possibilities of access to the resources "in kind" which are implied by the use of a personal contact system of electioneering. It is at this point that the argument turns briefly to the two subsidiary issues raised earlier: multiple office-holding and local notables. Each of these issues would seem to have a bearing on the notion of personalized (as opposed to "financialized") elections and their fairness or ethicality. In other words, by focusing exclusively on party finance, are we missing an important part of the fairness issue through ignoring election resources other than money?

Multiple Office-Holding, Local Notables and Ethical Elections Both France and Ireland permit, and perhaps even encourage, the holding of both national and local offices by the same person at the same

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time. This practice is called cumul des mandats in France, where it has been a significant issue for political reform in recent years and led, in 1985, to legislative changes which excluded mayors of cities over 20,000 in population (other than Paris), from holding national office at the same time (Masclet, 1986:217). In Ireland, it is common practice to be both a TD (member of Parliament) and an MCC (member of a county council) at the same time. This phenomenon, reported by Bax (1970:185) to apply to about 70% of TDs, still exists in roughly the same proportion today. Unlike France, however, Ireland shows no signs of reforming this practice, and nothing indicates that it is thought to constitute a problem for electoral fairness or ethics. As well, both countries have a tradition of clientelism, particularly in regions outside their capital cities, wherein local notables (some would say "power brokers") can be a less visible force behind the politician's electoral success. While the literature on the application of this notion to France is not extensive, it does exist (Gremion, 1976; Donneur and Padioleau, 1982). On the other hand, clientelist interpretations of Irish politics abound (Bax, 1970, 1976; Carty, 1981; Komito, 1984; Hazelkorn, 1986). Again, while the literature on clientelism in France tends to be reformist in tone, the Irish literature — even when censorious — strongly suggests that the pattern of clientelism, that is to say, of local notables referred to as "gombeenmen" exercising inordinate local influence on elections, is consistent with Irish culture, at least in the rural areas (Gibbon and Higgins, 1975). The clientelist, or local notable, system is consistent with the traditional North American concept of "machine politics," wherein exchanges occur for partisan or personal political advantage. Hence, in Ireland, the politicians provide access to grants, housing, welfare, and contracts (Hazelkorn, 1986:335). In return, politicians earn essential local support whereby "local notables provided money, canvassers and some block votes at election time" (Komito, 1984:182). Clearly then, the process is not limited to electoral behaviour, as it incorporates an administrative "go-between" role for the "gombeenman" and the politician capable of supplying administrative favours or access (which are illusory, since most of the "gifts" to citizens are actually entitlements). This, in turn, provides the motivation for citizens to become part of the electoral "machine." Similarly, the cultivation of access is an important aspect of this relationship in France, where access to the state apparatus "s'exerce par 1'intermediaire des notables locaux qui constituent les relais privilegies . . ." (Gremion, 1976:166).

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The borderline between what constitutes a local notable issue and a multiple office-holding issue can become blurred when the notable is also the local elected official. While this point seems to be ignored in the Irish literature, it is recognized in the French. One writer speaks of the possibilities of transforming mayoralty into a "fiefdom," where municipal employees, who constitute — along with their families — more than 2% of the local population, become a power source (agents elecioraux) for both local and national elections (Froment-Meurice, 1982:47). This potential, perhaps even reality, in French politics may be detrimental to fair and ethical elections, in that local office holders (sometimes also "local notables") are given a distinct advantage over others in the electoral process. In this sense, multiple office-holding (which in France means, in some cases, holding two offices in addition to that of deputy of the National Assembly, e.g., mayor and one other local or regional office) can be seen as an extension of the political finance question, since it allows for the possibility of municipal employees providing "resources in kind" to the campaign. While not placed explicitly in this context, Masclet's article (1985) implicitly addresses the issue by combining the two concepts in the same analysis. Moreover, he conjures up the image of secret money relating to the connection between these issues when he refers to "sentiments ambigus a Fegard tant de la politique que de Pargent" (Masclet, 1985:44).

Conclusion: Patterns, Peculiarities and Prescriptions The discussion thus far has identified both patterns and peculiarities in the political finance issue and the related but subsidiary issues of local notables and multiple office-holding. These subsidiary issues, especially multiple office-holding, are peculiarly significant for France and Ireland, thus precluding direct comparison with the North American experience. Nonetheless, let us clarify these findings before suggesting prescriptions for future research and reform. The patterns and peculiarities which emerge are several. First, until recently, political finance was a secretive area in both countries, though this is beginning to change in France. In neither case does the openness of political finance approach North American standards, and, in Ireland, this situation is likely to continue for the foreseeable future. Second, local notables and multiple office-holding concerns exist in both systems, though this concern is apparently more externally generated in the Irish case. French concerns, particularly with regard to "cumul des mandats," are more likely to be expressed by internal (i.e.,

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French) analysts and some reforms have already taken place. Irish concerns seem to apply to the clientelist notion, but less so — if at all — to the issue of holding more than one office. Third, the linkage between the subsidiary issues and political finance at the broader level seems to be recognized and addressed in France, but largely ignored in Ireland. Again, while this is truer with respect to the multiple office-holding concept, it seems implicit in most clientelist approaches as well. In either case, the evidence produced on this connection so far has been less direct and less substantial than it should be. What prescriptions emerge from this analysis? First, in terms of research priorities, there is a notable lack of attention to the general political finance issue in Ireland, and this indicates a research vacuum that needs to be filled. The connection of local notables and county council membership to this broader issue is also worthy of more detailed investigation. Second, the French literature needs more direct evidential elaboration of the connection between the two subsidiary issues and the broader question of political finance. Currently, these connections are directly addressed, for the most part, by journalistic accounts in the popular media. The academic literature is more ambiguous in this regard. Third, at a practical politics level, both countries, but especially Ireland, need to address the political finance issue. The French have begun to do so, but have been criticized for being overly cautious in the changes they have put into effect. The transparency of their legislation is far less apparent than it could and should be. On the other hand, Ireland has shown a great reluctance to deal with this matter at all. Perhaps this attitude is partly due to the seemingly congenial relationship between politicians, academics and especially the popular media in Ireland, attributed to its relatively small size (Gibbons, 1989a:7). It is quite likely also due to the personal nature of electoral campaigns. Whatever the reason, it seems curious that this issue has generated so little attention in Ireland, when it has provoked a great furore elsewhere in the democratic world. Of course, this is an external view. From inside Ireland, there may be no perceived problem at all.

NOTES 1 This may be changing for France, given the recent paper by Christine Landfreid of the University of Heidelberg (1989). Unfortunately, at the time of this writing, a copy had not yet been acquired. A related, but far more narrowly focused, study was presented at the aforementioned IPSA

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Round Table. Its concern was the role of television as a political finance issue (Lawson, 1987). 2 This argument is an attempt to clarify the author's previously published discussions of "corrupt" campaign finance (Gibbons and Rowat, 1976:1112; Gibbons, 1989b:764). A fundamental distinction between corrupt and legitimate campaign financing is assumed to exist, where the latter is defined by formal provisions (regulations, laws, etc.) and by public opinion. 3 Interestingly, Paltiel also raised this question about Canadian political finance laws (Paltiel, 1985:10-11). 4 A telephone interview on 5 February 1990 with the First Secretary of the Irish Embassy in Ottawa confirmed that nothing had changed since 1985, or since this author's research visit to Ireland in 1988. He noted that, given his own extensive experience working at the Irish Parliament (Bail and Seanad), the issue was rarely raised in any significant way, though there were the occasional references to corporate donations and the like. This confirms informal interviews I had in 1988 with the Chief Librarian of The Irish Times and a government solicitor in Macroom, County Cork.

REFERENCES Alexander, Herbert E. (1972). Money in Politics. Washington, D.C.: Public Affairs Press. . (1984). Financing Politics: Money, Elections and Political Reform, 3rd ed. Washington, D.C.: Congressional Quarterly Press. Bax, Mart. (1970). "Patronage Irish Style; Irish Politicians as Brokers." Sociologische Gids 17, 179-91. . (1976). Harpstrings and Confessions: Machine-Style Politics in the Irish Republic. Assen, Netherlands: Van Gorcum. Campana, Andre. (1976). L'Argent secret: le financement des partis politiques et des campagnes electorates. Paris: Librairie Arthaud. Canada, Committee on Election Expenses. (1966). Studies in Canadian Party Finance. Ottawa: The Queen's Printer. Carty, R.K. (1981). Party and Parish Pump: Electoral Politics in Ireland. Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Chubb, Basil. (1982). The Government and Politics of Ireland, 2nd ed. London: Longman. Coignard, Sophie. (1987). "Les finances secretes des partis." Le Point 790:9 (novembre), 44-49. Coogan, Tim Pat. (1987). Disillusioned Decades: Ireland 1966-1987. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan. Deslhiat, Claude, and Mare, Christian. (1988). "La politique et 1'argent: legislations frangaise et etrangeres." Regards sur 1'actualite, Sommaire no. 140, 3-24.

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Donnettr, Andre, and Jean Padioleau. (1982). "Local Clientelism in PostIndustrial Society: The Example of the French Communist Party." European Journal of Political Research 10:1 (March), 71-82. Froment-Meurice, Anne. (1982). "Comment faire de sa mairie un fief." Pouvoirs 24, 45-55. Gallagher, Michael. (1985). Political Parties in the Republic of Ireland. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. Gibbon, Peter, and M.D. Higgins. (1975). "Patronage, Tradition and Modernisation: The Case of the Irish 'Gombeenman'." The Economic and Social Review 6:1 (October), 27-44. Gibbons, Kenneth M. (1989a). "Ethics in the Public Sector: A Canadian Exploration of Recent Irish and French Research." Paper presented to the Canadian Society for the Study of Practical Ethics Annual Conference, Laval University, Quebec City, May. . (1989b). "Variations in Attitudes Toward Corruption in Canada." A. Heidenheimer, M. Johnston and V. Levine, eds., Political Corruption: A Handbook. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 763-80. Gibbons, Kenneth M., and Donald C. Rowat, eds. (1976). Political Corruption in Canada: Cases, Causes and Cures. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Gremion, Pierre. (1976). Le pouvoir periphe'rique: bureaucrates et notables dans le systeme politique franqais. Paris: Editions du Seuil. Hazelkorn, Ellen. (1986). "Class, Clientelism and the Political Process in the Republic of Ireland." P. Clancy et al., eds., Ireland: A Sociological Profile. Dublin: Institute of Public Administration, 326-43. Heard, Alexander. (1960). The Costs of Democracy. New York: Vantage Press, 1960. Jacobson, Gary C. (1980). Money in Congressional Elections. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press. Jeanneney, J.-N. (1981). L'argent cache: milieux d'affaires et pouvoirs politiques dans la France du XXe siecle. Paris: Fayard. Kortiito, Lee. (1984). "Irish Clientelism: A Reappraisal." The Economic and Social Review 15:3 (April), 173-94. L'Annee politique. (1979). Paris: Editions du Moniteur. Landfreid, Christine. (1989). "An Introduction to Political Finance in France." Paper presented to the European Consortium for Political Research Workshop, April. Lardeyret, Guy. (1979-80). Le financement des partis politiques et des campagnes electorates. Memoire des DESS. Paris: Universite de Paris I. Lawson, Kay. (1987). "Political Control of Television in France." Paper presented to the International Political Science Association, Research Committee on Political Finance and Political Corruption Roundtable, Bellagio, Italy, May 14-19. Lenain, Pierre. (1987). Le clandestin politique. Paris: Economica, 1987.

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Mair, Peter. (1987). The Changing Irish Party System: Organisation, Ideology and Electoral Competition. London: Frances Pinter. Masclet, Jean-Claude. (1985). "Cumul des mandats et financement des partis politiques." Revue politique et parlementaire 919 (septembre-octobre), 44-62. . (1986). "Un remede homeopathique?" L'Actualite juridiqtte — Droit administratif 4, 20 avril, 214-20. Masclet, Jean-Claude, and Pierre Mutignon, eds. (1986). "Le financement public des partis." Problemes politiques et sociaux 527, 10 Janvier, 1-40. Meny, Yves. (1988). "Financement politique: la 'glasnost' a la frangaise." Revue politique et parlementaire 934 (mars-avril), 14-19. Paltiel, Khayyam Z. (1970a). "Contrasts Among the Several Canadian Political Finance Cultures." A.J. Heidenheimer, ed., Comparative Political Finance. Lexington, Mass.: B.C. Heath, 107-34. . (1970b). Political Party Financing in Canada. Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson. . (1975). "Campaign Financing in Canada and its Reform." H.R. Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls: The General Election of 1974. Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 181-208. . (1976). "Improving Laws on Financing Elections." K.M. Gibbons and D.C. Rowat, eds., Political Corruption in Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 295-99. . (1985). "Canadian Election Expense Legislation 1963-1985: A Critical Appraisal or Was the Effort Worth It?" Paper presented to the Annual Meeting of the Canadian Political Science Association, Montreal. Pinto-Duschinsky, Michael. (1981). British Political Finance 1830-1980. Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute. Prager, Jeffrey. (1986). Building Democracy in Ireland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Riglet, Marc. (1988). "Financement des partis: la vertu sans la rigueur." Revue politique et parlementaire 934 (mars-avril), 4-6. Rouard, Danielle. (1988). "L'enquete sur 1'affaire des fausses factures de Nancy souleve a nouveau le probleme du financement des partis." Le Monde, 22 novembre, 11, Sinnott, Richard. (1978). "The Electorate." H.R. Penniman, ed., Ireland at the Polls: The Dail Election of 1977. Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 35-67. Sturm, Roland. (1986). "Elections and the Electoral System." B. Girvin and R. Sturm, eds., Politics and Society in Contemporary Ireland. Aldershot, UK: Gower, 55-70.

Popular Financing of Parties in Quebec: An Analysis of the Financial Reports of Parties, 1978-1989 Louis Massicotte UNIVERSITE DE MONTREAL In his useful summary of world political finance, K.Z. Paltiel observed some years ago that parties generally had been unable to rely exclusively on individuals for raising funds, without the assistance of corporate, union or government bureaucracies (Paltiel, 1981). On 26 August 1977, royal assent was given in the Province of Quebec to a Bill (No. 2) regulating political party financing. This legislation was, and has remained, quite unique by Canadian standards, insofar as it prohibited contributions from corporations, labour unions and individuals living outside the province: only provincial electors could henceforth contribute to parties (Massicotte, 1984). What the new Act did was to make mandatory for all parties rules that had been followed by the Parti Quebecois when it was in opposition. Though other parties like the Bloc populaire and the Creditistes had tried earlier to rely solely on individual contributions (Paltiel, 1970; Stein, 1966; Comeau, 1982), the PQ was the first party to do it successfully. While the Act has been amended twice since then, its basic principles have stood unaltered, and entities authorized under its provisions have filed reports on their financial activities for each year, in addition to the reports on election expenses they had already been required to submit since 1963. In this chapter, I do not aim at discussing the rationale of the law. Rather, summarizing and updating a larger research project, I will analyze the financial reports submitted by parties from 1978 to 1989 inclusive, in order to answer some basic questions raised by this original scheme. For example, have parties been able, under such restrictive rules, to raise enough money to carry on their operations? What about the number of donors and the size of contributions? How centralized have parties become? Is the tax credit for contributions an effective incentive for small donations? Have parties become more independent of corporate interests?

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A Note on Sources Any study of this kind must begin with a critique of sources. The basic material comprises the financial reports submitted each year to the Chief Electoral Officer by the authorized parties, constituency associations and independent candidates. Since the enactment of Bill 2 the practice has been for the Chief Electoral Officer to print the contents of these reports so as to make them easily accessible to a wider public. The reports are admittedly imperfect for various reasons. Some fringe parties fail to report. Some figures are corrected the next year and must therefore be double-checked. Only the reports issued by authorized parties are certified by a professional accountant, while those of constituency associations are filed by volunteers, without checking by experts. A careful reading of the reports reveals that some mistakes may be made in good faith at this level. In addition, some data have been available only since 1982, when the legislation was amended so as to require their disclosure; such is the case notably for the general summary of assets and liabilities of parties, and for some categories of revenue. Finally, some items raise problems of definition: for example, the law requires the disclosure of the number of receipts issued for contributions, rather than the number of donors. This being said, there is no hard evidence at this stage that would cast serious doubt upon the general accuracy of the figures included in those reports, the only official data available on the financing of parties in the province. Like taxation statistics, census figures and the like, those reports may not be perfect, but they remain very informative for those who have an interest in the activities of parties. There have been rumours, based on newspaper clippings, that some corporations actually reimbursed some of their directors for their contributions to a party. Such practices would violate not only the spirit of the law, but, arguably, its provisions, since an elector must contribute "out of his own property." That these practices are technically possible is undoubted. Whether they are widespread or exceptions unfairly highlighted by opponents of the legislation is unknown for the moment. But in the absence of legal evidence, sound political science should be based on more than newspaper clippings or hearsay. In his testimony to the Royal Commission on Electoral Reform in 1990, the Chief Electoral Officer for Quebec dismissed those allegations as unsubstantiated so far. For the purposes of this study, I have assumed that most electors have complied with the Act, that contributions have been honestly reported, and that the official responsible for the implementation of the Act was neither blind nor a liar.

Louis MASSICOTTE 385 Main Findings The provincial political scene has remained essentially bipartisan throughout the period covered. The Quebec Liberal Party and the Parti Quebecois, taken together, have typically accounted for 96-97% of contributions, of donors, of expenses, and of membership fees of all authorized entities for the period 1978-1989. This mirrors the dominance of those parties in elections after 1976. Indeed, at no moment has any of the numerous smaller parties threatened to supplant one of the two major parties, and the Union Nationale, the Creditistes and the Parti national populaire, which existed at the time the Act came into force, have since disappeared. Some observers have indicted the Act for this, but this seems expert myopia rather than a realistic appraisal of the situation: such factors as the single-member district electoral system, the political polarization generated by the 1980 referendum, the old age of the supporters of the Union Nationale and the Creditistes and their increasing irrelevance to modern Quebec, all account for the demise of third parties far more effectively than the provisions of the Act. Over a period of twelve years, authorized parties and independent candidates have raised a total of $110.9 million. This total underestimates their revenue to a certain extent, since before 1982 parties were not obliged to disclose some of their sources of revenue. There is of course no way to determine whether this was "enough" money for the successful operation of their organizations, but no major party has cited the prohibition of corporate contributions as a source of financial drought. Indeed, the total raised by authorized entities in a province which includes about one quarter of the Canadian population amounts to approximately 27% of the money raised throughout Canada, during the same years, by the federal registered parties, whose fundraising is not hampered by the same restrictions as to source and amount. Though admittedly crude, this comparison suggests that no financial strangulation has followed the enactment of Bill 2. Furthermore, the expenses declared by the same parties, at $118.9 million, exceed their total revenue by only 7%, a fact which suggests that parties have not felt it necessary to borrow on a large scale.

Number and Size of Contributions One of the explicit purposes of the legislation was to encourage contributions at the grassroots. To a large extent, this objective has been met, though the longer-term trend indicates a sharp decrease in the number of donors. For the years 1978-1981, an average of 211,000 people contributed each year to parties, a figure which has fallen to 85,000 for

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the years 1986-1989. Both main parties have fewer donors now than ten years ago, but the decrease has been more considerable in the Parti Quebecois. This has not resulted in a decrease of revenue for parties, since the average donation has tended to increase. While in the late seventies the average size of all contributions was about $22, in recent years the comparable figures have been markedly higher ($95 in 1988, $80 in 1989), though not as high as what is contributed in other jurisdictions. It must be pointed out, however, that this increase occurred mainly in the Liberal party, where the average contribution in 1989 was nine times higher than in 1978. The average contribution to the PQ in 1989, on the other hand, was approximately twice the 1978 amount. Life under popular financing, the Quebec experience suggests, is a roller-coaster for parties, as those organizations are likely to experience sharp ups and downs from year to year. The two main parties both did well before 1981, but starting with that year contributions to the Liberal Party fell dramatically. From 1984 onwards, however, and especially after the Liberals were returned to office, contributions to their party skyrocketed, while the Parti Quebecois was experiencing lean years in 1982-84 and in 1986-88. In 1981, in terms of revenue, the PQ led the Liberals 5 to 1, while in 1987 the Liberals were leading them by almost the same margin. In 1989, both parties raised about the same amount in contributions! As Richard Nixon once put it, the only solid thing in politics is the law of change: what is up today will be down tomorrow.

Differences and Similarities between Major Parties Within the framework of the legislation, the two main parties have adopted different fundraising techniques. While the Parti Quebecois still relies on door-to-door canvassing, a technique they successfully launched in the early seventies (Leger, 1986), the Liberals have relied increasingly, between 1985 and 1988, on so-called "social events": they sell tickets for dinners, golf games and the like. In 1988, for example, contributions given at such events accounted for more than 80% of all contributions to the party. Though legal, this practice has been widely criticized, as the most costly events of that kind were typically attended by smaller numbers of participants, thus allowing for closer contacts with Cabinet ministers. In 1988, about 50 of the 264 social events sponsored by the Liberals cost each participant between $1000 and $3000 (the latter figure being the ceiling imposed by the Act on the size of contributions), and brought to the party some 35% of all contributions raised at social events by the Party. This means that for most of those social events (over 200) the average ticket cost less than $1000, producing some two-thirds of all contributions from social events. In any case, the criticisms raised by

Louis MASSICOTTE 387 the "diners d'influence," as they were called, led to a slowdown in this kind of activity. In 1989, the number of such events fell dramatically, from 264 to only 32, and they accounted for only 6% of the contributions to the Liberal Party. Over the years 1978-1989, contributions have accounted for about two-thirds of the revenues of both major parties, thus exceeding by far each of the other lawful sources: membership fees (12.4% of the total), entrance fees for political events (4.2%), anonymous donations (0.4%), reimbursement of election expenses (5.5%) and other revenue, including the government subsidy (12.5%). The relatively small importance of the latter two sources is worth noting, for there was a suggestion in some quarters, when Bill 2 was passed, that parties would be obliged in the future to rely increasingly on the State, once the passions generated by the referendum had vanished and "politics as usual" had resumed. Nobody of course is obliged to be enthusiastic about the idea that parties should be financed exclusively by the very State they, or some of them, control: the point here is that some public financing may prove to be a useful complement to popular financing (Alexander, 1989), especially when a party experiences the usual slumps which follow defeat at the polls, a misfortune both parties have known during the 1980s. As 1989 was an election year, it was no surprise that public funding, including reimbursement of election expenses, accounted for about 30% of the revenue of both major parties. The years to come should bring this percentage closer to the standard pattern. There is some evidence in the reports that both major parties have become financially more centralized throughout the period covered by this research, though to a very different extent. This becomes obvious when one computes the percentage of money raised and spent at the central level by both. For the Parti Quebecois, the percentage raised by central headquarters has climbed from 17% in 1978 to 32% in 1988. The Liberals were quite centralized already at the start, and in 1988, raised 98% of their revenue and spent 81% at the central level.

Fiscal Incentives? In 1974, the Canadian Parliament enacted a scheme of indirect public subsidy to parties through the use of tax credits for political contributions, and since then almost every province has followed the federal lead. However, Quebec has been less generous, insofar as its tax credit was initially 50% of the first $100, compared with 85% at the federal level. One of the unexpected findings of this research, however, is that such tax credits are probably far less of an incentive than is commonly assumed. This is suggested by a year-by-year comparison of the number of donors

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and the number of taxpayers who actually claimed a tax credit for political donations: the number of all donors who have bothered to claim their tax credit is only between one third and one half. Checks with the reports and with party insiders suggest there is no evidence that the actual number of donors is substantially lower than the number of receipts issued for political contributions (the only figure that is available). A closer look at the figures reveals that those who claim a tax credit tend to be the bigger donors. This paradox seems to be attributable to the requirement in the Act that the names and addresses of electors who contributed more than $100 be disclosed. Small donors, especially those who are civil servants, may fear, even if unreasonably, that a search of their tax returns might lead to the discovery of tax receipts bearing the logo of the party to which they contributed. On the other hand, those who contributed more than $100 are well aware that their name will be disclosed anyway, and do not care as much about preserving the secrecy of their leanings. Experts disagree about the impact of money on politics. In the United States, where this issue has been studied extensively, activists have been claiming for years that money actually bought policies and elections (Stern, 1988; Wright, 1982). The bulk of the political science literature, however, tends to qualify such statements by pointing out that however suggestive correlations may be — and they often are — they do not mean causation, and that variables other than money, for example constituency interests or party allegiance, have continued to be very powerful predictors of legislative behaviour (Sabato, 1984 and 1985; Grenzke, 1989; Jacobson, 1985; Epstein, 1986). One of the hopes of the framers of the Act was that parties financed at the grassroots level would become more immune to pressures from big business and feel freer to implement "progressive" policies. There is no evidence such has been the case. Successive Quebec governments since 1978, though they did not receive direct corporate contributions, have become more accommodative to the business outlook and have implemented policies quite inimical to organized labour. Arguably, one of the supreme ironies of the last decade was the spectacle of the PQ government, with a "clean" war chest, bashing the public sector unions much more severely than their Liberal predecessors, with their corporate financing, ever did. Jean Meynaud was probably right in pointing out that the twin dangers of the literature on political party financing were exaggeration and denial of the importance of money in politics (Meynaud, 1969). There is no question that, in Quebec as elsewhere, money buys access to key decision-makers. Whether it buys policies, irrespective of any other factor, is less obvious.

Louis MASSICOTTE 389 Conclusion: The Plane Can Fly By way of a conclusion, it should be pointed out that Quebec's unique election finances legislation confirms the observation that in a federation, sub-national levels of government may become useful laboratories for testing new electoral mechanisms (Alexander, 1976). While the early years of application of the Act were marred by frequent quarrels between the official then responsible for the implementation of the Act and the opposition parties, the legislation seems by now to be well accepted by all major political actors. Provincial Liberals, who were markedly cool towards it thirteen years ago, have refrained from openly questioning its basic principles since they were returned to office in 1985. Those who hoped or feared that the once-mighty Liberal Party would disappear from the political scene as a result of the prohibition of corporate contributions have been proven wrong. Indeed, the Liberals have done better than their PQ opponents under the Act, especially since 1983. Some Progressive Conservative members of the House of Commons, who were close to the Parti Quebecois, have even advocated the adoption of a similar statute at the federal level. At the time of writing, this seems highly unlikely. There are numerous differences between the federal political scene now, and the context that prevailed in Quebec when Bill 2 was adopted. While the party in office in Quebec at that time raised no money from either corporations or labour unions, all three federal parties receive substantial amounts from one or both of these sources. English-speaking Canadians do not feel alienated from the business community in the way that many Francophones in Quebec (especially the nationalists who controlled the PQ) did some 13 years ago, when most business in the province was transacted in English. Finally, though this kind of concern is rarely voiced openly, the very fact that Bill 2 was enacted by a party committed to the break-up of Canada as we know it is supplementary evidence for many Anglophones that Canadians should be wary of such a scheme. Selecting a proper financing legislation is a matter for political judgement, and, as emphasized above, my objective is neither to advocate nor to criticize the Quebec system, but rather to study how it worked. To use a metaphor, Bill 2 may be compared to a prototype of an airplane that is proposed to airline companies for purchase. It is up to each company to determine whether this airplane meets its particular needs, and many of them may well come to the conclusion that such is not the case. But, judging from a decade of experience, there is no doubt the plane can fly.

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REFERENCES Alexander, H.E., ed. (1976). Campaign Money, Reform and Reality in the States. New York: The Free Press. . (1989). "Money and Politics: Rethinking a Conceptual Frame." Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 9-23. Comeau, P.A., ed. (1982). Le Bloc populaire 194S-1948. Montreal: Quebec/ Ame'rique. Epstein, L. (1980). Political Parties in Western Democracies. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. . (1986). Political Parties in the American Mold. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Grenzke, J. (1989). "PACs and the Congressional Supermarket: The Currency is Complex." American Journal of Political Science 33:1, 1-24. Jacobson, G. (1985). "Parties and PACs in Congressional Elections." L. Dodd and B. Oppenheimer, eds., Congress Reconsidered, 3rd ed. Washington: Congressional Quarterly, 131-58. Leger, M. (1986). Le Parti quebecois: ce n'e"tait qu'un debut . . . . Montreal: Quebec/ Amerique. Massicotte, L. (1984). "Une reforme inachevee: Les regies du jeu electoral." Recherches sociographiques 25:1, 43-81. Meynaud, J. (1969). "Groupes de pression et politique gouvernementale au Quebec." Reflexions sur la vie politique au Quebec. Montreal: Cahiers Sainte-Marie, 69-96. Paltiel, K.Z. (1970). Political Party Financing in Canada. Toronto: McGrawHill. . (1981). "Campaign Finance: Contrasting Practices and Reforms." D. Butler, H. Penniman and A. Ranney, eds., Democracy at the Polls. Washington and London: American Enterprise Institute, 138-72. Sabato, L. (1984). PAC Power: Inside the World of Political Action Committees. New York: W.W. Norton. . (1985). "PACs, Parties and Presidents." Society 22, 56-9. Stein, M. (1966). "The Structure and Function of the Finances of the Ralliement des Creditistes." Committee on Election Expenses. Studies in Canadian Party Finance. Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 405-57. Stern, P. (1988). The Best Congress Money Can Buy. New York: Pantheon Books. Wright, J. Skelly. (1982). "Money and the Pollution of Politics: Is the First Amendment an Obstacle to Political Equality?" Columbia Law Review 82:4, 609-45.

Reflections on Political Marketing and Party "Decline" in Canada . . . or, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the 1988 Election* A. Brian Tanguay WILFRID LAURIER UNIVERSITY Are Canada's political parties in "decline" ? Do they matter less to voters and citizens now than they did during that mythical golden age of Macdonald, Laurier, Mackenzie King, and St. Laurent? Are they less successful now than they once were in mobilizing voters, structuring political choices, or generating policy ideas? These are the sorts of questions that Khayyam Paltiel addressed in one of his last published works (Paltiel, 1989), a wide-ranging survey of the impact of changing political technologies (polling, consulting, direct mail, and so on) on the health of party organizations in both Canada and the United States. This chapter updates Paltiel's original analysis, and re-examines the question of whether political parties continue to be as important or salient from the standpoint of individual citizens in the 1980s and 1990s as they were earlier in the twentieth century.

Decline or Resurgence of North American Political Parties? A number of students of American politics penned worried commentaries on the sickly condition of the country's political parties during the 1970s. To many observers, it appeared as though well-heeled Political Action Committees and an army of political consultants and spin doctors had managed to usurp the most important electoral and policy functions previously performed by party organizations. For many, the growing irrelevance and impotence of the established party organizations posed a threat to democratic values, and foreshadowed a political system dominated by special interests that were unwilling to sacrifice their own sectional concerns to the requirements of the country as a whole. Some Canadian social scientists contended at the time that the American disease had travelled north to infect the Canadian political I am grateful to Melanie Joyner for the research assistance she provided in the preparation of this chapter.

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system. John Meisel, for instance, in his well-known paper on the decline of party in Canada, concluded that "the parties' sphere of influence and effectiveness is being reduced, by design or not" (Meisel, 1985:113). Meisel grouped the causes of this organizational atrophy of Canadian political parties into two broad categories. The first included a number of long-run factors, such as the growth of the bureaucratic state, the rise of interest group politics, incipient corporatism, federalprovincial diplomacy, the growing prominence of the electronic media in election campaigns, and the history of one-party dominance in this country (1985:100-108). Meisel also identified a second group of shortrun causes of party decline, mostly associated with the peculiarities of the Trudeau style of governing: the Prime Minister's disdain for Parliament, the cavalier way in which his government implemented wage and price controls only months after campaigning against them, and his repeated flouting of some of the basic principles of responsible government (1985:108-12). The overall effect of Trudeau's tenure in power, Meisel implied, was to erode even further the public's already tenuous faith in all political institutions, and especially the major parties. The elegiac tone of Meisel's article reflected a widespread scepticism concerning the effectiveness and salience of political parties in all western democracies, not just Canada.1 The general burden of most of these analyses was that political parties in advanced industrialized countries just were not what they used to be: their actual functioning seemed to deviate considerably from the role assigned to them in liberal democratic theory. Most obviously, the parties in many liberal democracies did not seem to be performing the function of linkage between individual citizens and the state at all adequately (Lawson, 1988:13-21). Metaphors of "decline," "decay," and "decomposition" were employed to describe this weakened state of political parties. The results of this process of decline, these theorists argued, were twofold: on the one hand, party militants and activists were increasingly being displaced by a clique of consultants, pollsters, and media specialists, with the consequent professionalization of party politics. In the literature, this trend was considered to be both a cause and an effect of party decline. On the other hand, a host of alternative institutions for the mobilization of voters — new social movements, citizen coalitions, communitarian organizations — had sprung up to fill the representational void left by the parties (Berger, 1979:38-47). Paltiel dissented from this prevailing wisdom about the growing irrelevance of political parties, at least insofar as Canada and the United States were concerned. In his 1989 paper on political marketing and campaign finance, he criticized those doomsayers who had prematurely

A. BRIAN TANGUAY 393 signed the death warrant of Canada's parties. Paying particular attention to the impact of the new political marketing technologies (opinion polling, the electronic media, direct mail) on party organization, Paltiel affirmed: Our review of contemporary developments in Canadian party organization demonstrates that the major national parliamentary parties are no less capable of raising funds, mobilizing the electorate, building coalitions, and communicating their messages than their predecessors. It has, in fact, been those very parties which were most open to the new technologies which have had the greatest success in recent years. . . . If public interest in politics, and competition for party office and candidacies are indices of life, there are few signs that the Canadian party system is moribund. (1989:348-49; emphasis added)

What Meisel saw as part of a worldwide trend toward the irrelevance of party organizations was for Paltiel a historically specific phenomenon: the decline of Canadian political parties was mainly a temporary consequence of the long domination of federal politics by the Liberal Party. By the mid-1980s, Paltiel claimed, Canada's political parties, far from being in decline, were actually resurgent, thanks largely to the rejuvenation of the Progressive Conservatives and their importation of new fund-raising and political marketing techniques from the Republicans in the U.S. Paltiel's article was written before the 1988 federal election, an election in which, as one author aptly put it, "politics kept breaking out" (Salutin, 1989:9). Some grizzled observers had to stretch their memories way back to the free trade election of 1911 to find a political contest of comparable magnitude that had aroused such passionate responses in a normally docile and lethargic electorate. For the first time in many years the efforts of the coterie of hired consultants, pollsters, spin doctors, and other party mercenaries to anesthetize the voters, to choke them on a steady diet of rhetorical candy floss and bafflegab, did not appear to have their intended effect. In addition to the parade of vacuous party "debates," staged media events, and photo opportunities to which voters have become accustomed at election time, the 1988 contest witnessed something truly extraordinary: "a national discussion about the nature and future of our society, in which people got involved as more than just voters. As citizens" (Salutin, 1989:36). Was the 1988 free trade election another symptom of the party resurgence to which Paltiel referred in the article cited above? Or was it merely an "interesting blip," to use Salutin's phrase, an exception that proved the rule of Canadian politics — that parties are largely irrelevant to the concerns and aspirations of the vast majority of voters? In the

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next two sections of this chapter I use the 1988 federal election as a backdrop against which to assess the contending claims of Meisel and Paltiel about the vitality of party organizations in this country. My argument is twofold. First, I claim that the signs of organizational rejuvenation on which Paltiel based much of his argument mask the ongoing decay of political parties in the electorate, manifested by high levels of voter volatility, declining partisanship, and rampant cynicism about politics in general. In essence, the diametrically opposed conclusions of Meisel and Paltiel regarding the organizational health of political parties in Canada are in large part due to their respective choices of differing levels of analysis. Secondly, I argue that the 1988 election was indeed nothing more than an "interesting blip." Despite the accidental outbreak of politics during the campaign, the prognosis is for the continued atrophy of political parties, in the electorate, no matter what signs of life the party organizations themselves may display. This outcome is virtually guaranteed by the increasingly prominent role played by the new political marketing technologies in party competition in Canada, a trend which assigns to the expanding corps of professional consultants a pre-eminent role in the design of party programmes and the formulation of election strategies. This professionalization of politics, the source of a great deal of public cynicism about the parties, is paralleled by the appearance of new issues on the political agenda — ecology, abortion, nuclear disarmament, and so on — which cannot easily be incorporated into the comprehensive and ideologically neutral programmes of brokerage or catch-all parties (Panebianco, 1988:262-74). The unwillingness of the traditional parties to adopt unambiguous positions on a host of pressing questions (abortion, the environment, and relations among ethnic, religious, and linguistic groups, to cite a few) further alienates sections of the electorate from the party system.

The Two Levels of Party Politics: Organizational and Electoral In order to determine whether Canadian political parties are actually in decline or merely undergoing a less debilitating form of organizational metamorphosis, we need to specify exactly what we mean by "party decline." Kayden and Mahe (1985:29-30) identify five separate indicators of party decline: - a loss in the parties' control over nominations - a loss in their control over campaign resources (research and money) - a reduced ability to contest elections

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- a reduced ability to influence government - a rise in the unpredictability of voting behaviour In the United States in the 1970s, the emergence of Political Action Committees (PACs), the growing importance of professional consultants, for whom party labels were "bullshit,"2 and the increasingly media-centred nature of election campaigns all had a corrosive effect on party organizations. By the early 1980s, according to Grotty (1984:275-83), party labels had ceased to have a significant impact on voting decisions in the United States, and elections turned instead on the appeal or image of individual candidates. Media consultants and other hired mercenaries provided the bulk of the research support for individual candidates, he argued, while direct mail specialists and PACs took care of their financial needs. Thus the major parties had been stripped of most of their campaign functions. Their ability to influence policy-making in Congress had been similarly impaired: "the factionalization evident in other aspects of American politics has adversely affected the national-level policy formulation and implementation and the parties' role in, and control over, them" (Grotty, 1984:279; see also Sorauf, 1988:282). In his critique of the decline-of-party thesis, however, Paltiel affirmed that the American parties did not simply give up the ghost in the new environment of the 1970s. Instead of withering away under the onslaught of the PACs, pollsters, and professional consultants, the major parties, after a decade or so of decline, eventually managed in the early 1980s to harness the new technologies of party finance and political marketing to their own ends. This was especially true of the Republicans, who were the first to recognize the potential of the new politics and nurse their organization back to health (Sabato, 1981:290-97). The GOP formed alliances with the PACs or learned to outmanoeuvre them; it established "in-house" polling and research facilities; and it set up its own media division to provide advertising for its candidates. In Paltiel's words: The parties have been transformed into service organizations replete with specialists in polling, advertising, and fund raising: campaign organizations whose facilities are available to the candidates of their choice. The parties also appear to be regaining some control of the candidate-selection process, seeking out and building up lists of available and electorally attractive potential nominees for the multitude of congressional, state legislative, executive and judicial offices to be filled by election. Even the financial aspects of the campaigns, which seemed to have slipped out of party control, seem to be returning to their ambit . . . (Paltiel, 1989:338; emphasis added) Paltiel went on to observe that both of the major parties seemed to have benefited from this resurgence, but that the Republicans had clearly

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made the greatest strides, "especially at the monetary level" (Paltiel, 1989:338). As indicators of the organizational resurgence of American political parties, Kayden and Mahe (1985:ch.7) cite the replacement of the numerous hacks and amateurs who used to populate the different levels of the party apparatus with various types of skilled professionals. They also point to the parties' remarkable success in tapping the electorate for campaign funds, thanks to the magic of direct mail. Paradoxically, however, Kayden and Mahe acknowledge that politics in the United States is "becoming a more passive activity" (1985:193). It is mainly the tiny coterie of professional consultants who dominate the process; the voters seem to exist primarily to lend the professionals the financial wherewithal to ply their trade. Unwittingly, Kayden and Mahe point to the simultaneous resurgence and decline of American political parties: at the organizational level, the parties have been transformed into service organizations — a very apt image — which attract substantial numbers of careerists and professionals. Some of these activists are even motivated by ideological concerns, and see one of the major parties as the vehicle for the realization of their political vision. But at the level of the individual voter, this organizational renaissance has not been accompanied by any corresponding strengthening of the affective or cognitive bonds that tie citizens to political parties. A distressingly large number of citizens in the U.S. remain indifferent or hostile to the major political parties, and this scepticism is reflected in extremely low levels of voter turnout and increasing partisan instability (Grotty, 1984:4-10, 26-44). According to Stephen Craig (1988:706), for instance: [Some] scholars may find reason for optimism in the fact that our major parties exhibit an impressive degree of organizational vitality in the 1980s; indeed, at the national level it is possible that they have never been stronger or more deeply involved in the electoral process. Yet the current plight of labor unions in the United States serves as a warning that organizational activity is not synonymous with overall institutional health. Like the labor movement, our parties have lost some adherents and are trying to make do with the ambivalent or even reluctant support of many others. What Frank Sorauf refers to as the "party-in-the-electorate" is clearly in a state of disarray. Craig argues convincingly that the decline of American parties in the electorate, their inability to engender anything more than highly contingent and transitory attachments among most voters, is directly related to their abject failure to offer meaningful choices to voters. Even in the Reagan era, more highly charged from an ideological or partisan

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perspective, he claims, many segments of the American population — especially those with limited education, weak political efficacy, and low levels of political involvement — have remained neutral or even hostile to the political parties (1988:711). Craig's distinction between the party-in-itself (the party as an organization) and the party-in-the-electorate has important implications for our understanding of the recent evolution of the party system in this country.3 At the organizational level, Paltiel's contention that the major parties in Canada are as healthy as they have ever been appears unassailable. At the very least, the situation in Canada is nowhere near as bleak as it was in the United States during the 1970s: the three major parties in this country still dominate political life, and their monopoly over the system of representation is not about to be broken by alternative organizations like single-issue groups or new social movements. Party labels in Canada are not the mere flags of convenience for individual candidates that they appear to be in the U.S., and the parties retain a tight grip on the nomination process, as the unfortunate Sinclair Stevens, the disgraced ex-cabinet minister, discovered in 1988, when Prime Minister Brian Mulroney intervened in his riding to ensure that some other, less tainted, candidate carried the Tory colours in the federal election. Judging from the bitterly contested nomination fights in many ridings — especially when a party appears to be doing well in the polls, and stands a good chance of forming the government — the major political parties are hardly on their death beds, as they continue to attract large numbers of dues-paying members, activists and candidates. Finally, Canada's political parties, unlike their counterparts in the United States, have not lost control over sources of campaign spending, nor have their research capabilities been usurped by independent consultants. Although the claque of spin doctors and political consultants in Canada has certainly grown in the last decade or so, most of these political mercenaries work closely with, or directly for, one of the major parties.4 These signs of organizational vitality, however, conceal a widespread public cynicism about politics in general in Canada, and about the established political parties in particular. As the data in Table 1 illustrate, levels of political efficacy — the sense that the individual citizen can have a real impact on the political system — and trust in government remain low, with almost two thirds of voters expressing a decidedly cynical view of the political process (questions 1 through 6). Most voters do not have more than a passing interest in politics. They also lack strong ideological or affective ties to the parties — only 25 percent or so of voters identify strongly with a party — and are quite willing to switch their vote from one election to another.5 Tables 2 and 3 confirm this

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE Table 1 Political Efficacy, Trust, and Involvement in Canada 1979-1988 1974

Percentages agreeing with: 1. Politics is so complicated that a person like me can't understand what's going on. 2. Generally those elected to Parliament soon lose touch with the people. 3. People like me don't have any say in what the government does. 4. I don't think that the government cares much what people like me think. 5. People in federal government are generally dishonest. 6. The federal government wastes taxpayers' money. 7. I follow politics very closely. 8. I identify strongly with a political party. 9. I have switched my vote from one election to another (includes those moving to or from non-voting).

1979 1984 1988

66

68

62

65

65

71

55

57

61

58

53

59

-

40

35

-

-

80

79

-

14 28 31

40

18 23 -

15 26 31

Sources: Clarke et al. (1974); Clarke et al. (1984); Lambert et al. (1984); CIPO (1988).

portrait of a cynical, "turned-off" electorate in Canada: less than half of adult Canadians surveyed by the Gallup organization in 1984 saw any important differences between the two established parties, the Liberals and the Progressive Conservatives (although almost two thirds of the respondents acknowledged that such differences did exist between the NDP and each of the other parties).6 Most tellingly, Canadians have less confidence in the political parties than in any other major institution in the country, including the trade unions and large corporations. The causes of this debilitating apathy and cynicism about politics are readily surmised. Cronyism and crass patronage are rife at all levels of government, and the number of politicians under a cloud of suspicion or active investigation for what are euphemistically referred to as "conflicts of interest" continues to grow at an alarming rate. Moreover, the Liberals and the Progressive Conservatives, the only parties that have

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succeeded in taking office at the federal level, have shown no qualms whatsoever in reneging on their promises once in power. Worse still, on numerous occasions the parties have actually implemented measures that they previously campaigned against, as was the case with wage and price controls in the mid-1970s and, to some extent, free trade after 1984 (which Brian Mulroney had dismissed with a couple of derisive comments during his bid for the Tory leadership in 1983). And many voters still recall the present Prime Minister's passionate indictment of John Turner during the television debates in 1984 for his spineless acquiescence in Pierre Trudeau's orgy of patronage appointments, made just prior to Turner's assumption of the Liberal Party leadership. Mulroney's performance during these debates, particularly on the question of patronage, it is widely believed, was instrumental in securing his party a landslide victory in the election of that year. Just as many voters, however, are acutely aware of the Mulroney government's sorry record on patronage, which, if anything, is appalling even by Canadian standards. These factors, among others, feed the widespread sentiment among voters that all parties, marching to the tunes played by their backroom strategists and string-pullers, will do anything to win election. Once in power, it seems, the parties are motivated solely by the desire to cling to office, no matter what the cost (which inevitably will be shouldered by the voters themselves). Table 2 Important Differences Between Political Parties Percentage agreeing that there are "important differences" between: 1974 1984 Liberals/PCs 53 45 67 64 Liberals/NDP PCs/NDP 64 65 Source: OIPO (1974), (1984).

The schizophrenic nature of Canadian political parties — their immense organizational strength, combined with their curious irrelevance on major issues of public policy — was underscored by the 1988 federal election campaign, one of the most significant in this country's history. A brief analysis of this election will allow us to assess the validity of Paltiel's and Meisel's competing claims about party decline in Canada.7

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Respect and Confidence in Political Parties Percentage expressing a "great deal of confidence" in:

Church/Organized Religion Supreme Court House of Commons Large Corporations Political Parties Labour Unions

1979

1985

1989

60 57 38 34 30 23

54 55 29 28 22 21

55 59 30 33 18* 28

*33 percent expressed "very little" confidence in political parties. Source: CIPO (1985), (1989).

Party Decline, Political Marketing, and the 1988 "Blip" In the age of professional, media-dominated election campaigns, voters are likely to be presented with clear-cut alternatives on major policy issues only when some unforeseen event upsets the calculations of the political consultants. Such was the case in the 1988 federal election, which almost became a referendum on free trade, despite the heroic efforts of the incumbent Conservatives to run a cautious, leader-centred campaign designed to allow their party to sleepwalk to victory. What is remarkable about the 1988 election is that the Conservatives, with a little help from the NDP, conspired to keep the issue of free trade in the background for the first three weeks or so of the campaign — until the televised debates on October 24 and 25 (the writs had been issued on October 1). Campaigning on the unimaginative slogan of "Managing Change," the Tories chose to stress their experience and the quality of their leadership; the early days of the election witnessed a steady stream of TV spots showing the Prime Minister acting prime ministerially and speaking to throngs of excited Conservative supporters. Mulroney himself, in his opening remarks during the French-language debate, pounded home the Tory theme of the 1988 election: "On a besoin d'un chef — Canadians need a leader. In a recitation of his government's accomplishments, Mulroney buried the free trade pact towards the end of his list, just ahead of Canada's hosting of the Francophone summit! Like the Tories, the NDP opted for a leader-centred campaign; the party's television advertisements often concluded with the on-camera testimonials of average voters who announced their intention "to vote for Ed

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Broadbent" — sometimes adding, almost as an afterthought, that they would vote for Ed and the NDP team. No mention of socialism or social democracy was made in the party literature, and controversial articles in the party programme — withdrawal from NATO, and nationalization of a major bank, for instance — were blithely ignored (Whitehorn, 1989:46-47). Incredibly, in the party's election kickoff, Broadbent failed even to mention free trade, partly because internal polls had shown that "the public trusts the party most on social and environmental issues, and least on managing the economy" (McQuaig, 1988). However, "when it became apparent to even the most myopic of party hucksters that free trade was the issue, they seized upon it more for the purpose of dislodging the Liberals" (Whitaker, 1989:11-12). These monumental strategic errors, which contributed in no small measure to the Tories' victory, were later attacked by Bob White of the Canadian Auto Workers and Gerard Docquier and Leo Gerard of the United Steelworkers. Organized labour pinned much of the blame for the NDP's abysmal showing (abysmal in terms of the expectations for the party going into the election) on the excessive power concentrated in the hands of the party's top strategists, who ignored or overturned advice from the party grassroots. The NDP gambled heavily on the politics of image during the 1988 election, and ended up as big losers. Finally, the Liberals focused most of their energies on opposing free trade, mostly out of desperation, since the opinion polls seemed to have sounded their death knell at the start of the campaign. The party's television ads were blunt and hard-hitting: one featured two men sitting at a negotiating table, peering at a map of North America. With pencil in hand, one of them began to erase the boundary separating Canada from the United States — a graphic representation of what the party believed might happen to Canadian sovereignty if the free trade pact went ahead. In the early weeks of the campaign, however, the media obsessively trained their gaze on John Turner's faux pas, and appeared to be setting up a death watch for his leadership. It was only with Turner's surprisingly effective performance in the televised debates, and his impassioned cry that opposition to free trade was the cause of his life, that the media — and the other two parties — began to take the Liberals seriously. From that point on in the campaign, both the Conservatives and the NDP devoted a great deal of their energies and resources to discrediting the Liberals, and Turner in particular. The professional political consultants lost control over the 1988 election campaign because of a reckless, desperate bid by Liberal Party strategists to stave off another crushing defeat. Only by taking on the

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free trade issue as the "cause of his life" could John Turner avoid the ignominy of losing two successive elections to the Conservatives and Brian Mulroney. But once the genie had been let out of the bottle, once a real political debate had been initiated, the cabal of party professionals frantically sought to regain control over what was threatening to become an unrestrained exercise in democracy. And, as we all know, the professionals succeeded. After the televised debates, media experts in the Conservative Party worked to ensure that the election choice turned on the questions of leadership, competence and image — was John Turner, the businessman's Liberal before assuming the party leadership, a credible spokesman for economic nationalism? — and not on free trade itself or the collective destiny of Canadians. According to Jeffrey Simpson (1989), when the election results were finally in, Tory strategists were convinced that "their own negative advertising in the last 10 days of the 1988 campaign ensured victory." This election result is a certain sign that the politics of image and style will continue to have prominence over substantive doctrinal debates for a long time to come, and that the party professionals are likely to retain their stranglehold over the electoral process in all but the most exceptional circumstances. The aftermath of the free-trade election has revealed a growing dissatisfaction among the electorate with the way in which the traditional parties are addressing certain high-profile issues, and this may drive some voters out of the arena of traditional party politics and into the realm of what Glaus Offe (1987) calls noninstitutional politics. Imagine, for example, that a middle-class voter in the formerly bucolic town of Elmira, Ontario, has just discovered that her drinking water is contaminated with a toxic chemical stew, and possibly has been for some time. Does she respond to this situation by working within the traditional party system, when she knows that the governing party and, in all likelihood, the opposition as well, have been aware of the problem for some time and have done nothing about it? Does she put her faith in mainstream politicians who experience dramatic conversions to a particular cause, usually at election time or when the issue has achieved a measure of public salience? Or does she join some alternative group, poorly organized and underfinanced, in order to put as much pressure as possible on the State — even through extra-parliamentary techniques, if necessary? In the immediate future more and more voters will be called upon to make these sorts of decisions, and it is not at all a foregone conclusion that the traditional parties will be able to satisfy their demands.

A. BRIAN TANGUAY 403 Conclusion Canada's political parties are heteromorphic organizations, displaying outward signs of an impressive vitality, especially at election time, but simultaneously incapable of forging durable affective or ideological ties with a majority of voters. The continuing pre-eminence of the politics of image, and the parties' subordination to the new technologies of political marketing, will likely ensure that the growing public disillusionment with traditional party politics in Canada will not be reversed in the immediate future. Nevertheless, this transformation of Canada's political parties — one cannot really describe their present condition as moribund or declining — need not leave us weeping or gnashing our teeth. Indeed, the growing irrelevance of parties to citizens and voters, amply illustrated in recent elections at both the federal and provincial levels, opens up opportunities for alternative political "entrepreneurs," such as new social movements and broad-based coalitions of citizen groups; these entities might redefine politics and free it from the domination of the professional illusion-makers and spin doctors who have taken over the party organizations, reducing democracy in the process to just another form of hucksterism.

NOTES 1 For representative statements of this scepticism, see King (1969), Sabato (1981), Crotty (1984), Rose (1984), and Wattenberg (1986). For a more recent examination of the phenomenon of party decline, or "failure," and the rise of alternative representative institutions in advanced industrial democracies, see Lawson and Merkl (1988). 2 This was the candid admission of one such consultant, quoted in Sabato (1981:29-30). 3 This insistence on the multi-dimensional nature of political parties, though hardly original (Weber, Michels, and Duverger wrote extensively on this subject), does help to clear up some of the controversy surrounding the decline-of-party hypothesis. Simply put, it is possible for the different levels of the party to exhibit different degrees of vitality. In important respects, Craig's argument echoes that of Panebianco (1988: 25-30), who claims that political parties are complex hierarchical organizations which can be likened to a series of concentric circles. Relatively uncommitted voters constitute the outermost circle of those who are the least involved in party life. Supporters (or "strong identifiers," to use the lexicon of survey researchers) and members (those who pay dues but contribute little time or energy to the party) comprise the inner circles

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DEMOCRACY WITH JUSTICE of the party organization, while a relatively small number of activists and militants form the nucleus of the party. One indicator of the decline of parties cited by Kayden and Mahe is their reduced ability to influence government policy. Most observers would agree that the Canadian parties have never been important sources of policy ideas, and that their limited role in this area today is no different from what it was historically. These features of the Canadian electorate are analyzed in greater detail in Clarke et al. (1984). Nadeau and Blais (1990:318) argue that this "type of information is not very helpful because it is not sufficiently specific; poll questions are likely to tap general attitudes about politics, such as political cynicism, rather than perceptions of parties per se." On the basis of their analysis of Gallup poll data gathered over the last thirty-five years, the authors conclude that Canadians do distinguish between the three parties in terms of their perceived ability to handle the problems of inflation, unemployment, national unity, and international affairs, and that "these distinctions do not merely reflect the parties' overall popularity" (1990:330). The authors do not, however, indicate how a voter's perception of "party competence" is actually related to his or her choice on election day. It is increasingly obvious that this link is very tenuous indeed, and that general factors such as cynicism and trust in government, which Nadeau and Blais discount, are in fact primary determinants of the vote. The next section draws on my earlier analysis of Canadian party ideologies (Tanguay, 1990).

REFERENCES Berger, Suzanne. (1979). "Politics and Antipolitics in Western Europe in the Seventies." Daedalus 108:1 (Winter), 27-50. Canadian Institute of Public Opinion (CIPO). (1974). "Bare Majority Believe Libs and Tories Differ." The Gallup Report, August 7. . (1984). "Liberals and Tories Differ? Half of Canadians Wonder." The Gallup Report, August 2. . (1985). "Confidence in Political Parties Palters." The Gallup Report, January 14. . (1988). "Esteem for Federal Parties Drops Over Past Year." The Gallup Report, January 21. . (1989). "Confidence in Political Parties Declines." The Gallup Report, February 9. Clarke, Harold, Jane Jenson, Lawrence LeDuc, and Jon Pammett. (1974). Political Choice in Canada. Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson. . (1984). Absent Mandate: The Politics of Discontent in Canada. Toronto: Gage.

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Craig, Stephen C. (1988). "The Decay of Mass Partisanship." Polity 20:4 (Summer), 705-13. Grotty, William. (1984). American Parties in Decline, 2nd ed. Boston: Little, Brown. Kayden, Xandra, and Eddie Mahe, Jr. (1985). The Party Goes On. New York: Basic Books. King, Anthony. (1969). "Political Parties in Western Democracies: Some Sceptical Reflections." Polity 2:2 (Winter), 111-41. Lambert, Ronald, Barry Kay, Steven Brown, James Curtis, and John Wilson. (1984). Canadian National Election Study. Wilfrid Laurier University and University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario. [This study included a 1988 panel component.] Lawson, Kay. (1988). "When Linkage Fails." Kay Lawson and Peter Merkl, eds., When Parties Fail. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1338. Lawson, Kay, and Peter Merkl, eds. (1988). When Parties Fail. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. McQuaig, Linda. (1988). "NDP Activists Say Free Trade Underplayed by Strategists." The Globe and Mail, December 9, A-3. Meisel, John. (1985). "The Decline of Party in Canada." Hugh Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 5th ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall, 98-114. Nadeau, Richard, and Andre Blais. (1990). "Do Canadians Distinguish Between Parties? Perceptions of Party Competence." Canadian Journal of Political Science 23:2 (June), 317-33. Offe, Glaus. (1987). "Challenging the Boundaries of Institutional Politics." Charles Maier, ed., Changing Boundaries of the Political. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 63-105. Paltiel, Khayyam. (1989). "Political Marketing, Party Finance and the Decline of Canadian Parties." Alain-G. Gagnon and A. Brian Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition. Scarborough: Nelson, 332—53. Panebianco, Angelo. (1988). Political Parties: Organization and Power. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rose, Richard. (1984). Do Parties Make A Difference?, 2nd ed. Chatham, NJ: Chatham House Publishers. Sabato, Larry. (1981). The Rise of Political Consultants. New York: Basic Books. Salutin, Rick. (1989). Waiting for Democracy. Markham: Viking. Simpson, Jeffrey. (1989). "The 15-second tactic." The Globe and Mail, February 28, A-6. Sorauf, Frank J. (1988). "Parties and Political Action Committees in American Politics." Kay Lawson and Peter Merkl, eds., When Parties Fail. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 282-306. Tanguay, A. Brian. (1990). "Canadian Party Ideologies in the Electronic Age." Alain-G. Gagnon and James P. Bickerton, eds., Canadian Politics: An Introduction to the Discipline. Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview, 12957.

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Wattenberg, Martin. (1986). The Decline of American Political Parties, 19521984, 2nd ed. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Whitaker, Reg. (1989). "No Laments for the Nation: Free Trade and the Election of 1988." Canadian Forum, March, 9-13. Whitehorn, Alan. (1989). "The New Democrats: Dashed Hopes." Alan Frizzell, Jon Pammett and Anthony Westell, eds., The Canadian General Election of 1988. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 43-53.

The Dysfunctions of Canadian Parties: An Exploratory Mapping* John Meisel QUEEN'S UNIVERSITY Political scientists are not new to functionalism, but it seldom plays a sufficient part in their analysis. It is in the vocabulary but seldom in use . . .

Lowi (1963:582) The study of political parties, like that of other subjects, is from time to time jolted by the appearance of seminal works so enriching and transforming the art that they elevate it to a new plateau. The books by Ostrogorski (1902), Michels (1915), Key (1942),Schattschneider (1942), Duverger (1954), McKenzie (1955), Eldersveld (1964), and Sartori (1976), among others, comprise such milestones on our road to the mastery of the party phenomenon. A potentially similar formative flashpoint burst on the scene in 1949, when R.K. Merton's "Manifest and Latent Functions" (a revision of an earlier paper) appeared in the first edition of his essays on Social Theory and Social Structure (Merton, 1949). Although the piece deals with concepts and methodologies appropriate to sociology as a whole, one brief illustration, dealing with political machines in the United States, shed radically new light on our understanding of parties and also sketched an uncommonly rewarding way of analyzing them (Merton, 1949:70-81). Merton's approach and resulting insights were The ideas in this paper were first presented to my students in Politics 210 at Queen's University and then to the First Annual Workshop of the Work Group on Elections of the Committee on Political Sociology (IPSA/ISA) in Paris in April, 1989. The workshop was organized by Kay Lawson. I am grateful for comments on earlier drafts to Ed Black, Sylvia Bashevkin, Ned Franks, Bill Irbine, Al Kornberg, Jean Laponce, Leo Panitch, George Perlin, Paul Pross, Hugh Thorburn, Cynthia and Doug Williams, as well as an anonymous reader. I responded to many, but alas, not all of the suggestions I received. Much help was provided by Margaret Day and Patrick McCartney.

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widely acclaimed and disseminated, and his analysis became a classic of party literature. In an effort to explain why periodic efforts to reform corrupt political machines were repeatedly ineffectual and why the machines embraced such seemingly incompatible elements as respectable business people and members of the underworld, Merton subjected party machines to an analysis of both manifest functions — "those objective consequences contributing to the adjustment or adaptation of the system which are intended and recognized by the participants in the system" — and latent ones — "those which are neither intended nor recognized" (Merton 1949:51). By distinguishing between these two kinds of functions Merton was able to conclude that the notorious machine met the needs of diverse subgroups in American society which were not taken care of by culturally approved and more conventional structures. Reform could only succeed when alternative structures emerged that fulfilled the neglected functions (79-80). Another major and equally important element of Merton's approach focused on the fact that social phenomena also exhibit dysfunctions, the consequences of which "lessen the adaptation or adjustment of the system" (50). Many of the most useful items in the lavish literature on political parties which have appeared since Merton published his important essay dwell on the functions of parties.1 Thus Anthony King, in a clarifying, memorable essay, identifies six major functions of parties: (1) the structuring of the vote; (2) the integration and mobilization of the mass public; (3) the recruitment of political leaders; (4) the organization of government; (5) the formation of public policy; and (6) the aggregation of interests (King, 1969). Similarly, the influential work of Gabriel Almond and his various collaborators stressed four key party functions: (1) interest articulation, (2) interest aggregation, (3) political integration, and (4) political socialization (Almond and Powell, 1966:114ff). For Sartori, the major party activities perform "a representation function and an expressive function" (Sartori, 1976:27).2 The emphasis in much of the relevant literature has been on party functions; the idea of dysfunctions has largely been ignored. A notable exception is provided obliquely by Lawson and Merkl who note that "[i]t may be that the institution of party is gradually disappearing, slowly being replaced by new structures more suitable for the economic and technological realities of twenty-first century politics" (1988:3). This implicit recourse to dysfunctional aspects of parties stands out as the exception that waives the rule: Merton's revealing use of the concepts of latent and manifest functions, and of dysfunctions, while much acclaimed, has not been showered with the flattery of imitation.

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Given the promise of rich rewards to be found along the trail blazed by Merton, why have few party scholars chosen to pursue it? It is too simple to ascribe this neglect merely to the vagaries of fad and fashion, although these two human foibles no doubt have something to do with it. Functional analysis had come under severe criticism and became the subject of vigorous controversy.3 It was argued, inter alia, that its practitioners failed to specify precisely the particular system within which functions were assessed; that the approach cloaked an inherent conservative bias; that it lacked an adequate causal explanatory power; that it had been impossible to reach a consensus on what structural-functional analysis really meant; that, in Merton's hands at least, it failed to distinguish between individual and societal functionalism; and that it depended on the acceptance of a systems approach to social analysis — an approach which was itself questioned by some scholars (Homans, 1967:350-56; Davis, 1967:378-96; Mendoza and Napoli, 1973:26ff; Demerath and Peterson, 1967). Despite the undoubted presence of difficulties in Merton's approach applied to parties, he demonstrated without any shadow of doubt that there was much to be gained from applying his mode of analysis. Although functional analysis raises a number of complex conceptual and methodological problems, it also holds promise for extending our understanding of social and political phenomena. In this chapter I draw on Merton's idea of dysfunctions in an examination of the role parties play in the Canadian political system. The work is preliminary, crude, and impressionistic. Its purpose is to see whether focusing on dysfunctions adds something useful to our understanding of Canadian parties. Before plunging into the substance of my theme, however, it is necessary to clarify a number of points. In the first place, although my focus is on the dysfunctions of Canadian parties, I do not mean to suggest that these institutions, so central in the country's political system, have necessarily undermined its viability. In many respects Canada is among the most successful of political experiments, having attained an enviable level of civility and stability. While many failings are clearly evident, so are numerous achievements, and it would be unrealistic to deny that political parties have played a major role in fashioning the country's successes (Smith, 1985). Merton suggests that "[i]n any given instances, an item may have both functional and dysfunctional consequences, giving rise to the difficult and important problem of evolving canons for assessing the net balance of the aggregate consequences" (1949:51). The survival of Canada — not an easy country to govern and hold together — as a reasonably effective

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polity for much longer than most countries, and so far without catastrophic internal schisms, indicates that, on balance, parties have performed effectively in the maintenance of the system. The emphasis here on dysfunctions must therefore be seen not as a summary accusation of failure but merely as something of a corrective, an attempt to add a neglected piece to the mosaic of party studies in Canada. Second, many scholars have been severely critical both of individual parties and of the party system.4 To differentiate between the arguments of these critics and those presented here, it is necessary to specify what is meant by dysfunctions and other terms denoting shortcomings or weaknesses. By dysfunctions of parties, I refer to consequences of their activities which weaken or undermine the political system in which they operate or which at least disrupt its smooth operation. These consequences are sometimes inevitable and are a byproduct of activities which are otherwise functional. Dysfunctions must be distinguished from malfunctions. The latter do not grow inescapably out of tasks undertaken by the parties in the pursuit of their normal goals, as do dysfunctions, but result from unnecessary practices which have harmful effects on the political system. For example, it is argued below that the psychological state of partisanship in an individual inevitably leads to a certain limiting of the political discourse. The degree to which this occurs varies with the individual concerned and the context, but some constraint on one's openness of mind is unavoidable. This phenomenon is dysfunctional. A malfunction, in our lexicon, occurs on the other hand when an unnecessary activity of a party or of the party system, or a harmful procedure which could be avoided, is pursued with deleterious effects on the political system. The present procedure employed by the national Liberal and Conservative parties in selecting their leaders is an example. The manner in which conventions are organized has, in many instances, led to the selection of delegates in a highly questionable way. These massive gatherings have been in part packed, which has damaged their representativeness of the whole party population (Wearing, 1988:212-23; Bashevkin, 1985, 1989; Perlin, 1988). Furthermore, the whole procedure has become so expensive that only extremely wealthy candidates or people backed by rich individuals or corporations can contest the leadership. The withdrawal of Lloyd Axworthy from the 1990 Liberal leadership race, because of the alleged failure to raise sufficient funds, illustrates the point. Party practices thus preclude certain interests or groups such as women, the poor, and those not supported by corporations, from being heard effectively in the party. This represents a malfunction because the deleterious process

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of selecting leaders can be avoided. Other procedures are available, as the Parti Quebecois and the Ontario Conservatives have shown. Although the distinction between dysfunctions and malfunctions may at times be hard to establish, partly because the causes of party actions are so complex and often intertwined, the critical difference is clear: a dysfunction occurs when necessary and desirable activities have unavoidable sequels that harm the effective operation of the whole system; malfunctions result from activities that are done badly and that can be achieved in a different, less harmful way. Most of those who have found fault with Canadian parties focused on the malfunctions of our party system, rather than on its dysfunctions. To find, for instance, that parties have been exceedingly patriarchal and inhospitable to women, in terms of the selection of candidates or in the allocation of positions of power, is to identify an area in which parties have performed badly, not because this was an inescapable by-product of their activities, but simply because of a failure to be more acute and sensitive. Third, a notion related to dysfunctions which is sometimes applied to parties refers to their decline. The loss of influence of parties, relative to that of other institutions or political actors, may be linked to their dysfunctions but it often is not. The decline usually results from some new agency fulfilling the role formerly performed by parties. Parties then become less necessary and are supplanted, partly or completely, by the new institutions pre-empting their former role.5 The decline may occur even though the parties' activities were in no way dysfunctional. The idea of party dysfunctions, while related to that of party decline, is thus conceptually distinct. Fourth, there is merit in distinguishing between the functions and dysfunctions of parties generally, under all circumstances, and those related to the role of parties in a specific context. Thus some of the functions identified by King, Almond and Sartori, noted above, are universal; others are performed only under certain circumstances. Ranney and Kendall (1956:506-07), for instance, include among the roles of the American party system the democratizing of the constitutional system, and most of the contributors to the well-known collection of studies edited by LaPalombara and Weiner (1966) see parties performing functions within a developmental context. Many observers of the Canadian scene (marked by a somewhat fragile sense of national cohesion) have identified a nation-building role as an essential contribution of parties and of the party system (Cairns, 1968; Jackman, 1972; Smith, 1985; Meisel, 1963, 1967, 1974). Some of the dysfunctions noted below are

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specific to the Canadian situation; others are also evident in some or all other sites. Among the many possible ambiguities that can creep into functional analyses are the questions: For whom and by whom are functions performed? The context of the analysis needs to be specified. In the present perspective, we are concerned with the effects of parties on the political system within which they operate at a given time. Their performance is seen as dysfunctional if it undermines the viability of the political system and if it makes the performance of the manifest and latent functions of parties more difficult. With respect to the question of whose functions are under scrutiny, we focus on the party system. Thus, if a party declines and another benefits accordingly, this in itself is not considered dysfunctional. The issue is the performance of the whole political system. In subjecting parties to a functional analysis, the observer is compelled to identify those functions that appear to be most central to the political system and those which, though perhaps important, are nevertheless secondary. This illustrates the fact that a considerable subjective element is present in the exercise. For example, while some Canadian scholars attach particular importance to the parties' nation-building function, others are guided by hierarchies of values in which social justice, feminist goals, civil liberties or any number of other roles are supreme. It would be fascinating to overhear a discussion between Pierre Trudeau and Jacques Parizeau, for instance, on what is functional and what is dysfunctional in the role of the Parti Quebecois in Canadian politics. While this aspect of functional analysis can certainly give rise to confusion it is by no means a fatal impediment. Normally, scholars will quickly agree on the most critical overarching features of any political system and can further accept that, whatever one's own personal preferences may be, the survival of a given political system is a necessary prior condition for the existence of many key political institutions and practices. Even someone committed to the independence of Quebec cannot escape the fact that, in the context of Canada, parties undermining the integrity of the polity are dysfunctional. Likewise, a federalist must see that, from the independantiste's perspective, institutions and processes facilitating the breakup of Canada may be functional. The subjectivity associated with functional analysis poses no problems so long as the analyst's assumptions and analytical framework are specified. Fifth, a problem with functional analysis arises from the difficulty of distinguishing between consequences of parties themselves and those caused by the context in which they find themselves. Some dysfunctions

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to be noted, for example, result from the manner in which parties respond to or are influenced by the electoral system. In this instance, is it the latter or the party system which is dysfunctional? Analysis would be meaningless if the presence of intervening variables were to permit parties to escape responsibility for their actions. The subject of the inquiry is parties, whatever the reasons which have compelled or induced them to act as they do. We must deal with the parties as we find them. Sixth, dysfunctions of parties sometimes induce politicians to devise corrections that permit the system to compensate for the disturbing phenomenon. An interesting example arising from the dysfunction of narrowing the political discourse, can be found in the reform of parliamentary procedure introduced in the mid-1980s. A number of changes strengthened the House of Commons committees which, in some cases, assumed important policy-making roles (Franks, 1987:100,136-42). The Standing Committee on Communications and Culture, when discussing a new broadcasting act in 1988, took a different position on some matters from that of the minister responsible for the legislation, to some extent because party lines were much less evident in committee than outside. Eventually, an almost non-partisan committee confronted the government. Thus, excessive partisanship in the political mainstream was compensated for by the creation of a forum in which party lines were attenuated. Since the impetus for the changing role of committees came from a multi-party parliamentary committee, chaired by an independently-minded backbencher, the corrective measures were initiated by party people who were at a certain distance from the party leaderships. The corrective action therefore emanated from within the parties themselves and was implemented through changes in parliamentary procedure (Meisel, 1989). Seventh, dysfunctional aspects of parties do not manifest themselves uniformly throughout a political system. We shall note below that parties have unwittingly deepened sectional cleavages and that they have had divisive effects, as well as unifying ones. Pross (1982:120-21) and Bickerton (1989:463ff.) argue that insofar as the Atlantic provinces are concerned, parties play a key role in redistributing income from the centre to the periphery. Since they are perceived to be performing this role, they presumably help bind the poorer regions to the national whole. According to Bickerton (463), [T]he party system elsewhere may have declined relative to other functional means of integration and representation (specifically through the mechanism of the capitalist market economy and through the centralized bureaucracy . . .), but on the Atlantic periphery it retained its importance precisely because of the inadequacy of such means to

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Eighth, dysfunctional consequences of party activities occur because of the relationships that prevail between the parties and their environment. Because of changes in that environment, dysfunctions may develop even though parties continue doing precisely what they had previously done without harmful effects. For example, the decline of localism and the ever stronger nationalizing forces in the economy strained the capacities of parties to perform adequately their representational functions. The adoption of the merit system in the public service is another example. While the application of non-partisan criteria to the selection of officials must have had the approval of party politicians running the government, the drive for the change emanated from the logic of management and for the desire for efficiency. It was not, in other words, parties that wished to do away with patronage (although reform elements within some of them may have advocated reform of this kind) but the larger socio-political system in which the parties operated. As a result, however, the traditional reliance on personal clientelism became dysfunctional.

Dysfunctions of Canadian Parties Turning, at last, to the dysfunctions themselves, ten are particularly noteworthy. Whatever else it does, Canada's party system also: 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10)

limits political discourse; institutionalizes confrontation; undermines the legitimacy of the political system; attenuates the public philosophy; confuses the government mandate; encourages wasteful government expenditures; sweeps some important issues under the rug; misrepresents political forces; weakens the central government; neglects the policy role.

In this stark form, the list looks like a scathing indictment. This impression is misleading — much depends on what is represented by the shorthand headings, on the seriousness of each item, and on what else

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parties do. I have already noted that the quality of the Canadian polity is such that one can conclude that the political system, and its linchpin — parties — must have been doing something right. 1. LIMITING POLITICAL DISCOURSE

Although research-based empirical evidence is lacking here, it is hard to escape the conclusion that Canadian federal politicians are becoming increasingly more intolerant of one another, on the basis of party distinction.6 There are exceptions, to be sure, but the continuous mutual denigration in parliament, heightened by the visceral quality of the televised question period, seems to damage the ability of many members to endow their opponents with even a modicum of decency or intelligence. It is rare for an opposition politician to give the government party credit for having done anything right. Every initiative, every statement, every decision of the government is treated as if it was the work of an incompetent and possibly dishonest idiot.7 By the same token, every concern of opposition politicians is viewed by the government party as a mean, self-serving, petulant part of a mindless filibuster. Constant repetition of mutual attack and recrimination ultimately has a self-hypnotic effect — a great many members end up being persuaded that their opponents really are as malevolent and stupid as the party rhetoric suggests. The atmosphere at Westminster is, interestingly enough, not nearly as bitter; opposing politicians normally show considerably more tolerance and respect for one another. The cause of Canada's seemingly exaggerated partisanship, therefore, may in part be ascribed to the legacy of a system in which one party was dominant and to the personalities involved, particularly the abrasive manner of two recent prime ministers. This style can be partly traced to the exasperation of the Conservatives during the long years in which they seemed to be doomed to perpetual opposition (Perlin, 1980; Simpson, 1980) and to the effects on the Liberals of being "the government party" (Whitaker, 1977; Meisel, 1975:230-50). After the massive Tory victory in 1984, the Liberals were as ill-prepared for being in opposition as the Conservatives were to govern. The Liberals simply adopted the manner of the previous opposition, a process which, through the guttersnipe antics of the Rat Pack, seriously degraded the atmosphere of the House. At election time, political pugnacity reaches exceptional lows and also a much wider public. The 1988 contest, partly because of the deep emotions stirred by the free trade issue, and because of changing campaign strategies and personnel, revealed that otherwise reasonable people can come close to losing their senses in the flush of extreme partisanship.

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While none of the leaders can be said to have done much to inform the public effectively about the nature of the Free Trade Agreement, the Liberal and NDP leaders' "facts" and arguments were so far-fetched as to make them look silly and dishonest. The prime minister's penchant for hyperbole has had the same effect. This situation ultimately creates political actors unable to fathom the arguments of their opponents. Political discourse turns into a dialogue of the deaf, and the normally salutary consequences of argument and the interaction among contending parties are largely lost. Since it is probable that the blinkers bestowed by partisanship become thicker and larger as the victim rises in the party hierarchy, it is likely that the most powerful leaders are particularly prone to impaired vision. All partisanship reduces the openness of mind of the partisan, of course. No great harm results from this when the attachment to one's own side, and the distrust of the others, is moderate. It is when these attacks become inflated into all-consuming passions that truculence and blindness preclude the creative enrichment expected from the exchange of ideas and from the confrontation of differing interests. The limitations thus imposed on the political discourse sap the effectiveness of political decision making and inhibit the development of effective policies. To the degree that parties contribute to this situation, they exert a negative influence on the political system and they make it harder for themselves to perform their tasks effectively. They are, in part, dysfunctional. 2. INSTITUTIONALIZING CONFRONTATION

The factors just noted have other impairing consequences for the political system. They institutionalize confrontation and convey the impression that it is only through adversarial procedures that acceptable decisions are found in the public sector. The logic of party competition requires a certain level of confrontation and of adversarial politics. What in the language of commerce is called "product differentiation" induces parties to perpetuate differences and disagreements even when the points at issue have become minimal or are no longer salient. Similarly, the parties' desire to appear to meet the needs of various constituencies better than their opponents have done leads them constantly to exploit every conceivable difference. The fostering, aggravation, and prolongation of artificial or needless disputes for the sake of party advantage is, therefore, a natural consequence in a system in which the spoils of power are the sine qua non of political survival. But when these practices become deeply ingrained and institutionalized, they preclude exploration of other avenues of discourse. Serious consideration of alternative modes of thought and decision-making

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is discouraged and the whole system is deprived of effective canvassing of all available alternatives.8 3. U N D E R M I N I N G LEGITIMACY

Mutual denigration, so characteristic of current party politics in Canada and epitomized in the Commons Question Period, reduces the credibility of people in public life. The decline of trust in government and in politics as a whole, evident in Canada as elsewhere, (Clarke et al., 1984:50-52) is almost certainly related in part to the vituperative and confrontational style espoused by large numbers of party politicians. The televising of parliamentary debates, and the manner in which TV handles political news generally and elections in particular, intensifies the perceived degradation of public life and robs the players in the public domain of the support needed for optimal effectiveness. 4. ATTENUATION OF PUBLIC PHILOSOPHY

To define the public interest is one of the most vexing and elusive challenges in all polities, although among the functions of political parties in liberal democracies, none is more important. Acceptable definitions of the public interest normally occur when two types of approaches are merged. On the one hand, policies are pursued which are deemed to be of general interest to the whole community, such as those dealing with culture, defence or the environment. On the other hand, there are measures intended to satisfy the claims of specific groups, centring on such issues as regional, economic or ethnic demands. Both elements must be satisfied — the trick is to arrive at a workable balance. If the former predominates unduly, measures demanded by powerful groups or sought by needy ones tend to become neglected and the regime may become endangered; excessive emphasis on the latter is likely to lead to inequitable, unfair decisions, damaging to the well-being of the whole body politic. Although the Canadian party system has achieved some success in combining both elements,9 one of its dysfunctions results from being biased in favour of specific groups, thus attenuating the application of what Walter Lippman (1956) called the public philosophy. Patronage, always the life-blood of the party system, has changed dramatically over the years. Whereas it formerly involved mostly individual rewards, the paving of roads and building of bridges and the bestowing of benefits on relatively minor enterprises, it has shifted towards mega-policies and mega-spending. In other words, patronage has changed from being localized, small potatoes to becoming colossal, Guinness Book of Records-sized pumpkins. Government decisions affecting the location of major industries (automobile production, aerospace, for instance), the

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quintessence of political culture (multiculturalism), or centre-periphery tensions (regional development), are made in response to their potential impact on voter support for the government party. Changes in the magnitude and style of lobbying have accelerated the trend towards the customizing of policy-making. "National life," a former leader of the Conservative party has said, "has become a struggle for advantage among large and powerful organizations — not simply trade unions and corporations. Organized pressure groups abound."10 Furthermore, it has become common for former ministers, MPs and party technocrats to become "consultants," that is, lobbyists working in large and often powerful firms engaged in influence peddling. While they seldom if ever descend to anything as crude as greasing anyone's palm, they do grease the progress along the corridors of power for particular interests seeking favourable policy decisions by governments. While some of their efforts are directed at officials, the really big decisions are made by ministers, and it is often here that their former party comrades, turned lobbyists, manage to satisfy their clients. These links between present and former party people facilitate the buying of specific government favours by vested interests and result in an incrementalist, client-oriented style of policy-making in which the general interest is neglected. The notorious failure of governments, both provincial and federal, to protect the environment from profit-seeking extractive and polluting industries provides a classic example. The old saw that there is no public interest, only public interests, is of course partly correct. But the fact remains that over and above the competing factions of pluralist states, the government and the party system must define the interest of all, in areas in which the play of particular forces fails to produce system-maintaining policies and decisions. To the degree that party systems encourage processes which lead to rewards for the faithful, to influence peddling, and to the "buying" of government largesse by specific groups of electors, at the expense of the community as a whole, those systems may be said to have dysfunctional effects. 5. CONFUSING THE GOVERNMENT MANDATE

A number of scholars, displeased by what they see as the excessive "brokerage" role of Canadian parties, have criticized them for reasons related to the attenuation of a public philosophy. Seen in this perspective, parties lack adequate ideological or permanent positions on specific programmes and instead act as brokers mediating as many cleavages as they can. Their position varies from election to election, depending on what concerns the electorate at the time. Among the consequences is the inability of the party system to innovate and to find solutions to new

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problems. Brokerage politics has also weakened party loyalty and has contributed to the unprecedented importance attached to party leaders. These features combine to create horse race elections, where the personalities of the leaders are paramount, and where ideological concerns are completely absent. As a consequence, election outcomes provide no guide as to programme priorities and elections fail to bestow a meaningful mandate on the government (Clarke et al., 1984:10-16). Although this assessment has been challenged,11 it cannot be dismissed altogether. The authors of Absent Mandate, while perhaps indulging in a Utopian dream when they yearn for ideological parties in the Canadian setting, do identify some real issues and do make observations which are suggestive in the context of this chapter. They assert that "third" parties have ceased to be sources of innovation and see "the virtual displacement of policy innovation from the party system altogether" (Clarke et al., 1984:12). The result is that "the arena of policy controversy and innovation shifted, moving more and more into the public service and into federal-provincial relations." One of the many consequences of this development is that parties have come to be seen as removed from policy-making and less accountable for government policy. Clarke and his collaborators consider this to be an important factor in the decline of "political activism as a way of registering disapproval" and relate it to the secular decline of a sense of political efficacy (178-79). Although in this instance the system-disturbing features of party activities are due in part to malfunctions, dysfunctional features are also evident. Brokerage politics is the natural by-product of a party system performing nation-building functions. The constant preoccupation with building coalitions that ensure parliamentary majorities makes the brokerage approach irresistible: maximizing support, from whatever quarter and for whatever reason, is a logical strategy for a party to adopt in the context of a community marked by deep regional and ethnic divisions and a low level of ideological commitment. It is, however, a strategy that may lower esteem for, and trust in parties and the party system, and newly elected governments may enter office without a clear mandate from the electorate.12 6. ENCOURAGING WASTEFUL EXPENDITURES

The parties' approach to attracting votes is dysfunctional in another way as well. The conditions that create brokerage politics also encourage a form of party competition which leads to waste and seemingly uncontrollable public debt. To attract votes, politicians attempt to cap one another's promises of new and improved government programmes, frequently involving large expenditures. Competitive largesse of parties

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with the taxpayers' money contributes to the escalation of public expenditures (and hence public debt) and to the allocation of resources not according to need or a coherent national plan, but to electoral expediency. Every region or sub-region, every group, every interest is courted in this way if the number of people involved, or their strategic placing on the electoral map, promises an adequate payoff. While genuine needs are no doubt often met during this process, unnecessary or badly timed projects are also involved, resulting in the misallocation of resources and the ultimate weakening of the economy and of the credibility of the system. This tendency of parties therefore has dysfunctional features, whatever its advantages may be in other contexts. 7. SWEEPING ISSUES U N D E R THE RUG

The fragility of the Canadian national community and the relatively slender links binding it together have brought forth a sort of conspiracy among parties, in accordance with which they avoid confronting one another on a few deeply controversial issues.13 This silence is intended in part to protect each from losing significant political support, but it also has an important latent function in that it forestalls the deepening of major cleavages. This tacit accord offers a striking exception to the limiting of political discourse and the institutionalizing of confrontation noted earlier, and in so doing illustrates the versatility and complexity of the party system. While this avoidance of certain topics enhances the system's success in fostering national cohesion, it has also banished certain important topics from polite party conversation. A recent study of media coverage of elections makes this suggestive comment: Although the public has been divided on such issues as official bilingualism, separate school funding [in Ontario] and Quebec's position as a "distinct society," the major parties have taken similar positions to avoid polarizing the electorate. Thus, with the parties producing similar policies and similar policy statements on many major issues — particularly those involving regional, religious, sexual-orientation or linguistic matters — it is hardly surprising that many of the issues have not been discussed significantly during election campaigns. By neutralizing or restricting debate on many contentious issues, the parties have reduced the role of issues and the ability of the media to report on policy alternatives. (Langdon, 1989:53-54)

Other consequences follow from the unwillingness or inability of parties to make some of the most contentious national issues the subject of interparty conflict and competition. First, issues which are particularly divisive are not mediated by a political instrument — the party system

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— which has been reasonably effective in reconciling conflicts and which, because of its diffuse and open-ended concerns, is capable of attenuating extreme views. Secondly, the major parties' failure to take competing positions on matters arousing public passion — language policy, abortion and so on — encourages the emergence of splinter parties and/or single-issue movements reinforcing fanatical commitments to extreme positions. This decreases the chances of ultimately finding acceptable compromises and encourages recourse to extra-political direct action, possibly of an illegal kind. Thirdly, if the conflicts about which many people feel most deeply are left outside the universe of political parties, the latter appear to be irrelevant. This leads not only to the hiving off of people moved by intense passions into zeal-enforcing ghettoes, noted above, but also weakens the parties' ability to fashion coalitions around other issues. Parties are consequently handicapped in performing some of the tasks expected of them. 8. MISREPRESENTING POLITICAL FORCES

Among the tasks expected of parties, none has received as much attention as that of nationalizing Canadian politics, of reducing the fissiparous forces that impede the development and acceptance of national policies.14 A major revisionist analysis in the 1960s demonstrated, however, that "the party system, importantly conditioned by the electoral system, exacerbates the very cleavages it is credited with healing" (Cairns, 1968:64). A major cause, according to Cairns, is the lopsided regional representation in party caucuses, caused by biases in the electoral system. This factor led to the Liberal party becoming increasingly insensitive to the needs of the western provinces, and to the Conservatives' failure to sympathize with Quebec. The blind spots existed in part because the viewpoints of the neglected regions were not pressed adequately in the highest party circles. Such popular support as the Liberals enjoyed in the West, and the Conservatives in Quebec (it was often not inconsiderable), was simply not reflected in the parties' contingent of MPs. These and related factors have, according to Cairns, led the parties unwittingly to deepen sectional cleavages and hence to divide rather than unify the political community. Realignments of electoral support in the 1980s have corrected some of the flaws identified by Cairns: all regions were represented in the Tory government caucuses under Mulroney. But despite a few problems with Cairns' analysis (Lovink, 1970) and recent election outcomes, the fact remains that at certain periods of Canada's history the party system

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performed only indifferently as a national unifier. In this instance, the party functions of structuring the vote, mobilizing the mass public, recruiting leaders, and organizing the government were accompanied by the dysfunction of widening the gap between regions and attenuating national unity. 9. WEAKENING THE CENTRAL GOVERNMENT

Another consequence of the inadequate representation by the party system of regional interests is the relative weakening of the federal government and the corresponding strengthening of the provinces. The failure of the federal government to respond effectively to regional demands has contributed to the growth in importance of provincial governments, both with respect to the scope of their activities and to the degree to which they are considered legitimate spokesmen for their parts of the country. "Denied what they regarded as effective representation in national institutions," one observer has noted, "Canadians looked increasingly to their provincial governments, acting within the forum of intergovernmental relations, to promote and defend their regional interests" (Thomas, 1985:70). In describing the modern (post-1963) party system, marked by electronic politics and personal parties, Carty finds that "provincial politicians took the role of principal regional spokesmen, articulating grievances and pressing demands on the national government." Parties ceased being the main mechanism for regional accommodation and were replaced by first ministers' conferences "which were institutionalized in a complex system of federal-provincial executive relationships. Deprived of the function that had driven them, the parties developed a new style of politics" (Carty, 1988:24). There are those who argue that this is a desirable tendency within the overall Canadian political system; the point is one which can certainly be argued. But whatever the merits of this argument, one fact is inescapable: the exclusion of federal parties from the process in which demands are converted into outputs weakens their appeal, their influence, and their capacity to perform their remaining functions. Parties, Carty notes, "have become more than ever an extension of the leader, a personalized machine to build and sustain a coalition of support for the leader's policies." The modern developments "have created a continuing tension within the parties that has largely focussed on leadership issues and personalities" (Carty, 1988:24). No rigorous evaluation of the effectiveness of the new system has yet been made. There is a good deal of evidence, however, that suggests that the extensive diffusion of power in Canada and the growing

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relative strength of the provinces have made the development of policies required to deal with emerging problems extraordinarily difficult and that the party system is not particularly well suited to coping with the new challenges. The dysfunctional consequences of party behaviour which have weakened the Ottawa government strengthen the "decline of party hypothesis," which claims that parties are becoming less relevant to political decision-making than heretofore and that many of their traditional functions are being assumed by other agencies — the bureaucracy, media, interest groups, federal-provincial conferences and so on. 10. NEGLECTING THE POLICY ROLE

The historical decline in the importance of parties, relative to that of interest groups (Pross, 1986) is linked to a dysfunctional effect that is caused in part by the electoral system. Constituencies, which impose the basic organizational building blocks of parties, are geographical areas. The parties' representation function, performed by parliamentarians,15 is therefore inevitably influenced by the continuous need to reflect geographical areas. But the complexities of modern life have forced governments to satisfy, as often as not, functional rather than territorial claims, that is, claims not of localities but of individuals or groups who share something other than spatial proximity: workers, patients, the elderly, exporters, and so on. Their demands are usually represented better by interest groups than by parties. The emergence of powerful spokespersons for particular, functional interests has lowered the parties' representational role. In a perceptive essay on the subject, Pross finds that Canada has become what he calls a "special interest State" (1982:116). This tendency is reinforced by the parties' declining interest in, and capacity for, focusing on issues and generating policy ideas. Pross (1982:109) finds that "party contributions to policy appear to be quite limited and riding associations seem to prefer to direct their energies to delivering the seat and distributing patronage." The contemporary party system, as was noted above, is centred on personalities. It is also heavily influenced by the electronic media, and dominated by public relations, polling and communications. These features have made it less relevant to the origination and adaptation of policies. The policy role has become dominated by officials, think tanks, and consultants. "Ministers have become bureaucrats themselves" (Pross, 1982:122). In adjusting to their new environment, parties are successful in structuring the vote, mobilizing the mass public and organizing the government. Practices required for the effective performance of these functions are, however, at the same time dysfunctional, in that they impair the

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party system's capacity to form public policy. Current methods of electioneering and of interest aggregation end up distancing parties from the policy process and this in turn makes them less effective in representing regional and other interests. It is significant that neither the Meech Lake accord nor the free trade negotiations — two of the most important policy initiatives of the Conservatives following the 1984 election — can be linked to policy documents or even to the rhetoric generated by the party prior to the election or inter-party debates before the balloting. Subsequently, during the 1988 contest, they were, of course, very much on the table. There can, however, be no doubt that both these policy initiatives, as well as some others — the reduction of VIA services and extensive privatization, for instance — reflect the political will of Mulroney's Conservative government. Thus, while modern party leaders do occasionally initiate ideologically consistent policies, their programmes emerge from the entourage of the leader and not from the party ranks or party policy deliberations. (It is also possible that the Mulroney government has initiated a new, more ideologically-driven era in Canadian politics but this is at present unverifiable.) It is paradoxical that the parties' need to engage in territorial, as distinct from functional, representation has sapped even their capacity to satisfy some of their geographically concentrated constituents. Insistent demands for Senate reform and the institutionalization of first ministers' conferences attest to the sense of some groups that mechanisms other than the traditional party system are needed to ensure the effective articulation and aggregation of certain spatially based interests.

Conclusion This journey through the highways and byways of the Canadian party scene — on a functionalist vehicle — has revealed enough for us to decide whether the views afforded by our conveyance are sufficiently rewarding to compensate for its undoubted hazards. While our approach is prompted strongly by the work of Merton, it only draws on a part of his method (I have not exploited the distinction between manifest and latent functions, for instance, nor specified the nature of the system in which the parties function). The approach is also a far cry from that powerfully advocated by Lowi in his paper applying functional analysis to the innovative role of party systems (Lowi, 1963). My purposes are different. They are to ascertain whether the notion of dysfunctions can help us gain a deeper and more realistic understanding than we have had heretofore of the changing role of parties in contemporary Canadian society and in the Canadian state.

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The particular functionalist route chosen has compelled us to try to distinguish between functions, dysfunctions, and malfunctions, and has led us to consider these notions in relation to the decline of party perspective. It has also directed our gaze to the interaction between parties and their socio-political and economic environments and has raised the question of the extent to which one must seek the cause of changing party roles in the parties themselves or in their setting. Although our explorations have in no way diminished the claim parties can make to being central agencies of democratic government, they have nevertheless indicated that parties and the party system are anything but onesidedly functional in the context of the political system housing them. Our fleeting reconnaissance of the party terrain in Canada indicates that a fully articulated functionalist analysis of the Canadian party system will probably enable us to identify those aspects of the parties' performance which are ascribable to their basic nature and their primary role and those which result from error or exceptional inspiration, and to distinguish lapses or triumphs caused by temporary conditions from those endemic to the nature of the party system. Functionalist analysis also compels the consideration of whether the problems parties experience in performing the tasks expected from them arise from changes in the structure, personnel, or folkways of the parties, from their interactions and behaviour, or whether the causes must be sought in the broader context of their environment. Is it necessary to redefine the role of parties in the electronically driven global village, recognizing that many of their traditional services are now performed by others (Paltiel, 1989)? Despite the austerely partial perspective taken here, functional analysis permitted us to obtain helpful insights into the parties' difficulties in playing the role John Stuart Mill and similar liberal theorists would have prescribed for them. In conjunction with the rich literature stressing the functions performed by the parties, this approach is capable of rendering significant assistance to anyone attempting to reform parties and the party system, and to propose changes which would enable democratic institutions to be fully congruent with prevailing conditions in society. We can reasonably conclude that despite undoubted problems posed by functional analysis, the perspective it affords does direct attention to features of the party phenomenon all too frequently overlooked or played down by other approaches. A more systematic, extensive development of the notion of dysfunctions therefore strongly commends itself as a desirable item on the research agenda of party scholars.

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Merton, as we saw, noted that lasting reform requires that certain functions performed by flawed institutions need to be assumed by alternative structures or procedures. This critical insight points to the direction of the inquiries to be taken by party scholars and parties wishing to minimize the dysfunctional aspects of party activities: there is a need to explore new or modified ways of carrying out some of the tasks parties have assumed within Canada's political system.

NOTES 1 There is, of course, a world of difference between merely talking of the function of phenomena and explaining their origin and/or consequences in terms of their functions. For pertinent discussions, see Homans (1967:35056) and Davis (1967:379-94). 2 Among Canadian scholars who adopt something of a functionalist view on parties, Engelmann and Schwartz (1967) were early pioneers. Carty (1988) and Pross (1982) also think in functional terms. Although Winn and McMenemy (1976) are less explicit, their book is structured in accordance with a functional approach. By far the most important work utilizing the idea of functions in a central way is that of Vincent Lemieux (1985), regrettably little known in English Canada. 3 One of the most useful compendia assembling major arguments on various aspects of the controversy appeared in 1967 and provides an essential canvassing of the points at issue is Demerath and Peterson (1967). See also Lowi (1963). 4 Among the works which deal, inter alia, with various shortcomings of parties and of the party system, the following discuss the main types of failings: Macpherson (1953); Porter (1965); Brodie and Jenson (1988); Smith (1981); Perlin (1980); Laxer and Laxer (1977); Clarke et al. (1984); Bashevkin (1985); Smith (1985); Carty (1988); Pross (1982). 5 There is a luxuriant "decline of party" literature, consisting both of analyses of the relative diminution of party influence and of those challenging this view. A leading American statement can be found in Crotty (1984). Dissenting views are expressed by Kayden and Mahe (1985) and Sabato (1988). In a comparative context, Blondel (1978) and the collection of papers in Lawson and Merkl (1988) are particularly useful. The most explicit Canadian articulation of the party decline argument is in Meisel (1979). Views criticizing or modifying Meisel's analysis are in Engelmann (1983) and Paltiel (1989). See also Amyot (1986). 6 The present comments have no more to support them than unsystematic personal observation and a little reading. It would be highly desirable to launch a rigorous inquiry testing the evolution of partisanship among diverse classes of politicians.

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7 The only recent major exceptions are the Conservative and NDP acceptance of Trudeau's 1969 Official Languages Act, and the Liberal and NDP support for the Meech Lake Accord reached under Mulroney in 1987. It is noteworthy, however, that both instances of opposition support for the government caused serious dissension within the opposition parties. 8 The lack of interest in even considering neo-corporatism as a possible policy-making mechanism, more pronounced in Canada than in many other countries, or of experimenting with the devolution of decision-making to non-partisan community bodies can, in part, be ascribed to the mental framework engendered by the institutionalization of confrontation as a "natural" and inevitable process. 9 For a perceptive view, see Smith's (1985) discussion of the historical evolution of the "party in government model." Smith's argument is complemented by the illuminating analysis of Carty (1988), which identifies three "distinctive party systems (which) have marked the country's political development" (1988:15). 10 R.L. Stanfield, cited by Pross (1986:1). This book provides a trenchant analysis of the phenomena noted here. 11 Smith, for instance, refers to the process which has produced the brokerage theory as "blinkered scholarship" (Smith, 1985:2). 12 The new era ushered in by the 1984 election, and consolidated by that of 1988, in which the Conservative party finds itself firmly in the saddle, provides a challenge to some of the traditional interpretations of Canadian politics. Thus the 1988 election gave the Mulroney government a mandate to proceed with the ratification of the Canada-U.S.A. "Free Trade Agreement" and also to seek the ratification of the Meech Lake accord on constitutional change. 13 Two examples are mentioned in Endnote 7. 14 The standard formulations, which dominated the thinking of several generations of Canadian students, were those of Corry (1946) and Dawson (1947). Each of these classics went through numerous editions and revisions, with the assistance of younger colleagues. It is significant, in the present context, that the latest edition of Dawson states: "In Canada, indeed, the role of national parties as a unifying agent bringing together in amity some of the most powerful dissident forces in the country, despite contemporary argument to the contrary, can hardly be discounted" (Ward, 1987:7). In a previous edition, the last four words read: "could hardly be overestimated" (Dawson, 1970:415). 15 Parties "are an instrument, or an agency, for representing the people by expressing their demands" (Sartori, 1976:27).

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Engelmann, F.C. (1983). "Canadian Political Parties and Elections." J.H. Redekop, ed., Approaches to Canadian Politics, 2nd ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 205-32. Engelmann, F.C. and M.A. Schwartz. (1967). Political Parties and the Canadian Social Structure. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada. Franks, C.E.S. (1987). The Parliament of Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Homans, G.C. (1967). "Structural, Functional and Psychological Theories." N.J. Demerath and R.A. Peterson, eds., System, Change and Conflict, New York: The Free Press, 347-66. Jackman, R.W. (1972). "Political Parties, Voting, and National Integration: The Canadian Case." Comparative Politics 4:4 (July), 511-36. Kayden, X., and E. Mahe, Jr. (1985). The Party Goes On: The Persistence of the Two-Party System in the United States. New York: Basic Books. Key, V.D. (1942). Politics, Parties and Pressure Groups. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell. King, A. (1969). "Political Parties in Western Democracies." Polity 2:2 (Winter), 111-41. Langdon, J.M. (1989). "Changing Emphases in Media Coverage of Elections: The Case of Toronto Newspapers, 1930-1984." Unpublished Master's Thesis. Queen's University, Kingston. LaPalombara, J., and M. Weiner, eds. (1966). Political Parties and Political Development. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Lawson, K., and P.H. Merkl. (1988). "Alternative Organizations: Environmental, Supplementary, Communitarian, and Authoritarian." K. Lawson and P.H. Merkl, eds., When Parties Fail. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 3-12. Laxer, J., and R. Laxer. (1977). The Liberal Idea of Canada: Pierre Trudeau and the Question of Canada's Survival. Toronto: James Lorimer. Lemieux, V. (1985). Systemes partisans et partis politiques. Sillery, Quebec: Presses de 1'Universite du Quebec. Lippman, W. (1956). The Public Philosophy. New York: Mentor Books, The New American Library. Lovink, J.A. (1970). "On Analyzing the Impact of the Electoral System on the Party System in Canada." Canadian Journal of Political Science 3:4 (December), 497-516. Lowi, T. (1963). "Toward Functionalism in Political Science: The Case of Innovation in Party Systems." American Political Science Review 57:3 (September), 570-83. Macpherson, C.B. (1953). Democracy in Alberta: Social Credit and the Party System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. McKenzie, R.T. (1955). British Political Parties. London: William Heinemann. Meisel, J. (1963). "The Stalled Omnibus: Canadian Parties in the 1960s." Social Research 30:3 (September), 367-90.

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. (1967). "Recent Changes in Canadian Parties." H.G. Thorburn, ed. Party Politics in Canada, 2nd ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 33-54. . (1974). "Cleavages, Parties and Values in Canada." Contemporary Political Sociology 6:3. London and Beverly Hills: Sage. . (1975). "Howe, Hubris and '72: An Essay on Political Elitism." J. Meisel, Working Papers on Canadian Politics, 2nd ed. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press, 216-52. . (1979). "The Decline of Party in Canada." H.G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 4th ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 119-35. . (1989). "Near Hit: The Parturition of a Broadcasting Policy." K. Graham, ed., How Ottawa Spends, 1989/90. Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 131-63. Mendoza, M.G., and V. Napol. (1973). Systems of Man: An Introduction to Social Science. Lexington: B.C. Heath. Merton, R.K. (1949). Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Michels, Robert. (1915). Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy. New York: Hearst's International Library. Ostrogorski, M.I. (1902). Democracy and the Organization of Parties. New York: Macmillan. Paltiel, K.Z. (1989). "Political Marketing, Party Finance and the Decline of Canadian Parties." A.-G. Gagnon and A.B. Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition: Discourse, Organization, and Representation. Scarborough: Nelson Canada, 332-55. Perlin, G.C. (1980). The Tory Syndrome: Leadership Politics in the Progressive Conservative Party. Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press. . (1988). Party Democracy in Canada: The Politics of National Party Conventions. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada. Porter, John. (1965). The Vertical Mosaic. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Pross, A.P. (1982). "Space, Function, and Interest: The Problem of Legitimacy in the Canadian State." O.P. Dwivedi, ed., The Administrative State in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 107-29. . (1986). Group Politics and Public Policy. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Ranney, A., and W. Kendall. (1956). Democracy and the American Party System. New York: Harcourt, Brace. Sabato, L.J. (1988). The Party's Just Begun: Shaping Political Parties for America's Future. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman. Sartori, G. (1976). Parties and Party Systems: A Framework for Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schattschneider, E.E. (1942). Party Government. New York: Farrar and Rinehart.

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Simpson, J. (1980). The Discipline of Power: The Conservative Interlude and the Liberal Restoration. Toronto: Personal Library. Smith, David E. (1981). The Regional Decline of a National Party: Liberals on the Prairies. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. . (1985). "Party Government, Representation and National Integration in Canada." P. Aucoin, ed., Party Government and Regional Representation in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1-68. Thomas, P.G. (1985). "The Role of National Party Caucuses." P. Aucoin, ed., Party Government and Regional Representation in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 69-136. Ward, N. (1987). Dawson's The Government of Canada, 6th ed. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Wearing, Joseph. (1988). Strained Relations: Canadian Parties and Voters. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Whitaker, R. (1977). The Government Party: Organizing and Financing the Liberal Party of Canada 1930-58. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Winn, C., and J. McMenemy. (1976). Political Parties in Canada. Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson.

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Selective Annotated Bibliography: The Work of Khayyam Zev Paltiel* (in chronological order) Tim Thomas CARLETON UNIVERSITY Jeff Allan Haire CARLETON UNIVERSITY 1966. "Democracy Within the Parties: The Problem of Party Finance." Paper delivered at the Third Annual Conference on the Canadian Party System, Exchange for Political Ideas in Canada. Toronto, Glendon College, York University, June. From a very early time in his academic career Paltiel was concerned with the inequalities that party and campaign financing introduced into the Canadian political system. Paltiel was critical of the ever-growing distance between the supposed democratic principles of the system and the vast differences in group power and influence that characterized the environment in which party and campaign financing operated. This article is typical not only of Paltiel's early writing, but of his work throughout his career: passionate, pointed, and critical of so-called elites that either took their privilege for granted, or abused their positions of power. Much of Paltiel's work in the late 1960s grew largely out of his experience as Research Director for the Advisory Committee on Election Expenses (1965-67). 1966. Report of the Committee on Election Expenses. Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Pp. x + 528. The report itself (which constitutes 60 pages or so of this 530-page document) explores the phenomenon of rising election expenses in Canada and makes a number of recommendations to deal with this problem based on the experience of various Canadian jurisdictions as well as that of other countries. Among the Committee's key recommendations are the following: that political parties be legally recognized and held responsible for their election spending activities; that tax credits be used to The authors would like to thank Francesca Scala for her research efforts on this project.

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increase public involvement in politics and to broaden the revenue base of the parties; that the cost of elections be reduced by placing ceilings on party and candidate expenditures; and that candidates and parties be required to disclose the sources of their election funds. The bulk of this volume consists of eleven studies covering such topics as "the control, limitation, regulation, reporting and subsidization of election expenses in Canada and foreign countries as well as detailed studies of party finance, provincial legislation, political broadcasting and candidate spending patterns and attitudes in Canada" (p. 83). The studies were prepared under the supervision of Khayyam Paltiel. Among the contributors to this volume are Herbert Alexander, Harold Angell, Jill McCalla Vickers, Jean Van Loon, and Reginald Whitaker. 1966. Committee on Election Expenses. Studies in Canadian Party Finance. Ottawa: Queen's Printer. Pp. xxviii + 588. Khayyam Paltiel was author or co-author of the following contributions: (a) "Federalism and Party Finance," 1-21. (b) "Financing the Liberal Party, 1867-1965," 147-256 (with Jean Van Loon). (c) "The Finances of the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation and the New Democratic Party, 1933-1965," 317-404 (with Howat P. Noble and Reginald A. Whitaker). (d) "Candidate Attitudes Toward the Control of Election Expenses," 459-594 (with Jill McCalla Vickers and Raoul P. Barbe). This supplementary volume of research studies commissioned by the Committee on Election Expenses examines the role of money in the Canadian political process. The various contributions assess the financial practices of Canadian parties and the attitudes and behaviour of the electorate and candidates. Paltiel's contribution to the volume begins with an examination of the relationship between party finance and Canadian federalism. With Van Loon, Paltiel examines the financial structure of the Liberal Party, which, he found, relied heavily on corporate funding. With Noble and Whitaker, he reviews the financial history of the CCF and NDP and the dilemma of grass-roots financing. Finally, Paltiel considers the influence of party affiliation, constituency location, and electoral status on candidate attitudes towards campaign finance.

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1967. "The Proposed Reform of Canadian Election Finance: A Study and Critique." Jahrbuch des Offentlichen Rechts der Gegenwart. Tubingen: Neue Folge/Band 16, 379-409. The article examines the establishment and composition of the Advisory Committee on Canadian Election Expenses and the course of its inquiry. It also discusses the Committee's findings regarding the structure of Canadian party finance, the sources and methods of raising campaign funds, and the need for funds. As well, it reviews the Committee's recommendations on reporting, publicity, disclosure, and enforcement. 1970.

Political Party Financing in Canada. Toronto: McGraw-Hill. Pp. xvi + 200.

Paltiel assesses the methods used by Canadian political parties to finance their activities and the legislation introduced to reform these practices. He addresses the following questions: What has been raised? How has it been raised? By whom and to whom has money been given? Paltiel also examines the implications of the responses to such questions for a modern society that styles itself a liberal democracy. Although critical of the existing laissez-faire legislation concerning campaign funds, Paltiel remains optimistic because of Quebec's recently introduced system of public subsidization and control of election campaigning. 1970. (With Larry J. Kjosa). "The Structure and Dimensions of Election Broadcasting in Canada." Jahrbuch des Offentlichen Rechts der Gegenwart. Tubingen: Neue Folge/Band 19: 355-82. Paltiel examines the historical background of the contemporary broadcasting structure in Canada and its effects on political broadcasting in the 1968 national election. He argues that the greater role being played by the private broadcasting sector in the federal election led to an increase in broadcasting costs. This has made it difficult for minor parties to compete effectively at the national level. Therefore, Paltiel stresses the importance of maintaining indirect access channels to public affairs programming which would ultimately benefit all voters and parties. 1972. "The Sources and Uses of Party Funds." From the Report of the Committee on Election Expenses. Hugh G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 2nd and 3rd eds. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 131-47. This study of party funds explores new trends in political finance. Various functions, in particular fund raising and campaign expenditures,

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have become specialized and professionalized. They are no longer considered the duties of party leaders. Furthermore, campaign expenditure is, to a large degree, being directed towards funding means of communications during the actual election period. The study also reveals that attempts at mass fund raising by various parties have failed, leaving trade unions and business corporations as the only viable alternatives. 1972. "A Critique of Canadian Methods of Financing Political Parties." Hugh G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 3rd ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 148-51. The trend towards multi-partyism and the economic and political resurgence of the provinces, have, according to Paltiel, weakened the previously centralized structure of party finance in Canada. The availability of substantial funds for regional party organizations will further undermine the role of the national parties in the maintenance of the traditional federal system. 1974. "Party and Candidate Expenditures in the Canadian General Election of 1972." Canadian Journal of Political Science 7:2 (June), 341-52. Paltiel calculates the full cost of the electoral process in the 1972 Federal election campaign. In doing so, he examines the total spending by political parties and candidates, as well as the amount spent by the Chief electoral officer and the value of the free broadcasting time allocated to parties and candidates by the CBC and private stations. 1975. "Campaign Financing in Canada and Its Reform." Howard Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls. Washington D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 181-208. The Election Expenses Act, introduced in 1974, was intended to reform significantly the fund-raising practices and campaign spending of Canadian parties and candidates. It required the disclosure of campaign funding and established a tax credit system for contributions to parties and candidates. However, according to Paltiel, the act failed to implement the recommendations of the Advisory Committee on Election Expenses. It ignored the problem of campaign donations from foreign-domiciled corporations and individuals, and did not strengthen the enforcement mechanisms of the legislation.

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1975. "The Israeli Coalition System." Government and Opposition 10:4 (October), 397-414. Paltiel applies the consociational model and the theory of elite accommodation to explain the maintenance of political stability and integration in Israel. He argues that the process of accommodation in Israel relies heavily on its coalition system and the constitution of the Cabinet. This process of elite bargaining is necessitated by the extreme fragmentation of Israeli society and by the centrifugal effects of its rigidly proportional electoral system. Political stability is further enhanced by Israel's highly refined patronage system, known as the "party key." 1976. "Provincial Party Finance and Election Expense Legislation." David Bellamy, Jon Pammett and Donald C. Rowat, eds., The Provincial Political Systems: Comparative Essays. Toronto: Methuen, 161-76. The titles listed above amply illustrate Paltiel's expertise in federal level party financing, election spending and election expense legislation. For this article, Paltiel applies the same criteria to the provincial systems, and finds striking similarities: histories of patronage and clientelism, increasingly powerful and fully mobilized interest actors and advocacy groups, and increasingly short-sighted and ineffectual legislation. 1976. "Federalism and Party Finance." D.C. Rowat and Kenneth Gibbons, eds., Political Corruption in Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, Carleton Library, 193-203. In the Canadian federal parliamentary system the party leader is assigned a central role in the party system. At the same time, the system fragments this power and sets up competing power centres in provinces and provincial parties. Paltiel examines the effects of these factors on party and election finance and reviews the sources and purposes of party funds. 1976. "Improving Laws on Financing Elections." D.C. Rowat and Kenneth Gibbons, eds., Political Corruption in Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, Carleton Library, 295-99. Paltiel reviews the revised federal and provincial laws on election expenses and demonstrates that they remain unsatisfactory. In order to achieve a more open and honest political system, a fundamental change to Election Acts must be introduced. Any proposal or reforms, according

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to Paltiel, must be fair and equitable to all participants without complicating or undermining legitimate activities in the electoral system. 1977. (With Clinton Archibald). "Du passage des corps intermediaires aux groupes de pression au Quebec: la transformation d'une idee illustree par le Mouvement cooperatif Desjardins." Recherches sociographiques 18:1 (automne), 59-91. "Enfin, non settlement sont-ils differents de I'fitat, mats encore cherchent-ils a le remplacer. Chaque corps intermediaire poursuit le bien-etre de ses mernbres et s'oppose a des empietements de I'autorite de I'titat." (p. 69) Some Quebec lobby groups are referred to as corps intermediaires, and their supporters claim that they are somehow purer and based more on co-operation than similar groups operating within the English Canadian and American political systems. Paltiel and Archibald trace their early development from their roots within the Quebec Catholic Church to their recent post-Quiet Revolution transformations, challenging the notion that these groups benefit their respective political system more than their English Canadian and American counterparts. 1978. Party, Candidate and Election Finance: A Background Report. Ottawa: Royal Commission on Corporate Concentration, Study No. 22. Pp. vi + 113. The study inquires into the social and political implications of corporate concentration in Canada and examines alternative models of financing political parties, candidates, and elections. It reviews the federal and provincial election expense legislation in Canada and the control mechanisms of political finance in other countries. According to Paltiel, the experiences of Canada and other countries reveal that any programme to reform campaign finance must incorporate full disclosure of funds and an enforcement agency endowed with legal powers. 1978. (With Clinton Archibald). "L'e'volution de 1'idee corporatiste au Canada." fitudes canadiennes, numero special. Actes du Colloque de Mons sur la vie politique au Canada. Universite de Bordeaux, France (avril), 61-79. "Pour reussir, le corporatisme social-democrate du PQ doitfaire s'asseoira la meme table les representants des differents groupes et chercher de concert de nouvelles ententes. Bref, il faut que I'fitat soit instrument d'integration sociale des employes et des

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patrons. Le probleme, c'est qu'il a des difficultes a garder sa 'neutralite corporatiste.'" (p. 76) Paltiel and Archibald define and trace the evolution of Quebec corporatism, beginning with le corporatisme social, centred between Church and State, which disintegrated during the Duplessis era, giving way to industrial corporatism and post-war development. The Lesage Liberals' reforms embodied in la revolution tranquille introduced le corporatisme social-democrate, which the PQ meant to continue; however, the authors label the pequiste agenda le neo-corporatisme, since it focuses more and more on business and economy, to the exclusion of organized labour. 1979. "Canadian Election Expense Legislation: Recent Developments." Hugh G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 4th ed., Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 100-10. Paltiel examines the legislative measures (e.g., tax incentives, subventions to candidates) introduced by the Canadian parliament and six provincial legislatures to address growing concerns over party funding and election campaign finances. These measures are intended to control election spending by federal and provincial parties and candidates, thereby increasing their accountability. In this article, Paltiel argues that these measures have been successful in encouraging openness and equity in the political process. However, due to the reluctance to enforce the legislation, they have failed to reduce significantly campaign costs and corporate funding. 1979. "Public Financing Abroad: Contrasts and Effects." Michael J. Malbin, ed.. Parties, Interest Groups, and Campaign Finance Laws. Washington D.C.: American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, 354-70. In a comparative analysis, Paltiel reviews the different types of public campaign finance laws and examines the impact of the subsidy system on parties and federalism. In most countries, campaign finance regulations have been successful in encouraging a greater degree of equity and honesty in the campaign process. However, because of inflation and the use of the electronic media, there has not been a significant reduction in campaign costs. Moreover, Paltiel argues that greater attention should be directed towards the secondary consequences of these reforms, especially those related to subsidy systems which tend to restrict the participation of new groups in the electoral process.

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1979. "The Impact of Election Expense Legislation in Canada, Western Europe and Israel." H.E. Alexander, ed., Political Finance. Beverly Hills: Sage. Sage Electoral Studies Yearbook, vol. 5, 15-39. "Controls directed at the financially strong have been justified in order to maintain the electorate's freedom of choice in the age of the mass media and the 'hidden persuader'." (pp. 17-18) Paltiel's comparative analysis demonstrates that despite variations in systems of government and differences in electoral systems, many countries are experiencing similar difficulties in dealing with the proliferation of advocacy groups influence to the detriment of party and election financing. 1980. "Campaign Finance: Contrasting Practices and Reforms." David Butler, Howard Penniman and Austin Ranney, eds., Democracy at the Polls. Washington D.C.: American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, 138-72. "The residue of an outdated individualistic ideology tends to obscure the fact that the flow of funds into the party system reflects the economic and social structure of society." (p. 171) In this extremely important chapter, Paltiel lays out the vocabulary for studying party financing and patronage: macing, toll-gating, kickbacks and its French Canadian equivalent, ristournes. Paltiel illustrates how advocacy financing and patronage erode the supposed democratic principles of the electoral system and alienate a frustrated electorate. 1981. (With F. Leslie Seidle). "Party Finance, the Election Expenses Act and Campaign Spending in 1979 and 1980." Howard Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls, 1979 and 1980: A Study of the General Elections. Washington D.C.: American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, 226-79. Through an examination of Canadian party finance and campaign spending in the 1979 and 1980 federal elections, the chapter assesses the effectiveness of the 1974 Election Expenses Act. Since its implementation the Act has successfully reduced election expenses while broadening the sources of party funding and fostering a more open party and election financing process. However, Paltiel argues that the public funding provisions continue to benefit the three major parties at the expense of new parties. This will ultimately lead to a greater institutionalization of the federal party system.

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1982. "The Changing Environment and Role of Special Interest Groups." Canadian Public Administration 25:2 (Summer), 148-210. "Although the transformation of political culture and the revival of parties lie beyond the scope of this paper, it appears that both are essential if the Canadian political system is to cope successfully with the problems posed by the evolution of special interest groups. Only a 'creative polities' along the lines suggested by the late John Porter would galvanize the Canadian political process in a direction which would permit the disciplining of the interest groups which currently threaten the stability and legitimacy of liberal democracy in Canada." (p. 210) Paltiel confronts those theorists who argue that the increased role of advocacy groups within the political system leads to better representation of societal interests. Paltiel contends that the competitive nature of lobbying has led to a system of unequal bargaining power among the groups, favouring only those advocacy groups backed by elites. 1985. "The Control of Campaign Finance in Canada: A Summary and Overview." Hugh G. Thorburn, ed., Party Politics in Canada, 5th ed. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall Canada, 115-27. Legislative measures in the field of election expenses have been adopted in federal and provincial jurisdictions in order to encourage honesty and equity in the electoral process. However, the 1983 changes in the Canada Elections Act undermine the intent of the law by lifting the restraints on campaign spending and weakening the control measures at the federal level. Paltiel argues that the divergence in federal and provincial rules will work to strengthen the differences in the federal and provincial party systems. 1985. "Canadian Election Expense Legislation 1963-1985: A Critical Appraisal (or Was The Effort Worth It?)." Paper prepared for delivery to the Annual Meeting of the Canadian Political Science Association. Montreal, June 1. [Later published in Herbert E. Alexander, ed., Comparative Political Finance in the 1980s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.] a

[T]he reforms in the area of political finance and the regulation of campaign spending have furthered the institutionalization and reinforced the positions of the traditional competitors on the Canadian electoral stage." (p. 2) Paltiel critically examines the Canada Elections Act and its most recent amendments with the passage of Bill C-169. Paltiel argues that the

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amendments will continue to be challenged under the provisions of the new constitution. Even without the challenges, Paltiel points out, the Act will do nothing to constrain the proliferating activities of advocacy groups during elections. More importantly, Bill C-169 reinforces the privileged position of the established parties in the electoral arena and does nothing to facilitate the entry of new political formations into the system. 1985. "The 1984 Federal General Election and Developments in Canadian Party Finance." Howard Penniman, ed., Canada at the Polls III: The Canadian General Election of 1984. Washington D.C.: American Enterprise Institute and Duke University Press, 137-60. [The original text was prepared for the IPSA Political Finance Forum in Paris, France, July 1985.] "Although a relatively minor factor in the 1984 campaign, suck activities ["third-party" advertising and advocacy financing] may well be a harbinger of things to come in the absence of acceptable legislative action." (From the original text) Paltiel writes prophetically on the issue of third party and advocacy advertising during the 1984 federal election, as well as interest group mobilization during the leadership conventions and in relation to party financing. The legislation in place, Paltiel argues, is ineffective. Had Paltiel not passed away before the 1988 free trade federal election, he would have seen many of his predictions come to pass. 1986. (With Alain-G. Gagnon). "Toward Maitres Chez Nous: The Ascendency of a Balzacian Bourgeoisie in Quebec." Queen's Quarterly 93:4, 731-49. "Ironically, the fulfilment of the "maitres chez nous" promise of the Quiet Revolution in the recent explosion of the Quebecois entrepreneuriat has precipitated the decline of the new middle class as the dominant social group in Quebec." (p. 731) Paltiel and Gagnon explore the transfer of power from the public sectorbased technocratic elite (the new middle class) of the 1960s and 1970s to the private sector-based entrepreneuriat or new business elite of the 1980s. The Lesage Liberals' Quiet Revolution reforms laid the groundwork for the process, and, as the authors illustrate, the post-referendum redirection of the Pequiste agenda towards business and economy allowed for its completion.

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1987. "Group Rights in the Canadian Constitution and Aboriginal Claims to Self-Determination." R.J. Jackson et al., eds., Contemporary Canadian Politics: Readings and Notes. Scarborough: PrenticeHall Canada, 26-43. This article, together with others Paltiel wrote on this topic, is an expression of one of his greatest passions: that for minority group rights. For Paltiel, the struggle of Canadian aboriginal peoples revolves around the central conflict of the Canadian political system — individual versus collective rights. Paltiel argues that the new constitution is still open, and that its interpretation will be what determines the future direction of the country. If the courts favour individual rights in their decisions, the new constitution will be the strongest force for Americanization that we have ever known; if the courts favour collective rights, it is the group comprising the aboriginal peoples that stands to gain the most. 1989. "Political Marketing, Party Finance and the Decline of Canadian Parties." Alain-G. Gagnon and A. Brian Tanguay, eds., Canadian Parties in Transition: Discourse, Organization, Representation. Scarborough: Nelson Canada, 332-53. "It may well be argued that a principal weakness of the [declineof-party] thesis lies in an over-generalization of the consequences — for the Canadian party system as a whole — of the lengthy domination of the Canadian federal electoral scene by one party. If public interest in politics, and competition for party office and candidacies are indices of life, there are few signs that the Canadian party system is moribund." (p. 333) Paltiel examines the current state of health of Canada's political parties. Challenging the increasingly popular argument that parties are in decline, Paltiel contends that parties in both Canada and the United States are actually enjoying an organizational renaissance of sorts. Paltiel concludes that it is those parties which have been the quickest to embrace the new political marketing technologies of direct mail, opinion polling, professional advertising and media consultants — namely the Republicans in the U.S. and the Progressive Conservatives in Canada — "which have had the greatest success in recent years." (p. 348)

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For My Father Khayyam Zev Paltiel March 16, 1922 - April 17, 1988 My Father was a man full of paradox. He used to say: "Consistency is the soul of mediocrity." He was not consistent, and he was not mediocre. His love for us was unmistakable, but was hardly ever expressed aloud. His scholarly prose was crystal clear and unambiguous, and yet his letters were scrawled in a scratchy vertical script, almost illegible to the uninitiated, and which often had hardly one personal word except his signature — "Daddy." His mind was methodical, decisive, and fastidious, and yet his desk was a litter of unsorted papers, books, articles, notes, bills . . . He could seem forbidding and unapproachable, and yet he played with us and with his grandchildren with such unforgettable kindness and gaiety, with an absolutely unmistakable joy of life — so much so that when my daughter was only four years old he came in the door and she exclaimed: "Here comes my best friend!" He was delighted to be a four-year-old's best friend. The laughter as he played with my children still rings in my ears, and echoes our laughter when we were children, so recently and so long ago. His anger was proverbial. He would strike out with the irrational rage of a bull provoked: against what he saw as injustice, petty-mindedness, hypocrisy; or to defend his family or his people. But his anger was also directed against us, against those he loved most, against his family and friends, and at delicate moments and important occasions, when his temperament could no longer govern the conflicting emotions in his soul. Yet it would pass like a summer's storm, infuriating us whose plans or day had been ruined, with seemingly no one to blame, as though we had suffered an unintended act of nature, as though he himself had been possessed by something not himself. But it was himself, even if there was no "malice aforethought." And at certain times of each of our lives his temperament caused us much pain. Yet how much, how very much would each of us give today to endure more years of his impossible behaviour! What a fury he would have unleashed had he been told that he was destined to die at the age of 66, in the midst of life! He would

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have found out who was responsible, and made sure they answered for it! He would not go quietly into the night. His presence was felt; he was not a man you could ignore, even if he seemed to be ignoring you. But his bluster went together with an almost painful shyness which, because of his gruffness, was sometimes not recognised for what it was. In that shyness was a great delicacy, gentleness, kindness and generosity. We do not know, outside our family, how much the world saw of these qualities. But I'm sure his students felt them, and I know those who worked for him did. He was a man unable to dissemble, unable to strike an artificial pose, to put on an air. He was transparent in his motives, in his affections and dislikes. He was never boastful, and never sang his own praises. And yet he had so much to be proud of. He was a Jew and a Zionist, he was a Canadian, he was a scholar and a man of books, a student of politics and a teacher. He was a traveler: he loved discovering new places and revisiting old and loved ones. He loved good food, good theatre, good music, beautiful clothes — he was no puritan. He believed the world's beauty should be enjoyed. And he gave all these things to us, for above all he was a father and a husband, a friend and provider for us all. He was a Jew and a Zionist from birth. When he was born his father had already purchased the first shares of the Workers Bank of Palestine, Bank Hapoalim. One of those certificates hangs on my wall today. He used to tell us that his first political act consisted of being taken by his mother to demonstrate when the Jews of Hebron were massacred. During Israel's War of Independence he helped to purchase and dispatch food, and other supplies which were just as urgently needed and less easily obtained. For years he worked for Jewish and Zionist organizations. He was the first director of Canpal, the Canada Palestine trade company. He worked for years raising money for the new state. He was the director of the Jewish Community Council of Windsor, Ontario, and organized the building of Windsor's Jewish Community Centre, started a day camp, and heaven knows what else. No sooner had he seen Israel for the first time, in 1957, than he and my mother decided to return the following year, with the intention that he would seek a PhD. at the Hebrew University. This was no simple adventure, at the age of 36 to take four small children from the material prosperity of the suburban Canadian fifties to Jerusalem, where maabarot — immigrant transit camps — still existed, where meat was still rationed, where butter was "a gift of the people of the United States," where telephones were rare and private cars nearly unknown. We received CARE packages; I remember enjoying them. Our

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five years there were hard ones for my parents, materially, and in a way, culturally. But they were so rewarding spiritually that not one of us children remembers them as anything but happy. They marked us all for life. We all made life-long friends, and we experienced Israel at its most wonderful, gathering in the dispersed Jews of the world, building a new state, trying Eichmann, making the desert bloom. And these were years of peace for Israel, there were no wars . . . We were in Israel, but my father knew more of what went on in Canada than many who stayed here. With his omnivorous appetite for news he not only read his staples: the New Statesman, The Nation, The Economist (the first of these perhaps as much for its crossword puzzle — which he once won — as for anything else), but we also received Le Devoir regularly. He followed the progress of Quebec's Quiet Revolution with critical interest. He remained a Montrealer all his life. And though he read and spoke three languages fluently it would be wrong to say he was trilingual: he was bilingual twice over, in French and English, English and Hebrew. In his active and sincere devotion to pluralism — in ideas, in politics, in culture — he was a Canadian. He was an intellectual in his very fibre, but his life as an academic scholar and teacher really began when we returned to Ottawa. Others who were his students and colleagues can say more of this aspect of his life than I — his contributions to the understanding of Canadian party politics and the Canadian political process. / know that my father's house was full of books, my father's mind full of wisdom. I know what he taught me: to love truth and knowledge; to stand on the side of justice and against oppression; to distrust the powerful and the greedy but never to take the virtues of a public and open political system for granted; never to be cynical, to condemn hypocrisy and hot air. I know he must have taught these things to his students and colleagues as well. As long as we live we will share this world he loved with him. The tragedy is that he will no longer share this world with us. Ari Meir Paltiel April 18th, 1988 Rosh Hodesh lyar

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