for Liberal success in this country. “Lowell,” he said one day when we were alone. “Promise them anything. We’ll worry about it later!”
Sadly, I did make some promises during that campaign. Promises I knew very well I could not keep. I suspect voters, recognizing my insincerity, did the right thing—rejected me handily—a fate I most definitely deserved.
But it wasn’t until October 27, 1995, that my brain, and thus my head, became firmly affixed in the correct position. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s the date of “The Great Canadian Unity Rally” when more than 100,000 of us showed up in Montreal to tell Quebeckers we didn’t want them to separate. The day, in fact, when ordinary Canadians spurned the advice of Liberal Prime Minister Jean Chrétien and saved Canada from plunging into the great black hole of the unknown called Quebec independence.
When I say we spurned the advice of our prime minister, I mean exactly that. I recall it well. Throughout the later part of 1994 and increasingly through the summer of 1995 the signs were growing stronger and stronger that the majority of Quebeckers were prepared to take that giant leap over the wall of common sense and reason and vote to leave Canada. Huge sums of money were transferred out of Quebec; the military was put on alert.
You know the story. As a special Thanksgiving treat, Lucien Bouchard, now missing a leg, scared the bejabbers out of federalists and announced he was heading the separatist side and it appeared almost inevitable that we were about to pull the shades down on the Canada we grew up in.
You will also remember that through it all—even after Bouchard joined the battle—Prime Minister Chrétien arrogantly told us he had everything under control. “Not to worry,” he told us, “leave it to my government to deal with; you people should stay out of this.” Or words to that effect.
As the drama played out, I recall becoming increasingly agitated in my role as host of one of the most listened to radio talk shows in Canada. Much of my family lived in Quebec; many of my friends were there. Some of the happiest times of my life were spent in the province. As angry as I often was at Quebec for its incessant demands upon Confederation and the manner in which many Anglos were essentially driven out, I realized that I was not ready to say goodbye to the province.
And there was something else. Two days after Bouchard’s dramatic announcement, I get an early morning phone call that sends chills down my spine. “The Crees will fight you know. We’ll never agree to leave Canada.” The voice is that of Billy Diamond, Grand Chief of the Crees of Quebec from 1974 until 1984, one of the most respected and indeed revered figures throughout the Cree nation in northern Quebec.
I had met Billy briefly a few years earlier during some business negotiations in Montreal. He told me at that time he was aware of the role my father had played—teaching Mohawk children on the Kahnawake Reservation south of Montreal—and Billy claimed he often listened to my show when visiting Ottawa.
Here he is years later, using me to fire a warning shot across separatist bows.
“I’ll deny it’s me who told you this.” He’s almost whispering. “But you’d better tell your friends up there in high places that the Crees will fight to the death to preserve our place in Canada.” I forget exactly what he said next, something about the soldiers of the new republic getting cold feet while tramping through the bush and swamps of northern Quebec, with Indians taking potshots from behind every tree. I do remember his parting words: “Mr. Green, spread the word the Crees will fight and you know the Mohawks. Do you really think they’ll be signing any treaties with Lucien Bouchard or Jacques Parizeau?”
There’s a brief pause before he says, “I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to.” I try to ask him a few questions but it’s apparent he’s finished except to say again. “Spread the word! The Crees will fight!”
Stories hinting about possible native Indian armed resistance to Quebec separation began cropping up in various newspapers at about that time, so I suspect that mine was not the only phone call Billy Diamond made that morning. I understood fully what he was doing. Adding a vein of very tough gristle to the menu of filet mignon and caviar the separatists were promising their supporters.
Bouchard was convincing many Quebeckers that separation would be an easy stroll along Ste-Catherine Street. Vote “Oui” on October 30 and presto, come the morning of October 31, Canada says a polite goodbye, there’s dancing in the streets, long stemmed roses all round, lower taxes, a Caddy in every driveway and a Stanley Cup every year for les Canadiens. Or something just as wonderful. No problems. Everybody agrees, handshakes all around, and it’s over. Or so the separatists claimed.
Billy Diamond was simply trying to add a spoonful of reality and more importantly, fear, into the equation.
I’m still unclear what effect, if any, the threats had on Quebec voters, but the thought of armed Indians, possibly joining forces with disaffected Anglos launching some sort of guerilla operation in the deep woods of northern Quebec certainly scared me.
I knew there was no way Quebec separation could be an amicable walk in the park.
Many Anglos in western Quebec, especially in the Pontiac, begin making veiled threats about a separation movement of their own. Similar rumblings erupt in the Eastern Townships. There are questions about the fate of Federal Government employees living in Quebec. And what about Federal buildings? Who would own them? What about the St. Lawrence Seaway, the military bases, the banking system? If separation doesn’t actually break out into some kind of civil war, it is clear the squabbling will last for years and likely send the entire country into a deep financial crisis.
As the October 30th referendum looms ever closer, we are staring into an abyss of indeterminate depth and danger. Heaven only knows what will happen with a “Oui” vote. Adding to my concern and the growing frustration of many, the Liberal government, and in particular Chrétien, don’t seem to have the foggiest idea what to do about it. They all seem to be in slow motion, swimming in a muddy pool of denial and confusion.
I share my concerns and fears with my audience and along with CFRA morning man Steve Madely we use all our powers of persuasion to urge everyone to flock to Montreal on October 27, for a giant rally three days prior to the referendum.
I know I speak for Steve when I say we are both proud that many thousands of our listeners were among the some 100,000 who crowded into Place du Canada in downtown Montreal.
That overwhelming show of affection and solidarity for our fellow Canadians in La Belle Province undoubtedly persuaded sufficient numbers of Quebeckers to switch their votes from “Oui” to “Non” to prevent the country from being torn apart. But just barely. Canada survived intact by a vote of only 50.6% to 49.4%. Heaven only knows what the country would be like today had we not ignored Jean Chrétien’s instructions to leave things to him and instead flocked to Montreal for that rally.
There is no question it was the Unity Rally that saved the day. Tens of thousands of ordinary people who took it upon themselves to step in and save the country that Chrétien and his party seemed bound and determined to fumble away.
Chapter 2
I Finally Get My Head Screwed on Straight
The October 27 Canadian Unity Rally in Montreal is also the day I finally get my head screwed on straight.
It isn’t a straw that finally pushes me off the Liberal train wreck but rather a phone call toward the end of my show that day. It’s from a very concerned and angry man aboard a bus on its way to the rally. “You damn Liberals,” he says, “this bloody mess is all your fault.” I’m taken aback. “What do you mean our fault? You can hardly blame the separatist movement in Quebec on Liberals.”
“Oh yes I can and I do,” he responds bitterly. “Look, I’m no political expert or anything like that, just a working stiff trying to stay afloat like just about everybody else these days. All I know is that