GETTING THE CALL
Bill Graham tells of his unexpected jump from backbencher to foreign minister
When Bill Graham joined cabinet
The following is an excerpt from Chapter 10 of The Call of the World: A Political Memoir by Bill Graham, former Liberal foreign minister
On Jan. 9, 2002, during the Christmas break, I flew to Mexico for a gathering of the Council of Europe in Mexico City, a meeting with the governor of Oaxaca, and a lunch at the Canadian embassy to discuss the Inter-Parliamentary Forum of the Americas (FIPA). Then Cathy and I drove in a tropical downpour to Cuernavaca, where we were booked to take a one-week intensive Spanish course. As chairman of FIPA, I had decided I should learn Spanish. Cathy wanted to learn too, so we began with a teacher in Toronto and computer lessons, and now we had a chance to go a step farther.
We arrived at night in the rain and a cold, somewhat sinister, fog, but when we woke the next morning we found ourselves in a charming boutique hotel in a jungle setting with a beautiful vista overlooking a river. “This is going to be great,” said Cathy. “A week in paradise, and nothing to do but learn Spanish.” We were very happy and found the class full of really interesting people, including three municipal councillors from Texas who had realized they’d better learn Spanish if they wanted to get re-elected and do a decent job in their cities. When one of them asked me why I was there, I said, “Same reason — politics — but at the international level.”
About eleven o’clock there was a knock on the door. A man came in and announced, in Spanish, that there was a call for me from the Prime Minister’s Office in Ottawa. Cathy rolled her eyes and gave me a “what now?” look as I left the room. After a bit of trouble with the line, I got through to Percy Downe, who had succeeded Jean Pelletier as Chrétien’s chief of staff. “You’ve got to come back,” he said. “We thought of sending a plane for you, but it didn’t work out.”
“You don’t usually send a plane for the chairman of the foreign affairs committee, Percy. What’s going on up there? We just got here, the course only lasts a week. Why don’t I come back on Friday?”
“No, Bill, you’re short-listed for the Cabinet, and the prime minister wants you here now.”
I went back to the classroom and broke the news to Cathy. “Every trip we’ve ever taken recently has been screwed up by politics,” she sighed, “so why did I believe this one would be any different?” She was unhappy, and I didn’t blame her. We were in an enchanting place, we were excited that we had already made some progress with Spanish because of our French, and now we had to leave. It was really disappointing. Later I used to laugh when Mr. Chrétien boasted that I was trilingual. Thank heavens we had no Spanish-speaking reporters on the Hill.
After lunch by the pool we reluctantly got in the car and were whisked back to the Airport Hilton in Mexico City by six, whereupon I was informed that we were booked on a commercial flight to Toronto early the next morning. At eight o’clock that night, when I reported back to Percy Downe, he put Mitchell Sharp and David Zussman on the line. Sharp, I knew, was a distinguished former senior civil servant and Cabinet minister who had been lured out of retirement to serve as the prime minister’s dollar-a-year adviser. Zussman was a long-time consultant to Chrétien on governance issues.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” I asked.
“No, I can’t tell you, but it’s terrific. I’m very happy for you,” Mitchell said, and then became more businesslike. “Bill, we have to put you through a bit of an ‘examination.’ Have you ever taken a bribe?” “No.” “Any problems with your election financing?”
“No, no issues. There’s no corruption in the riding association. We’re completely open about everything.”
“Any possibility of an embarrassment?”
I raised the fact that an aspect of my private life had been featured in Frank, the muckraking magazine, and that Cathy was perfectly aware of it and supportive. So, it turned out, were they, and it was never an issue for the prime minister.
After about twenty minutes of questions, Mitchell said, “Fine, fine, I just had to satisfy myself on these points. I want you to make sure that your record is clear. We’ll get back to you shortly. Oh, hang on a minute, I see somebody coming down the hall. He wants to speak to you.”
Then the unmistakable voice came on the line. “Bill, would you like to be my foreign minister?”
I still didn’t understand what was happening because I really didn’t expect it. Though I figured something important was up, I thought I might be offered the secretary of state for Latin America or some such job. To go straight from the backbench to foreign minister would be astonishing to everyone. Oddly enough, my mind skipped to the November 1999 conversation I’d had with Chrétien as we drove to the Toronto airport. “But two years ago you told me you had a foreign minister,” I blurted idiotically.
“Bill, do you want the job or not?” he asked.
“Of course I want the job. I’m incredibly flattered, and I’d love to do it. Thank you very much.”
“I’ll explain it to you later, but we have a big problem here. Tobin has just resigned the Cabinet. I was planning to do a shuffle in June, but I’ve decided to do it now. Herb Gray is stepping down, Manley’s going to be deputy prime minister, and you’ll take his place. You’ve been highly recommended by many people. It will be announced tomorrow. So hurry up, we’ve got work to do. I can’t talk any longer. Goodbye.”
Meanwhile, Cathy had become so upset that she had gone into the bathroom and stuffed toilet paper in her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear the bad news. “Darling, where are you?” I called. “Guess what? I’m the new foreign minister of Canada.”
Thrilled by this incredible and totally unexpected development, we ordered a bottle of champagne, which we later discovered cost $500, and called our old friend Adrienne Clarkson, who in her capacity as governor general had already heard the news. We were so excited that we could hardly sleep, and anyway, we had to get up at 5:00 a.m. to catch the 6:30 plane. As we were about to board, I looked down the hall and saw Keith Christie, our ambassador to Mexico, rushing toward me. “What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Keith? I don’t think you’ve come to wave goodbye to the chairman of the foreign affairs committee.”
“A little bird told me that you might not be the chairman of the committee anymore,” he said. “In fact, at three o’clock this morning, I got a wire from Ottawa saying that the foreign minister is here.”
“Word gets around fast,” I said. Then Cathy and I flew to Toronto and on to Ottawa, arriving late on January 15, 2002, having missed the swearing-in ceremony for new ministers held earlier that day. “It gradually sinks in how much my life (our lives) will now change,” I recorded in my journal.
Though I figured something important was up, I thought I might be offered the secretary of state for Latin America ...
Excerpted with permission from The Call of the World: A Political Memoir by Bill Graham, 2016, On Point Press, an imprint of UBC Press, Vancouver and Toronto, Canada.