Went out for dinner last night with friends and, in the manner of normal human interactions, this was one of the first questions: “Hey, how are you guys doing?”
And then, in the manner of me having practically no filter in most social situations, this was my answer: “I’m so sad. About everything. But other than that … good?”
Thirty seconds of self-reflection and I realize this could have been a conversation with me, in just about any context, from ages four ‘til now. Last night, though, it was about Canadian politics. Specifically, it was about the future of the prime minister, and all the folks who work with him and for him.
[I used to be one of those people. Blah blah blah, LinkedIn, who cares. I left my Hill job in early 2020, in that tiny sliver of time between the end of a federal election and the start of a once-in-a-lifetime global pandemic.]
When politics makes me sad — I mean, I’m literally wearing a Kamala ‘24 sweatshirt as I type this, so safe to say this has been happening a lot lately — I mostly go quiet. For about 24 hours after the U.S. presidential election results were known, I didn’t speak at all.
I haven’t gone strict radio silence in the wake of recent Canadian political news, but pretty close. And the truth is, I’m still in that quiet, sad space, and I probably will be for a long time, no matter what comes next.
All we have right now are questions: Will he resign? Will it happen tomorrow? Day after? Some other day this week? Will he stay on as interim? Is there a precedent? Media avail or a written statement? And so on.
I don’t know the answers to these questions, and neither (probably) do you. Rumours abound. My gut says the first two rules still hold true, but what do I know.
In the meantime, hundreds of good, smart people are left wondering what this means for them. Good, smart people on all sides (and I mean that sincerely; I’ve dedicated the last five-ish years of my life to making sure the next generation of political staff has the tools I wish I’d had on Day One, no matter the party).
These good, smart people are wondering what kind of job they’ll take on next, hoping it will pay enough to cover the rent. This is as true for those who may be exiting politics as it is for those hoping to enter it; political staffing jobs are many wonderful things, but lucrative is not one of those things.
They’re wondering if they’re going to have to pack up and move cities. I did, and it was expensive (ahem) and disruptive for my entire family.
They’re wondering if they know the right people — again, as true for those exiting as for those entering — and they’re wondering, as we all are, when the circle will widen.
It’s a brutal, strange, fractious time. Especially for those of us whose media diet consists mostly of breaking news with a side salad of punditry. It’s a tough time to be on the sidelines, but it’s tougher still to be in the game.
And that’s why it’s okay, I think, to feel a little sad, no matter which team you’re cheering for.
You can be clear eyed and be sad.
You can have a big heart and be sad.
You can lose and be sad, and you can win and be sad.
There’s room for all of it.
There’s room for all of it.
Jeni Armstrong 