When it comes to fixing Canada’s official residences, it’s time to put aside politics and get the job done

It was a cool evening in September 2004. I was sitting at 24 Sussex Drive, perched on a sofa chair across from one of Canada’s better known premiers in a little alcove off the main hall referred to as the sunroom. While we discussed how many billions in health care funding he would be willing to accept in exchange for continuing to call the federal government scurrilous, wind tore up my suit jacket.

Behind me, a sheet of polyethylene smeared in blue duct tape flapped freely, detached from the hole in the wall that it had been crafted to cover. A hole that led directly to the outdoors. For those just joining, I’ll repeat myself: We were not at the hunting camp. I was sitting with this particular premier in our prime minister’s official residence.

“It’s colder than Billy-be-damned in here,” I said. “Let’s move.” He didn’t need to be asked twice.

This little Heritage Minute is brought to you compliments of our nation’s neglected official residence that serves as home to the prime minister. Not to mention a sizable number of woodland creatures and outside elements that make their way in through one of the building’s many cracks and creases.

Had the premier-in-question and I ventured up to the third floor, we would have encountered bedrooms with kiddie wallpaper that had been left unchanged since the Mulroney children were in short pants. Also, buckets on the floor set out to catch rainwater that streamed in during storms thanks to a leaking roof. And we dare not forget window casings that were beaten savagely by the use of mounted air conditioners because the house lacks central air and heating. Eventually, we saw to it that the roof was repaired. And I’m pretty sure that Ben Mulroney’s WHAM poster was taken down. To the best of my knowledge, the air conditioners remain and the sunroom is still a good place to chill your beer. And that was nearly a decade ago. According to a sheaf of emails the Citizen has unveiled through access to information, in the eight years since I was last invited in for tea, things have not much improved at 24 (that’s insider slang for the residence). In fact, the situation has become demonstrably worse. Even more worrying is the unmistakable impression that the palace guard remains indifferent to word that the palace is crumbling.

This is not entirely new. During my own years in the PMO, we were warned also. Among the first briefing notes provided to my former boss was an appeal from the NCC for tens of millions in new budget to renovate and repair the residence. Largely out of concern that it would look self-indulgent, we declined — although, as noted, we did later agree to a number of repairs, including patching the roof. Toward the end of our time in office, prompted by increasingly dire warnings, we made a proposal to take politics out of the process.

Our suggestion was to remove decision-making authority for such expenditures from the government per se and vest it with the all-party House Procedures committee. This would have removed the obstacle of partisan finger-pointing and permitted a more dispassionate approach to the stewardship of our country’s official residences. The Conservatives said no.

This came as little surprise. After all, in the early 1990s Preston Manning suggested we turn Stornoway into a bingo parlour.

Not much has really changed since.

The Conservatives have long seen our political institutions as a suspicious legacy of central Canada and, by extension, the Liberal party establishment. Why expect any different when it comes to our official residences?

And then there’s the issue of political brand. This is a government that revels in contrived class warfare. If a sitting minister can be run out of cabinet, caucus and even public life for a $16 glass of orange juice, don’t bet heavily on them spending to improve the curb appeal of the prime minister’s house. Ninety thousand dollars can be found for Mike Duffy but 24 Sussex Drive will fall into a Grey Gardens state of disrepair before a penny gets spent.

So whether it’s ideology, misplaced populism or a simple lack of testicular fortitude, the problem is with our political leaders. To preserve the long-term health of our official residences, we must remove responsibility for their well-being from those who live in them temporarily.

The practical solution is to extract official residences from the NCC’s purview and, by implication, the government of the day. Instead, we should designate them as part of the Parliamentary precinct. That would shift responsibility for their upkeep from the government to the Speaker of the House of Commons with a budget to be drawn from Public Works. It would strip at least some of the political gamesmanship out of their oversight and open up the possibility that they will be refurbished in the same way that our Parliament Buildings are now being rebuilt.

24 Sussex. Harrington Lake. Kingsmere. Rideau Hall. Stornoway. These residences belong to us. To taxpayers. To Canadians. They play an important part in our national heritage. And to knowingly permit them to slide into decay is to disrespect our history and ourselves.

Some call such considerations elitist. But that’s a bullying tactic. The tyranny of the tiny-minded, from the cynical and sour sort who like to play to uninformed prejudices. Advocates should not be bullied into feeling like spendthrift snobs. We should reply to such critics with the only answer they deserve. We should tell them to go to hell.

It’s either that or watch as these magnificent tributes to our country continue to gradually decompose. Not because we’re unaware of the problem. Not because we lack the remedy. But because we lack the integrity to act.