September 29, 2000
Pierre Elliott Trudeau: 1919 - 2000 - THE COMMENTARY
By Joseph Planta
VANCOUVER -- Pierre Elliot Trudeau will forever be a giant of Canadian history. His legacy has affected the chapters of our tale, including those yet unwritten. He was enigmatic to the very end, and for very good reason. He was class, style, fun and excitement; in the same breath, he was intellectual as hell, bored of the mundane and tired of the intricacies of government. Ambivalence was never a virtue. He challenged our Canadian spirit and haunted our Canadian well-being.
I heard of Trudeau’s death yesterday afternoon. When we heard of his death, there was a collective sigh amongst those in the room. Those, I was with, were probably too young to have remembered our ‘Northern Magus’ in office. Those, sighed at the loss of a man who meant so much for the nation we now humbly inhabit. It was a combination of shock and disbelief.
His health was not well some three weeks ago. He defied them then, as he always did his entire life - the Quiet Revolution with Pelletier and Jean Marchand (The Three Wise Men,) the patriation of the Constitution, René Lévesque, fuddle-duddle, that pirouette behind Her Majesty - anything and everything in that colourful life. We had hoped he would defy the constraints of time and ill-health, again.
His years were filled with the vibrancy of autumn leaves. Hues of bright orange, signalling those wet behind the ears years, when life was an experience for him. Floating from nation to nation, in search of that muse that he so desired in Rimbaud’s “Ma Bohème.” Shades of red, defined his love of the country and his burning desire of a ‘just society’. The crinkle of dried, brown leaves, evoked the giant ageing and the mind longing for the unknown. The wants, he kept to his private self. His canoe, is perhaps put away, while he rides the waves of Canadian endearment and Canadian immortality, forever infused in the confines of our collective consciousness.
The giant of our times who defied everything, couldn’t reconcile his legend with the presence of mortality, waiting in the wings.
Trudeaumania, has hit it’s lowest ebb and we realise with His death, we’re a hell of a lot older. Time stood still for Trudeau. Now, we go on without him. Emptiness abodes our national soul.
With the death of Pierre Trudeau, I am reminded of why he mattered so much. Personally, I’ve grown up to admire the man. Admire his intellect, his style and his bravado, which magically were his embodiment. His politics and policies, are probably not of my choice, but let that fall to the wayside as we bid farewell to a giant. A giant whose shadow afflicted and continues to afflict, a rare consolidated Canada. Purely his doing.
I sit in front of a framed index card that bears the signature of the Right Honourable Pierre Elliot Trudeau. There is no note nor a dedication. Simply signed: “P.E. Trudeau.” I look at it as I type and in itself, is a symbol of the enigma. You read not into the thoughts that ran through his mind when he put pen to paper. You simply see the strokes of pen, by a man who was our Prime Minister for 16 years. A man, who imprinted the same signature, endorsing a Charter of Rights and Freedoms and a patriated Constitution. A Constitution, that is our own. Purely his doing. But he made us feel as if it were our own.
He will be missed. Our nation is a darker place without that shadow that haunted and taunted us. It will continue to haunt and taunt us so, long after we ourselves, have gone.
The much-quoted Desiderata, says, “whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” If he were here, he’d go on to say, “it is still a beautiful world.”
“I went off with my fists in torn pockets; My coat was completely threadbare. I followed you, Muse, where you led me, Dreamed of loves - ah - so fine and so rare.”
- Rimbaud’s “Ma Bohème.”
The Rt. Hon. Pierre Elliot Trudeau, 1919 -2000.
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An archive of Joseph Planta's previous columns can be found by clicking HERE .