Connect with us
[bsa_pro_ad_space id=12]

National

The elements of Marc Garneau – A special report from Paul Wells

Published

30 minute read

Paul Wells has written for the Toronto Star, the National Post, and the Montreal Gazette. Perhaps most Canadians know him best for the 19 years he spend writing long form journalism with Maclean’s magazine and for his regular appearances on CBC’s The National.
Paul Wells continues to write regularly.  Click here to subscribe to The Paul Wells Newsletter.

 He was trained to admit every error. Then he went into politics. A feature interview with the retiring MP for Notre-Dame-de-Grâce—Westmount

Introduction

When you resign your seat in the House of Commons, you get to keep your phone for 90 days. The deadlines for cleaning out your offices on Parliament Hill and in your riding are tighter but still civilized. Soon Marc Garneau will leave his constituency office on the third floor of a nondescript office building in Westmount, the affluent anglophone enclave west of downtown Montreal, for the last time. But there’s no rush, so he met me there on Monday.

Trying to get politicians to speak frankly while they’re still in office is not always rewarding, It gets easier quickly once they leave. So I thought a visit with Garneau was worth the drive to Montreal, even though he’s been cagey in his remarks to journalists since he announced his retirement on March 8. I’ll cut to the chase: His interview with me wasn’t the work of a rebel either. Garneau remains a gentleman and a Liberal. He offered only praise for Justin Trudeau. But on several issues — communications philosophy; the handling of the Freedom Convoy occupation of Ottawa; and the proper attitude toward one’s own fallibility — he drew occasional sharp distinctions between his attitude and the Trudeau government’s.

I took the scenic route to get to that stuff. Garneau was the first Canadian to fly in space. He was a national celebrity before Trudeau finished high school. And while that’s a historic distinction, Garneau shares with many more parliamentarians a long career outside politics that preceded, and informed, his career in elected office. Not all of that is the stuff of every conversation, but this one was valedictory in tone. I thought it best to start at the beginning.


This is an unusually long post on the Paul Wells newsletter. I figured I owed everyone a good feature read. I’m leaving the paywall off. You can help spread word about the writing I do by sharing this with a friend or with your networks.

Share

I also want to remind readers that writing this newsletter is what I do for a living. When you decide to become a paid subscriber, you help support this work. You also make it possible for me to do things too few of my colleagues elsewhere are able to do — things like travelling, or paying a professional photographer properly to illustrate my work.

 

1. Water

 

I began by asking him about the year and a half he spent as a combat systems engineer on the HMCS Algonquin. When he arrived on board, it was the newest destroyer in the Canadian Navy.

“It was what I had dreamt of from the beginning of my life,” he said. “My first love was the Navy.” His father’s family was francophone Quebecers, soldiers from way back. His father fought in the infantry in WWII and was posted in Germany for two years as the Cold War settled in. “I crossed the ocean with my parents in 1956 coming back from Germany,” he said. “We came back on a ship that was on its last voyage, the Samaria, and I just fell in love with the ocean. A few years later, we went back to England on the Empress of Britain. Those confirmed for me that I wanted to be in the Navy.”

The Algonquin, a big boat with 280 crew, spent three months doing exercises as part of STANAVFORLANT, NATO’s multinational Standing Naval Force Atlantic, which would pretend the Soviet Union was up to various kinds of risky business and figure out ways to respond. Off Puerto Rico he led tests of the new Sea Sparrow missile system. Around Newfoundland’s outports, the Algonquin took the province’s lieutenant governor on an annual tour.

Young Garneau wasn’t particularly interested in moving up the ranks. “I’m an engineer. I didn’t want to be the ship captain. I wanted to be the engineer that kept the equipment going. That may not sound very exciting. But for me that was exciting, because it’s quite a job to keep all that equipment operational in case you had to go into conflict.”


2. Air

Advancement for its own sake held no appeal. But when he saw a nondescript ad from the National Research Council calling for applicants for Canada’s first astronaut corps, that sounded better than a promotion. “Wow. The idea of possibly going into space just blew me away. At the same time, I thought my chances [of being chosen] were pretty close to zero.”

In May of 1983 there were 4,200 applicants. Six months later, six remained. It became clear pretty soon the program wasn’t just looking for technical expertise but for — well, for heroes. Or at least for people who wouldn’t screw up the illusion.

“They wanted us to write essays about why we thought that we were particularly well suited. Did we realize that we would become public figures? And were we ready for that? And did we think it was important for Canada? Medical [exams] like you’d never had before. Every single thing checked, because you had to be 100% fit. Then they brought us in for the last week and and they subjected us to a whole bunch of things.

“We had to give presentations in front of the selection board. Any attempted humour was met with a stone-cold face. I remember coming out of it thinking, ‘I’ve totally bombed this.’ But they’d all been trained not to react to anything.

“Do you remember somebody called Keith Morrison?” I sure do. TV reporter and anchor, CTV to the CBC to NBC. He actually interviewed me once, when that was an odd thing to do, and I remember he was good at it. “Well, Keith was hired for the week. And he put us through our paces, sort of doing the interview thing. So that was another thing they wanted to know, if you’d be able to do that. They had us in social settings, like a cocktail kind of thing. [They wanted to see] whether you were relatively comfortable in the company of total strangers, that kind of thing. So it’s a pretty thorough week. And by the end of that, they said, ‘Look, stand by your telephone between five and seven on the third of December and you’ll get a call.’ We’re 20 at that point. ‘It’ll either be to say, sorry you didn’t make it, or, you made it.’ And I was fortunate to be one of the six chosen. They called about six o’clock. They didn’t beat around the bush. ‘Look, you made it. Congratulations. Keep it private and we’ll trot you out on the following Monday.’ Which they did.”

When you know what happened next in Garneau’s career, all this prodding and profiling and media scrutiny takes on a different meaning. He started to meet prime ministers.

Pierre Trudeau: “Man of powerful intellect. Everyone knows that. There are warmer people than Pierre Trudeau. But very cordial.”

Brian Mulroney: “Mulroney had just been elected. He wanted to meet Ronald Reagan right away… I was summoned, along with two of my crew members, Bob Crippen and Kathryn Sullivan. Which, by the way, is a total no-no. You do not take the next crew that’s going to fly in three weeks out of their bubble of training and getting ready. Except if it’s POTUS. Reagan thought it was good idea, so we were summoned. I spent time in the Oval Office with with Reagan, whom I liked right away, and Mulroney, whom I also liked right away…. I was even at the Shamrock Summit a couple of months later in Quebec City. I wasn’t quite so happy with what PMO told me to do, which is to come up through the floor on a thing that was raising me up with smoke and lighting on me, dressed in my flight suit, and having to say, ‘Take me to your leader,’ which the crowd liked. And I thought, ‘I’m making a fool of myself here.’”

On the first trip, Garneau was a payload specialist, which meant he had responsibility for a suite of Canadian scientific experiments and little else. But he had two audiences he wanted to please. NASA was the first. “I had to make a good impression so that, based on a sample of one, they’d say, ‘Okay, he did pretty well. Let’s keep inviting Canadians to fly.’ And quite a few Canadians have flown.”

Canadians were the second audience. “I wanted Canadians to be proud of me.”

Both audiences gave him the thumbs up. Today there’s a high school in Toronto named after him. In 1992 Garneau and Chris Hadfield reported for training to become mission specialists, with much broader responsibility for mission success. It took another year of training before Garneau was eligible for his second flight, in 1996. His third and final mission was at the end of 2000. There were Russians waiting at the International Space Station when the shuttle Endeavour delivered Garneau and the others. Relations with Russia were as warm as they’ve ever been. “It was more than cordial. Frankly our lives depended on one another.”

It was a longer acquaintance with higher stakes than most of us ever experience. “One of the things I loved the most about NASA was that if you fuck up” — he paused before using the salty word — “you confess. That is the culture there.”

Probably this does not need to be spelled out, but here goes anyway. This culture of honesty was not a simple preference. Shuttle crews rode a lake of liquid fuel and twin towers of solid fuel at speeds their own ancestors could not have imagined. If a bug slipped into the system it could kill them and set spaceflight back decades, as indeed it did, twice. Owning up to error was the primary method of keeping colleagues, and the dream of spaceflight, alive.

“I did hundreds of simulations. I was the first non-American CAPCOM ever. CAPCOM’s the guy who talks to the crew in orbit for Mission Control. And we did hundreds of simulations. I covered 17 missions, just as CAPCOM. And after every simulation, where the crew, perhaps, had not picked up the problem and had not reacted properly to it, we’d do a post mortem.

“And that culture of honesty and openness, which you absolutely need in the space business — you can’t have people making excuses or trying to hide things — that’s what I love the most. And I wish it existed in all facets of life, including the one I ended up in.”


3. Earth

 

Garneau first ran for Parliament in 2006, just west of Montreal Island, and lost, in the first of three elections when losing was most of what Liberals did. He was interested in Outremont in a 2007 by-election. So was Justin Trudeau. Stéphane Dion was the leader, though, and he thought a political scientist was just the ticket. Dion’s designated nominee, Jocelyn Coulon, did not fare well.

In 2008 Garneau inherited the Liberal nomination, essentially a Wonka golden ticket, in Westmount, as solid a Liberal fortress as any in Canada. Only a catastrophe could lose Westmount for the Liberal. In 2011 it almost happened — Garneau beat the New Democrat by only 642 votes in the party’s worst national defeat in since Confederation. Soon Peter C. Newman had a book out proclaiming the Liberals were history.

“There’s something intimate about being only 33 [MPs in the Liberal caucus], Garneau recalled. “We got to know each other in a kind of a relationship that you don’t get when you’re 150 or 160. So I really enjoyed the collegiality of having that small, small group. Although of course I was hoping it wouldn’t last too long.”

Share Paul Wells

In 2013, Garneau, who hadn’t been interested in commanding a ship, decided to try his chances with a political party. He ran for the Liberal leadership. He had competition.

“I personally believe that I had good policy that I put in the shop window. What I didn’t have — what I still don’t have — is charisma. I’m not interested in charisma, by the way. I’ve lived my life very well without charisma. And I’m not saying the electorate chooses on a superficial basis. But there was something about Justin Trudeau that was incredibly appealing to people.”

Garneau bowed to the inevitable and dropped out of the race. Eighteen months later he was co-chair of the Liberal Party’s “International Affairs Council of Advisors,” with a threefold mission: Figure out the party’s foreign policy; teach foreign policy to a leader with extremely limited experience in the field; and be seen showing interest in foreign policy. The group met regularly. “Trudeau only came occasionally to meet everybody and to sort of stir stir things up and have a really good discussion,” Garneau said.


4. Fire

As co-chair (with Andrew Leslie) of Trudeau’s Council of Advisors, Garneau figured he had a good chance to become foreign minister. He got Transport.

“You know, I’ve lived 17 years of my life abroad. And I love foreign policy. I wasn’t expecting Transport. And it turned out to be a job I loved. Although at first I thought, ‘Why’d he put me in transport?’

“When I got the call that, you know, ‘The Prime Minister wants to meet you,’ I thought — This is after the vetting process, ‘Are there any skeletons in your closet?’ — I thought, ‘What’s he going to put me in?’ I thought, Defence because of my background. I was in the regular forces. Or I thought, then, maybe Industry, because I was the president of the Canadian Space Agency and I worked for the Minister of Industry, Science and Technology at the time. And maybe even Foreign Affairs, because he’d had me in this job for the past two years. I wasn’t expecting Transport.” Garneau chuckled at the incongruity of it. “But now, after a little while, I saw the logic of it. I was in the Navy, ships, so I know the marine environment. I know the air environment. And so there is a certain logic to it. And it’s a job that I came to love.” He held the post for five and a half years. Only David Collenette and Lionel Chevrier lasted longer.

The new governing caucus had five times as many MPs as the Liberal caucus it replaced. “It was a heady experience,” Garneau said. “And there was a certain amount of chaos, which is understandable because it takes a couple of years to learn the basics of your job.”

It must have been a management challenge for the Prime Minister’s Office, I ventured. To have a finance minister, health minister, justice minister, defence minister who’d never been Members of Parliament before, let alone cabinet ministers. How did the PMO handle that? “It was a little bit like when you see kindergarten children all tied up with ropes, going down the street.”

Did the control ever chafe? “I had some times where I felt one way and and I felt that the centre did not necessarily agree with it. Yeah. That comes from the dynamic. If you’ve got your mandate letter, and you interpret that mandate letter the way you feel it must be implemented — you know, the vast majority of the time, no problem. But there was the odd occasion. You’ll forgive me if I don’t go into details on it. But I was very conscious of the fact [that] you have a chief of staff, your chief of staff is a key person for you. But that chief of staff reports to you, but also must report to the chief of staff of the Prime Minister. I made an indirect reference to it in my parting speech, that I sometimes made their life difficult because I might have wanted to go one way whilst the center didn’t necessarily want to go that way.”

We had been talking for more than an hour. I asked Garneau about the Freedom Convoy of January and February 2022, which has been on my mind. Specifically, I asked Garneau about his Liberal caucus colleague Joël Lightbound, who held an astonishing news conference in the second week of the Ottawa siege to say the Liberals’ COVID policy “stigmatizes and divides people.”

“I definitely took very much note of it,” he said of Lightbound’s surgical sortie. “Some of what he said is true. There were people on the Hill that were not extremists. They were just there because they felt that their rights were being not respected.” He faced his share of verbal abuse as he made his way to and from the Hill, but even still —

He paused. “I’ll be very candid. I don’t think we handled it as well as we could have.”

In what sense? “I think there was a sense that, ‘We’re not going to talk to you people. You’re just a bunch of troublemakers.’ I had always been brought up to not avoid dealing with difficult issues. This was an incredibly difficult issue.” Another pause. “So that’s just my personal comment.”

The other thing I wanted to ask him about was the tremendous controversy he and two other back-bench Liberals have stirred up over the interaction between Quebec’s newly beefed-up language law and Bill C-13, which proposes amendments to the federal Official Languages Act. This has put Garneau and his colleagues squarely on the side of Montreal’s anglophone population against a majority of Quebec’s elected politicians. And it’s brought Garneau in for some unaccustomed criticism. Barely two weeks before he resigned, he was complaining about the rough ride from Quebec commentators on Twitter.

Twitter avatar for @MarcGarneau

Marc Garneau @MarcGarneau
Quand Michel David du Devoir, une personne que je respecte, me traite de colonisé ou d’angryphone, je trouve ça irrespectueux et triste. Peut-on être respectueux l’un envers l’autre même si on ne pense pas de la même façon?

12:40 PM ∙ Feb 18, 2023


271Likes39Retweets

Garneau’s comments on this were long, and would constitute inside baseball for most readers outside Quebec, but he didn’t like seeing Quebec’s language laws incorporated by reference into a federal bill. “I have very rarely disagreed with my party, but I disagreed with them on that.” It got worse for Garneau when he read 88 amendments introduced by the Bloc Québécois, five of which said that in case of a conflict between federal and provincial legislation, Quebec’s should predominate. Those amendments were eventually rejected, but by then Garneau was already on the record with his concerns. “I’m always ready to face criticism, but it got personal. And I think that’s sad.”

The controversy has been a much bigger deal inside Quebec than outside, but Garneau insisted it’s not why he’s leaving politics.

The reason I’m leaving is because I made that promise to my wife, and to my family. I actually told him after the 2019 election that that was my last election. I had been reappointed to Transport. And I thought, ‘Okay, this is a lovely way to finish.’

“Then in January of 2021, to my great surprise, the Prime Minister [shuffled Garneau.] I think it was motivated by the fact that Navdeep Bains pulled out. The Prime Minister, I personally think that he said, ‘Okay, I want François-Philippe to take over from that. And there’s a bit of musical chairs and I ended up in foreign affairs.

“But seven months later, an election was announced. And I felt, in all good conscience, that after seven months in that portfolio — to now say, ‘Sorry, I’m leaving,’ when I had been the fourth appointed in under six years, it just wouldn’t have been right.

“Now, if the prime minister had told me, ‘Mark, after this election, you won’t be in the cabinet,’ I wouldn’t have run. But he didn’t tell me that.

“I ran hoping to go back into that job. Because Lord knows there were things that I wanted to do. With respect to Afghanistan, China, the Indo-Pacific strategy, I’d been working all that stuff. But the bottom line was that he said, ‘You’re not in cabinet anymore.’

“And so, at this point, I felt it would be really not acceptable for me to say, ‘Okay, thank you for electing me three weeks ago, I’m leaving.’ So I felt I needed to put in some time. To my great personal satisfaction, I was given two things that I really enjoyed. One was to be chair of the Indigenous and Northern Affairs Committee, which I think has an important role with respect to reconciliation. And the other one was kind of unexpected… medical assistance in dying, where I was co-chair with a senator on this special mixed committee.”

That committee presented its final report in February. Garneau resigned three weeks later. He was already in the history books before he ever ran for office. Would he run now, in the atmosphere of today’s politics, if he were just starting out? Is there still room in politics for an engineer who just wants to make things work better? These are eternal questions, and I had already asked Garneau enough questions for one day.

For the full subscriber experience, upgrade your subscription.

Upgrade to paid

Todayville is a digital media and technology company. We profile unique stories and events in our community. Register and promote your community event for free.

Follow Author

Addictions

The Death We Manage, the Life We Forget

Published on

Marco Navarro-Génie's avatar Marco Navarro-Génie

Our culture has lost the plot about what it means to live.

Reading that Manitoba is bringing supervised consumption to Winnipeg got me thinking.

Walk through just about any major Canadian city, and you will see them. Figures bent forward at seemingly impossible angles, swaying in the characteristic “fentanyl fold,” suspended between consciousness and oblivion. They resemble the zombies of fiction: bodies that move through space without agency, awareness, or connection to the world around them. We think of zombies as the walking dead. Health workers and bureaucrats reverse their overdoses, send them back to the street, and call it saving lives.

At the same time, Canada offers medical assistance in dying to a woman who cited chemical sensitivities and the inability to find housing. It has been offered to veterans who asked for support and were met instead with an option for death. We fight to prevent one form of death while facilitating another. The contradiction is not accidental. It reveals something about the people involved and the funding behind it. That’s our culture. Us. It appears to me that our culture no longer knows what life is.

Ask any politician or program bureaucrat, and you will hear them explain, in the dry language of bureaucracy, that the twin approach to what they call harm reduction and medical assistance in dying (MAiD) rests on the shared premise of what they believe to be compassion. They think they respect autonomy, prevent suffering, and keep people alive when possible. It sounds humane. It is, in practice, incoherent. Bear with me for a moment.

The medical establishment administers naloxone to reverse overdoses in people who spend as many as twenty hours a day unconscious. They live without meaningful relationships or memories, with little capacity for choice. The technocrats and politicians call that saving lives. They also provide assisted death to people whose suffering comes primarily from poverty, isolation, or lack of housing. There was a time when these factors could, at least in theory, be addressed so that the terminal decision did not need to be made. Now they are accepted as grounds for ending life.

But why is one preference final and the other treated as an error to correct? That question reflects the deeper disorientation.

We saw the same thing during COVID. Elderly people in care homes were left without touch, family, or comfort for days. They often died in solitude, their dementia accelerated by isolation. And those conditions were inflicted upon them in the name of saving their lives. The “system” measured success in preventing infections, not in preserving connections. Je me souviens. Or we should.

There is a pattern here. We have reduced the idea of saving lives to keeping bodies breathing, while ignoring what makes a life human: agency, meaning, development, and relationship. And in doing so, we begin to define life as mere biological persistence. But to define life by the capacity to breathe and perform basic functions is to place ourselves on the same footing as the non-human animals. It is to say, tacitly, that there is no fundamental distinction between a person and a creature. That, too, is a form of forgetting.

To be clear, the argument here is not that hopeless drug users should be administered MAiD. Instead, it is essential to recognize that the intellectual framework behind harm reduction and MAiD must be taken seriously, as it rests on some rationally defensible claims. In an age where most arguments are emotive and unexamined, the mildly logical has become strangely compelling.

It begins with the idea of autonomy. We cannot force others to live by our values. Every person must decide what makes life worth living. To insist otherwise is paternalism.

Then comes pragmatic compassion. People will use drugs whether we approve or not. People will find their lives unbearable, whether we acknowledge it or not. We can support them or moralize while they die.

There is also an emphasis on subjective experience. No one knows another’s pain. If someone says their suffering is intolerable, we are in no position to deny it, they say. If a user would rather face opioids than withdrawal and despair, are we entitled to interfere?

Finally, the comparison to medical ethics: we do not withhold insulin from diabetics who continue to eat poorly. We do not deny cancer treatment to smokers. Medicine responds to suffering, even when the patient has contributed to their condition. Harm reduction, they argue, simply applies that principle to addiction.

Share

These arguments produced tangible benefits, they argue. Needle exchanges reduced HIV transmission. Naloxone kits prevented deaths. Safe injection sites meant fewer people dying alone. MAiD brought relief to those in agony. These were not trivial outcomes. I am aware.

Yet when we look more closely, the very logic that underlies these policies also exposes their fatal limitations.

Addiction undermines choice. It hijacks the brain’s ability to reason, compare, and choose. A person deep in addiction is not selecting between alternatives like someone choosing coffee or tea. The structure of choice, the human will, itself is broken. The addiction decides before the person does. St Augustine knew this. Dostoyevsky knew it too.

And for the empirically minded, the research supports this. In British Columbia, where the “safe supply” model was pioneered, some addiction physicians now say the policy is failing. Worse, it may be creating new opioid dependencies in people who were not previously addicted. A study earlier this year found that opioid‑related hospitalizations increased by about 33 percent, compared with pre‑policy rates. With the later addition of a drug-possession decriminalization policy, hospitalizations rose even more (overall, a 58 percent increase compared to before SOS’s implementation). The study concluded that neither safer supply nor decriminalization was associated with a statistically significant reduction in overdose deaths. This is not freedom. It is a new form of bondage, meticulously paved by official compassion.

Despair disguises itself as autonomy, especially in a spiritually unmoored culture that no longer knows how to cope with suffering. A person requesting assisted death because of chronic, untreatable pain may appear lucid and composed, but lucidity is not the same as wisdom. One can reason clearly from false premises. If life is reduced to the absence of pain and the preservation of comfort, then the presence of suffering will seem like failure, and death will appear rational. But that is not a genuine choice because it is based on a misapprehension of what life is. All life entails pain. Some of it is redemptive. Some of it is endured. But it does not follow that the presence of suffering justifies the conclusion of life.

Someone turning to drugs because of homelessness, abandonment, or despair is often in an even deeper eclipse of the will. Here, there is not even the appearance of deliberation, only the reach for numbness in the absence of meaning. What looks like a decision is the residue of collapse. We are not witnessing two forms of autonomy, one clearer than the other. We are witnessing the breakdown of autonomy in various forms, and pretending that it is freedom.

Biological survival is not life. When we maintain someone in a state of near-constant unconsciousness, with no relationships, no capacity for flourishing, we are not preserving life. We are preserving a body. The person may already be gone. To define life as nothing more than breathing and performing bodily functions is to deny what makes us human. It reduces us to the level of non-human creatures, sentient, perhaps, but without reason, memory, moral reflection, or the possibility of transcendence. It tacitly advances the view that there is no essential difference between a person and a critter, so long as both breathe and respond to some stimuli.

Governments do these things to keep ballooning overdosing deaths down, preferring to maintain drugs users among the undead instead. That reminds me of how the Mexican government hardly moves a finger to find the disappeared, 100,000 strong of lately. For as long ss they’re disappeared, they choose not to count them as homicides, and they feel justified in ignoring the causes of all the killing around them.

Some choices are nefarious. Some choices deserve challenge. Not all autonomous acts are equal. The decision to continue living with pain, or to fight addiction, requires agency. The decision to surrender to despair may signal the absence of it. To say all choices are equal is to empty the word autonomy of meaning.

This reflects a dangerously thin view of the human person that permeates our present. What we now call “harm” is only death or physical pain. What we call good is whatever someone prefers. But people are more than collections of wants.

We should have learned this by now. In Alberta, safer supply prescribing was effectively banned in 2022. Officials cited diversion and lack of measurable improvement. We are forcing some people into treatment because we recognize the impairment of judgement in addiction.

In British Columbia, public drug use was quietly re-criminalized after communities rebelled. This was an admission of policy failure. “Keeping people safe is our highest priority,” Premier David Eby said. Yet safe supply remains. In 2023, the province recorded more than 2,500 overdose deaths. Paramedics continue to respond to thousands of overdose calls each month. This is not success. It is a managed collapse.

Meanwhile, Manitoba is preparing to open its own supervised drug-use site. Premier Wab Kinew said, “We have too many Manitobans dying from overdose… so this is one tool we can use.” That may be so. However, it is a tool that others are beginning to set aside. It is a largely discredited tool. Sadly, in the self-professed age of “Reconciliation” with Aboriginal Canadians, Aboricompassionadians are disproportionately affected by these discredited policies.

The Manitoba example illustrates the broader problem, despite damning evidence. Instead of asking what helps people live, we ask whether they gave consent. We do not ask whether they were capable of it. We ask whether they avoided death. We do not ask whether they found purpose.

We are not asking what might lead someone out of addiction. We are not asking what they need to flourish. We ask only what we can do to prevent them from dying in the short term. And when that becomes impossible, technocracy offers them death in a more organized form, cleanly approved by government. That’s compasson.

The deeper problem is not policy incoherence. It is the cultural despair that skates on the thin ice of meaninglessness. These policies make sense only in a culture that has already decided life is not worth too much. What matters is state endorsement and how it’s done .

It is more cost-effective to distribute naloxone than to construct long-term recovery homes. It is easier to train nurses to supervise injection than to provide months of residential treatment. It is far simpler to legalize euthanasia for the poor and the suffering than to work on solutions that lift them out of both. But is it right?

This is not compassion. It is surrender.

A humane policy would aim to restore agency, not validate its absence. It would seek out what helps people grow in wisdom and self-command, not what leaves them comfortably sedated. It would measure success not in lives prolonged into darker dependency but in persons recovered. In lives better lived.

This vision is harder. It costs time. It requires greater effort. It requires care and what some Christians call love of neighbour. It may require saying no when someone asks for help that could lead to ruin. But anything less is not mercy. It is a slow walk toward death while we leave the “system” to pretend there is no choice.

We did have a choice. We chose shallow comfort over deep obligation. We chose to manage symptoms rather than confront the deeper conditions of our age: loneliness, meaninglessness, despair. And now we live among the results: more, not fewer, people swaying in silence, already gone walking dead.

We might ask what we’ve forgotten about suffering, about responsibility, about what life is. Lives are at stake. True. But when our understanding of life is misdirected, so will be the policies the state gives us.

Share Haultain Research

We are grateful that you’re reading Haultain Research.

For the full experience, and to help us bring you more quality research and commentary,

please Subscribe to Haultain Research

Continue Reading

Crime

Vancouver police seize fentanyl and grenade launcher in opioid-overdose crisis zone

Published on

Sam Cooper's avatar Sam Cooper

Vancouver police say they have seized a grenade launcher, four guns, and nearly 500 grams of fentanyl and other hard drugs from a fortified Downtown Eastside rooming house that was allegedly feeding a synthetic opioid supply line through the city’s most drug-ravaged blocks.

“Task Force Barrage has come to an end, but our work to curb violence and disrupt organized crime in the Downtown Eastside continues,” Sergeant Steve Addison said, adding “the proliferation of violence and weapons in some residential buildings continues to put the neighbourhood at risk.”

The latest investigation began November 13, when a 42-year-old man suffered serious injuries in an assault near Carrall Street and East Cordova and was taken to hospital. Officers followed leads to a rooming house at 50 East Cordova Street, in the heart of a street-level open drug market that has become notorious in photos and news clips around the world.

On November 18, police say they uncovered a stockpile of illicit drugs, guns and weapons in three rooms of the East Cordova building. According to Addison, there are signs that parts of the property, which is supposed to house low-income residents, were repurposed as a hub to store weapons and distribute contraband throughout the neighbourhood, with some areas “fortified with countersurveillance measures to avoid detection from law enforcement.”

Items seized include four firearms, two imitation guns, a grenade launcher, a firearm suppressor, seven machetes, four flare guns, bullwhips, baseball bats, body armour, handcuffs and ammunition. Officers also seized 486 grams of fentanyl, cannabis, Dilaudid pills and methamphetamine – a quantity police say represents more than 2,500 single doses.

Meanwhile, in a separate update posted November 26 — the day before VPD announced the Cordova Street raid — Vancouver Fire Rescue Services said that on Tuesday, November 21, firefighters responded to 54 overdoses, the highest single-day total in the department’s history. The service said it averaged about 16 overdose calls per day in May, but that figure has surged in recent weeks, and during the most recent income-assistance week, firefighters were averaging roughly 45 overdose responses per day.

While police have not publicly linked the East Cordova seizure to any specific cartel, the mix of fentanyl, fortified real estate and a small armoury of weapons closely tracks the profile of a separate, high-profile British Columbia case in which provincial authorities say a Sinaloa Cartel–aligned cell embedded itself just south of Vancouver.

In that case, a civil forfeiture lawsuit alleged a Sinaloa Cartel–linked fentanyl and cocaine trafficking group set up in a multi-million-dollar mansion near the U.S. border, capable of negotiating major cocaine import deals with Ismael Garcia—known as “El Mayo”—the reputed Sinaloa Cartel chief. According to the filings, the Canada-based syndicate involved at least three men, and belonged to a violent drug trafficking organization that “used and continues to use violence, or threats of violence, to achieve its aims.”

Investigators alleged the Surrey-based group trafficked ketamine, methamphetamine, Xanax, oxycodone, MDMA and fentanyl. “As part of these efforts, the drug trafficking organization has agreed to, and made arrangements to, purchase cocaine from the Cártel de Sinaloa in Mexico,” the filings stated. They added: “the Sinaloa Cartel is a terrorist entity, and the government of Canada listed it as such on February 20, 2025.”

RCMP said they uncovered a substantial cache of weapons and narcotics during a search of the Surrey property on 77th Avenue on September 23, 2024. Opioids seized from the mansion included 400 grams of counterfeit Xanax, 810 oxycodone pills, 5.5 grams of fentanyl and nearly a kilogram of Ecstasy. The province is now seeking forfeiture of the house, which sits about 20 minutes from the Peace Arch border crossing north of Seattle.

Court submissions detailed an arsenal of 23 weapons – ten handguns, two sawed-off shotguns, two hunting rifles, seven assault rifles (two reportedly fitted with screw-on suppressors), and a speargun – alongside about 3.5 kilograms of ketamine and methamphetamine hidden in a compartment in one suspect’s room, hundreds of counterfeit alprazolam pills, a stash of oxycodone, and nearly CAD 15,000 in bundled cash “not consistent with standard banking practices.”

Viewed together, the Downtown Eastside raid and the Surrey mansion case sketch out different ends of what appears to be the same continuum, ultimately pointing to senior criminal leaders in Mexico and China.

The Bureau is a reader-supported publication.

To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Continue Reading

Trending

X