HOW ALBERTA'S PREMIER TURNS `CHEAP TALK' INTO PUBLIC POLICY

Smith could pay a price in long term for her headline-catching rhetoric

Danielle Smith's government has an unorthodox approach to public policy.

Unlike other governments that telegraph their policy agenda through their election platforms, Smith has made a habit of keeping the public guessing. Instead of consulting with partners, stakeholders or public servants before developing a policy, she prefers to catch them off-guard.

Of her most headline-catching policy initiatives — an Alberta Pension Plan, an Alberta Police Service, introducing parties into municipal elections, the Sovereignty Act, and the Provincial Priorities Act — none appeared in the UCP's lengthy list of campaign planks. Indeed, the premier denied wanting to pursue several of them altogether.

All of the proposals have drawn criticism from the groups most directly affected and experts in those policy fields. More puzzling, polling shows these policy positions to be massively unpopular among most Albertans. Yet, the UCP pursues them anyway.

Some observers have tried to make sense of this approach by seeing these as examples of a populist impulse, democratic backsliding, rage farming, Quebec envy or trying to “own the libs.” Others view the Alberta government's moves as motivated by ideology, or by the premier's own self-preservation in the face of an activist base.

Whatever the motivations, the UCP's approach has real implications for the future of Alberta's society, economy and democracy. How do we make sense of the policy-making patterns? The right answer might also be the simplest one.

Smith comes to the premier's office from a successful career as a media personality. Her stints as a columnist and radio host hold some clues as to her policy style. Behind the keyboard, microphone or podium, Smith has demonstrated a talent for what political science calls “cheap talk.

In game theory, cheap talk is when people communicate freely without any requirement or even intention to act on their words. This sort of rhetoric is not cheap in the sense of being dirty or underhanded. Rather, it is low-cost in terms of accountability and consequences for the speaker.

In talk radio and podcasts, hosts often claim that they're “just asking questions,” that “people are telling me,” or that they “think this is just worth looking into.” In her own talk radio career, Smith was no stranger to these kinds of phrases. They allowed her to test lines or ideas with a shield of plausible deniability. Occasionally, she walked back comments that listeners felt were beyond the pale, citing her desire to air all viewpoints.

Politicians, like talk radio hosts, engage in cheap talk all the time — particularly when they're in opposition. When a party does not have access to the levers of government, there is little cost to trying things out and seeing what sticks.

When premiers and cabinet ministers use cheap talk, it may involve sending up trial balloons through anonymous sources to see which policies are popular and which might be subject to public backlash.

Cheap talk can also be used more deliberately by “throwing a dead cat on the table,” or making an extreme or salacious proposal in order to distract the public from a scandal or otherwise unpopular issue. The idea is that it doesn't matter what was on the table before — now, all anyone can talk about is the cat.

Politicians following a “shoot the moon” strategy might also engage in cheap talk. This might involve releasing an extreme set of policy proposals expecting to receive backlash, then abandoning the most outlandish bits while retaining some still-radical components. In this case, the initial announcement serves to anchor the discussion, shift the Overton Window by making the solution seem socially acceptable or make the politician appear to be “listening to the public's concerns” by walking some of it back.

This kind of talk is cheap because abandoning the commitment costs the actor very little, and may actually still create gains in terms of policy or popularity.

Make no mistake, however, cheap talk is not simply idle chatter. If used effectively, it can reap political benefits. The payoff comes from raising the topic in the first place, signalling that the politician cares about a particular issue, or that they share the values of a particular group.

Cheap talk can also backfire. Consider how other premiers were blindsided by Smith's promise to secure half the assets of the Canada Pension Plan. Or the reaction by sheriffs to the launch of a new provincial police service, municipalities to the introduction of political parties to local elections, universities and municipalities to having their federal funding vetted by the premier's office, or trans community members to having their rights stripped away. In all instances, those groups most directly impacted by the policy shift were left out of the preliminary discussions.

This may demonstrate that the government strategically left these stakeholders out of the loop, representing a deliberate attempt to shut out civil society — and even public servants — from the decision-making process.

Our conversations with bureaucrats in many corners of the Government of Alberta suggest that they were every bit as taken aback by many of these policy initiatives as the rest of us. This has the consequence of removing the civil service's ability to provide “fearless advice” on different policy options, leaving them only to “loyally implement” the chosen direction or, worse yet, engage in decision-based evidence-making.

Eventually, cheap talk erodes trust in government, and not just among public servants and stakeholders.

Cheap talk is one of the reasons so many voters don't trust politicians — it creates the perception that they say one thing in order to get elected, but when they come to office they do another set of things altogether. Cheap talk is not necessarily anti-democratic or even poor policy-making. Used sparingly, it can help a government sort the wheat of policy innovation from the chaff of unworkable solutions. Provided they subsequently do the deep engagement and policy homework, it might just be evidence of an unorthodox approach to the agenda-setting stage of the policy cycle.

Talk only remains cheap as it does not cost the party votes, however, which could happen in at least two ways. First, the UCP's political base may start to recognize cheap talk as a pattern: The government appears to say all the right things, but fails to follow through for lack of political will or good planning.

Second, cheap talk could erode support among swing voters. At the moment, the UCP is riding high in the polls — enjoying an extended honeymoon after the last provincial election while the NDP drifts without a permanent leader. Eventually, a string of half-baked policy proposals and false starts can drain public confidence in the government, particularly if those measures were not in the party's election platform and are unpopular to begin with.

In this sense, cheap talk becomes more expensive as the election cycle draws on. In the short term, it can buy red meat for the summer barbecue season. In the longer term, it can become tiresome to the base, galvanizing to opponents and off-putting to voters.

In short, talk radio can be useful, but it only gets a government so far. Shooting from the hip can be exhilarating, but eventually someone's going to get hurt.