“I’ve lost it all. They’ve won.”
Sitting in the home she built on a hauntingly beautiful 27-acre property of wooded waterfront property in Grand Tracadie, Susan Holmes is deeply reflective when speaking of her experiences as a whistleblower in Prince Edward Island’s controversial immigrant investor program.
It has, after all, had a profound impact on her life.
“I’m losing my house, I’ve lost everything for standing up,” she said this week.
Her name first emerged publicly in 2011 as one of three women who brought forward explosive allegations of bribery and fraud by numerous senior government officials involved in P.E.I.’s Provincial Nominee Program.
This program, known locally as the PNP, had already been the subject of years of controversy and media coverage. The province’s auditor general investigated the program and found numerous instances where officials who ran the program broke rules. Over 1,300 Island business owners made a lot of money, some of which they weren’t eligible for.
Chinese immigrants who came to P.E.I. through the PNP staged angry protests, upset with the way they were treated by local officials holding onto tens of thousands of their dollars in fees and deposits.
But much of the heated controversy involving this program had petered out by 2011.
The province was in the middle of a provincial election campaign. Then, on Sept. 15, 2011, the Globe and Mail’s front-page headline brought the PNP screaming back to life.
‘Ottawa calls for probe of P.E.I. immigration program’, said the heading.
The allegations were shocking, to say the least.
Cora Plourd and Svetlana Tenetko, who worked as program officers of the PNP, alleged that managers and senior bureaucrats pressed them to approve applications that didn’t meet approved criteria. They also alleged some of these same officials accepted envelopes of cash from applicants from foreign countries in exchange for a Canadian visa.
It put Liberal Premier Robert Ghiz suddenly on the defensive in an otherwise sleepy election campaign.
Holmes was one of the three women who brought these allegations forward. She did not work directly on the PNP. She was a manager with the province’s Population Secretariat, which was linked to the office that handled the PNP, but had recently had her contract terminated.
She says this happened shortly after she raised concerns about a government contract awarded to a private company. She alleges a senior government official overruled an independent adjudication.
That’s why, when she was made aware of Plourd and Tenetko’s allegations involving the PNP, she believed them and felt a moral imperative to inform officials she knew in Ottawa about the allegations.
Almost immediately after she sent the documents to Citizenship and Immigration Canada, the Globe and Mail called her. She does not know who informed the newspaper about the information she had forwarded, but agreed to be quoted.
“It became huge for me. It just blew my life apart,” she says.
“I was sitting there in my little place in P.E.I. and friends of mine from Ontario are calling me up, saying ‘Oh my god. What is going on? What happened?’ It was very hard. It was the kind of place you just don’t want to be.”
But it was Ghiz’s reaction the next day that proved to be the deciding blow to her reputation across the tiny province. He gave multiple interviews, saying the allegations were “crazy” and calling into question all three women’s credibility.
“I didn’t expect a premier to come out of the gate calling the three of us crazy. It was so harmful,” Holmes explained.
“You’re helpless. You’re hostage to their ability to define who you are. You’re so disempowered against the most powerful.”
At the time, Holmes was in the middle of building her home. She was constructing it next to her mother’s cottage, a cozy looking, weather-stripped structure that sits next to a red cliff on the 27-acre parcel in Grand Tracadie that Holmes had purchased years before.
She had just lost her job with the province. After being branded one of the ‘PNP three’ and called crazy by premier of the province, Holmes said she found it impossible to get another job in P.E.I.
Finally, after trying every outlet, she began doing what many Islanders now do — working stints in western Canada as an educator to pay her bills in P.E.I.
Sitting this week in her quiet living room, a cup of hot coffee in her hands, Holmes looks out a large window that overlooks her property. She points to an osprey nest just outside, reminiscing about the day the babies fledged. She has named almost every tree. More of her family’s cottages also dot the property, like a family compound. They elicit memories of happier times with cousins, aunts and uncles and friends.
But after years of travelling back and forth, it has finally become too difficult for Holmes to hold onto this land, both financially and emotionally. She has put the property up for sale, divided into lots.
“For the last three years, I’ve been a survivor. I’ve been reinventing myself and letting go of my property was a big step. I still don’t know how I’ll feel when it sells.”
Holmes says she had not planned to ever speak publicly again about the PNP.
“To speak again, to even have conversation really opens that wound,” she says.
But when she saw a story in The Guardian earlier this week, that stated the three-year RCMP probe of the PNP had ‘quietly’ closed, Holmes said she could not bear to remain silent.
“When I saw that, it broke my heart. To think that because there’s silence, it does not mean this didn’t happen and it wasn’t a dreadful blemish on the reputation of the whole province,” she said. “That’s where I felt more like a casualty than I have in the past three years.”
She stressed she does not want to be seen as a victim, but as someone who spoke out against a government and paid a difficult price.
Holmes hopes her efforts will encourage more people to do the same, if they see something they feel is unethical. If more people are willing to speak out, it could result in others not having to pay the price she has, she says.
“What I am concerned about is — where do our ethical people go? Where is the modeling for our younger generation? I want to call out the capacity for people to do the right thing.”
Still, after all is said and done, Holmes does not regret speaking out against P.E.I.’s immigrant investor program.
“My integrity is more important than the land I love. And I still have that.”
Twitter.com/GuardianTeresa
“I’ve lost it all. They’ve won.”
Sitting in the home she built on a hauntingly beautiful 27-acre property of wooded waterfront property in Grand Tracadie, Susan Holmes is deeply reflective when speaking of her experiences as a whistleblower in Prince Edward Island’s controversial immigrant investor program.
It has, after all, had a profound impact on her life.
“I’m losing my house, I’ve lost everything for standing up,” she said this week.
Her name first emerged publicly in 2011 as one of three women who brought forward explosive allegations of bribery and fraud by numerous senior government officials involved in P.E.I.’s Provincial Nominee Program.
This program, known locally as the PNP, had already been the subject of years of controversy and media coverage. The province’s auditor general investigated the program and found numerous instances where officials who ran the program broke rules. Over 1,300 Island business owners made a lot of money, some of which they weren’t eligible for.
Chinese immigrants who came to P.E.I. through the PNP staged angry protests, upset with the way they were treated by local officials holding onto tens of thousands of their dollars in fees and deposits.
But much of the heated controversy involving this program had petered out by 2011.
The province was in the middle of a provincial election campaign. Then, on Sept. 15, 2011, the Globe and Mail’s front-page headline brought the PNP screaming back to life.
‘Ottawa calls for probe of P.E.I. immigration program’, said the heading.
The allegations were shocking, to say the least.
Cora Plourd and Svetlana Tenetko, who worked as program officers of the PNP, alleged that managers and senior bureaucrats pressed them to approve applications that didn’t meet approved criteria. They also alleged some of these same officials accepted envelopes of cash from applicants from foreign countries in exchange for a Canadian visa.
It put Liberal Premier Robert Ghiz suddenly on the defensive in an otherwise sleepy election campaign.
Holmes was one of the three women who brought these allegations forward. She did not work directly on the PNP. She was a manager with the province’s Population Secretariat, which was linked to the office that handled the PNP, but had recently had her contract terminated.
She says this happened shortly after she raised concerns about a government contract awarded to a private company. She alleges a senior government official overruled an independent adjudication.
That’s why, when she was made aware of Plourd and Tenetko’s allegations involving the PNP, she believed them and felt a moral imperative to inform officials she knew in Ottawa about the allegations.
Almost immediately after she sent the documents to Citizenship and Immigration Canada, the Globe and Mail called her. She does not know who informed the newspaper about the information she had forwarded, but agreed to be quoted.
“It became huge for me. It just blew my life apart,” she says.
“I was sitting there in my little place in P.E.I. and friends of mine from Ontario are calling me up, saying ‘Oh my god. What is going on? What happened?’ It was very hard. It was the kind of place you just don’t want to be.”
But it was Ghiz’s reaction the next day that proved to be the deciding blow to her reputation across the tiny province. He gave multiple interviews, saying the allegations were “crazy” and calling into question all three women’s credibility.
“I didn’t expect a premier to come out of the gate calling the three of us crazy. It was so harmful,” Holmes explained.
“You’re helpless. You’re hostage to their ability to define who you are. You’re so disempowered against the most powerful.”
At the time, Holmes was in the middle of building her home. She was constructing it next to her mother’s cottage, a cozy looking, weather-stripped structure that sits next to a red cliff on the 27-acre parcel in Grand Tracadie that Holmes had purchased years before.
She had just lost her job with the province. After being branded one of the ‘PNP three’ and called crazy by premier of the province, Holmes said she found it impossible to get another job in P.E.I.
Finally, after trying every outlet, she began doing what many Islanders now do — working stints in western Canada as an educator to pay her bills in P.E.I.
Sitting this week in her quiet living room, a cup of hot coffee in her hands, Holmes looks out a large window that overlooks her property. She points to an osprey nest just outside, reminiscing about the day the babies fledged. She has named almost every tree. More of her family’s cottages also dot the property, like a family compound. They elicit memories of happier times with cousins, aunts and uncles and friends.
But after years of travelling back and forth, it has finally become too difficult for Holmes to hold onto this land, both financially and emotionally. She has put the property up for sale, divided into lots.
“For the last three years, I’ve been a survivor. I’ve been reinventing myself and letting go of my property was a big step. I still don’t know how I’ll feel when it sells.”
Holmes says she had not planned to ever speak publicly again about the PNP.
“To speak again, to even have conversation really opens that wound,” she says.
But when she saw a story in The Guardian earlier this week, that stated the three-year RCMP probe of the PNP had ‘quietly’ closed, Holmes said she could not bear to remain silent.
“When I saw that, it broke my heart. To think that because there’s silence, it does not mean this didn’t happen and it wasn’t a dreadful blemish on the reputation of the whole province,” she said. “That’s where I felt more like a casualty than I have in the past three years.”
She stressed she does not want to be seen as a victim, but as someone who spoke out against a government and paid a difficult price.
Holmes hopes her efforts will encourage more people to do the same, if they see something they feel is unethical. If more people are willing to speak out, it could result in others not having to pay the price she has, she says.
“What I am concerned about is — where do our ethical people go? Where is the modeling for our younger generation? I want to call out the capacity for people to do the right thing.”
Still, after all is said and done, Holmes does not regret speaking out against P.E.I.’s immigrant investor program.
“My integrity is more important than the land I love. And I still have that.”
Twitter.com/GuardianTeresa