The entourage approaches:
Trudeau has assembled quite the team: Gerald Butts, formerly World Wildlife Fund Canada’s president and CEO; Bob Rae’s former press secretary Kate Monfette; New Brunswick MP and one-time leadership hopeful Dominic LeBlanc.
Organizers describe Trudeau’s team as a flat organization, “just many people working for a common goal, sharing whatever expertise they have.”
I was thinking flat like an old soda. But maybe that's just me.
Over the last few months I've gotten the odd e-mail of criticism, albeit in very genteel terms, that I'm paying way too much attention to Justin Trudeau. Dude, my interlocutors tell me, Justin is just an air-headed mediocrity, an invention of the media that will soon implode. With any luck he'll take what's left of the Liberal Party with him. That was my initial reaction too. A few Shiny Pony jokes. Cracks about his hair. The odd throw-away line about how he inherited his politics from his father and his brains from his mother.
Then I started to get worried. Justin didn't get me nervous, Barack Obama did. If a vacuous non-entity like Obama can fool the electorate of what is supposed to be the Most Right-Wing Nation on Earth, where does that leave us? Sure the Son and Heir is not in the same intellectual league as the American President. But this is Canada and our MSM is more easily dazzled. Recall that they fell in love with his father because he wore sandals. JFK at least had the yachting thing going for him.
Justin himself is not dangerous. I think pretty much everyone understands that angle. Without the famous last name he'd be eking out an existence as a substitute teacher in suburban Toronto or Montreal, complete with 15 year old Honda and pierced feminist girlfriend. The Left and Right in Canada may disagree on many things, but it is understood by both sides that Justin is a prop. The Left sees him as a way of revitalizing their failed and quite literally bankrupt ideology, the Right as their legendary bête noire returned in teenyboper form. The fainting tweens think of Justin worship as a way of engaging in ordinary youthful celebrity obsession, while pretending to think seriously about politics.
Everybody gets something for nothing. The modern North American dream.
While Justin is a few years older than me, I have an irresistible urge to call him a boy. Probably because that's what my father and people of his generation call him. Not a young man, which is something different, but a boy. The slight effeminacy, the histrionic speeches, the petulance when asked slightly awkward questions and the conviction that he is the hero of a grand drama now unfolding. These are boyish traits. When a boy is about to be crowned, you naturally start looking at the courtiers.
Their agenda will be far more interesting than anything the Dauphin has to say.