Now, granted, the honeymoon period usually accorded new political leaders in these here parts by a temporarily tolerant, if not gullible, public — and even by the odd, fawning member of the media — still has Andrew Furey luxuriating in a relatively warm and fuzzy aura, but there were already awkward missteps for the premier/groom as he worked on consummation of his bond with his blushing bride, the Newfoundland electorate.
Furey’s real, legitimate attempt to secure a long-term relationship/marriage with his province-wide constituents, of course, won’t take place until the provincial election; however, he’s sitting in the premier’s chair on the eighth floor of Confederation Building (even if placed there by a just a handful of Liberals), the same threshold of power occupied by the likes of Joey and Brian and Danny (and, yes, Dwight was there, as well), so his performance, even during the honeymoon period, is fair game for scrutiny.
The biggest screw-up during this initial time of public infatuation, in my estimation, was Furey’s appointment of Charles Bown (a longtime civil servant with a stain from the Muskrat Falls fiasco on his mandarin suit) to head up the Multi-Materials Stewardship Board (hands up if you’ve ever heard of that bureaucratic mouthful); it’s a gig that will pay Bown the kind of money most of us have never had, or ever will have, in our pockets, nearly a 180 grand a year.
His performance, even during the honeymoon period, is fair game for scrutiny.
In his scathing report on what went colossally wrong with that white elephant on the Churchill River, Muskrat Falls Inquiry Commissioner Richard LeBlanc at one point wrote it was “inexcusable” that Bown, then the “point man” for government in its dealings with Nalcor, didn’t inform cabinet ministers or the premier of the frightening escalation of costs of Muskrat Falls.
It’s not exactly the kind of critique anyone would want included in an employment dossier, but that didn’t stop the freshly minted premier from signing off on Bown having this particular job; it may have been a lateral move for Bown, but the optics for Furey were terrible.
To make matters worse, Furey came up with the lamest of rationales, telling a province — acutely aware and sickened — that there was guilt galore in numerous corners of Confederation Building and the Nalcor hallways for the Muskrat Falls debacle, and that he had placed Bown in what was described as a chief executive officer role on the advice of Newfoundland’s top civil servant, the clerk of the Executive Council.
A cop-out, if ever there was one.
This was an opportunity right out of the chute for Furey to display political gonads, to give the thumbs down to the recommendation and have one of his flacks leak to the press that he had made his decision to leave Bown where he was, in Tourism, Culture (etc.), and that it was the disgrace of Muskrat Falls that was his guide.
And then there was the Sherry Gambin-Walsh issue — again, a stumble on the premier’s part as he attempted to navigate way too delicately the fallout from the confirmation that the Liberal MHA had, indeed, leaked information from a cabinet meeting. The information may not have been earth-moving and Gambin-Walsh didn’t break any laws, but there was a bottom line of impropriety and stupidity, either of which should keep her from returning to cabinet.
But Furey was wishy-washy on the subject, issuing ambiguous statements at first, and then declaring that he had decided to keep Gambin-Walsh away from the ministerial table after discussing the matter with his caucus and cabinet — consultations that, to my mind, were absolutely unnecessary. Furey could have displayed gutsy, leadership skills immediately and announced that he, not caucus, not cabinet, had decided that Gambin-Walsh would not be heading up any government department. Period. Case closed.
(A twisted part of me was almost hoping Gambin-Walsh would have been kicked out of caucus, just to see her sitting cheek-by-jowl in that lonely, independent corner of the legislature with her arch-enemy, Eddie Joyce, perhaps even passing nasty notes of derision to one another; alas, it wasn’t to be, and I’ll have to look elsewhere for political scraps that provide warped satisfaction).
And finally this week, I was wondering whether CBC’s Anthony Germain will ever again have a chance to slice and dice the Fureys and Gambin-Walshs of the province, now that his wife, Doris Cowley, has been hired as an adviser to the premier.
Germain has been gobbling up politicians for a decade now, first for breakfast on “The St. John’s Morning Show,” and for supper in recent times on “Here and Now,” but it’s impossible to imagine the veteran journalist being allowed anywhere near a Newfoundland political story, given the conflict of interest in place the minute his wife accepted her new job.
It would be a no-brainer if this had happened in my day at the “Here and Now” helm. Germain would be relegated to coverage of the Regatta.
But in this politically correct day and age, perhaps the CBC brass will be reluctant to reassign Germain.
I hope such reticence is not at play.
Can you imagine evening conversations at the Germain/Cowleys?
Germain: “So, how was your day in the premier’s office, dear?”
Cowley: “Well, how was the editorial meeting at the CBC, dear?”
In unison: “Hey, how about those Jays?”
Bob Wakeham has spent more than 40 years as a journalist in Newfoundland and Labrador. He can be reached by email at [email protected]
