Free Tragedy in the Commons by Alison Loat

life.
    How did these self-described accidental politicians feel once they first arrived in Ottawa? And how did they navigate those initial weeks and months in office? We hadn’t expected our MPs’ vivid recollections of nomination battles so long ago fought, and we were just as surprised by their tales of the rude awakening that greeted them in Ottawa.
    Virtually all the MPs we interviewed remembered feeling, immediately, two powerful emotions. First, they werefilled with awe for the institution of Parliament and its history, and for the opportunity to serve, believing that they were part of something important and ready for the challenge. And then there was a double take at being left to fend for themselves.
    Take Marlene Catterall, a teacher and former Ottawa city councillor who became a Liberal MP in 1988, representing the riding of Ottawa West. When Catterall walked into the House of Commons for the first time, she looked around at the oak panelling, the ceiling painted with the provincial emblems, the stained glass windows at which so many other federal politicians had also gazed, and she thought, “What a great country they’ve given us.” What a great country—and she felt what others had felt: the call to continue that greatness, to make sure it was a better country once she left the House of Commons. “To be one of only 308 people chosen from the entire population of this country,” she thought. “How much more of an honour could you possibly have?”
    “It’s awe-inspiring,” recalled Art Hanger, a former Calgary policeman turned Reform MP who first went to the House of Commons in 1993. “This is no frivolous position that you have.… It’s ultra-important, you’re representing the people of this nation and you have a responsibility, a substantial responsibility, and you’d better do it right.”
    Many MPs shared similar sentiments. “All I can say is, very exciting,” recalled Victoria Liberal David Anderson, first elected in 1968. “We were all ushered in, and there was Trudeau. It was tremendous. It’s a beautiful room. The carving, the velvet drapery, it’s a beautiful room.”
    While the sense of responsibility and history inspired them, the MPs were startled to find how little help there was forthem after they arrived. It felt a little duplicitous, this aspect of the political career. The party that, in many cases, had pleaded with the candidates to run in the election, approved their nominations and whose logos adorned their lawn signs, now was proving itself anything but supportive. In fact, with the MPs now firmly positioned in their political careers, and almost trapped in Ottawa, the parties (no matter which one) repeatedly showed themselves to be apathetic about how the newcomers fared in nearly all aspects of their jobs. Except for one: how they vote. During the first few days in Ottawa, MPs experience their first inkling that the party doesn’t value them as much as they’d thought. It’s at this point that new MPs realize they’re on their own—and sometimes painfully so.
    Following the 1993 election, over 72 percent of the MPs were rookies, the largest class of freshman MPs in modern Canadian history. Audiences tuning in to the evening news were treated to an indelible symbol of their bewilderment, as a CTV camera crew followed Reform MP Myron Thompson through his first day of the parliamentary session. Born in the United States, Thompson had tried out for the New York Yankees and served in the U.S. Army before moving to Canada in 1968. He had been a teacher, a school principal and the mayor of his town before becoming the MP for the Wild Rose riding in southwestern Alberta. At one point that first day on Parliament Hill he set down his briefcase in the House of Commons, removed some papers and then became distracted. A bit later, as he was about to leave the Chamber, he picked up the same briefcase and all his papers went flying—he’d forgotten to close the clasp. The