CHAPTER 12

A Government Disintegrates

1962-1963

WHEN HAROLD MACMILLAN VISITED OTTAWA IN APRIL 1961 AFTER his first meeting with President Kennedy, he left Diefenbaker with a fresh anxiety. Macmillan reported that Kennedy would welcome British association with the European Economic Community, which then included the six nations of France, West Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Italy. Britain’s efforts to organize the European Free Trade Area, or “outer seven” – among itself and Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Austria, Switzerland, and Portugal – had failed to produce substantial benefits, while the Common Market of “the six,” under French and German leadership, was beginning to demonstrate its potential. The community, it appeared, would become a formidable economic and political force, inspired by the vision of Franco-German reconciliation, the ancient memory of a single Europe, and the challenge of resistance against the communist threat from eastern Europe. By the spring of 1961 Macmillan had decided that Britain and the seven (or perhaps Britain alone) should seek closer ties with the community; and now Kennedy had urged him on.¹

For both George Drew and John Diefenbaker, this was a shock that hinted at British betrayal. Diefenbaker had invested his political capital in promoting Canada’s ties with Britain and the Commonwealth. A new British commitment to Europe, he feared, would have both symbolic and practical effects, relegating the Commonwealth to the background and possibly threatening Canada’s preferential access to the United Kingdom market. Canada’s delicate effort to balance its economic dependence on the United States would be upset, and Britain would be seen to rebuke the sentimental commitments of the Canadian Tory leader and his party. That signal of British indifference might be particularly damaging during the coming general election campaign. From June 1961 onwards the Diefenbaker government engaged in a frantic effort to discover Britain’s intentions, to protect what it saw as Canada’s interests, to dissuade Britain from its goal, and then – uncertainly – to subvert the formal British application for admission to the community.

The confused nature of the Canadian campaign was a product of Diefenbaker’s unreconciled emotions: his genuine affection for the United Kingdom, his sense of hurt and his desire to show it, his vague fear of economic injury, and his simultaneous unwillingness to accept criticism for his stance. It was also (and not by chance) an echo of Lord Beaverbrook’s campaign in the pages of his Daily Express against British entry into Europe. Drew and Beaverbrook shared their views on the subject, and Drew provided Diefenbaker with frequent reports from the Daily Express. As the Beaver ranted in London, Diefenbaker seemed little more than his colonial sales agent, hawking the same old imperial dream from British North America. The Canadian government’s campaign was controversial from the beginning, and especially upsetting to the old core of Conservative supporters because it publicly criticized Great Britain. It was disturbing also to others – including many businessmen and the Liberal opposition – who felt that obstruction would undermine rather than benefit Canada’s political and commercial links with the United Kingdom.²

When Macmillan decided to send the secretary of state for commonwealth relations, Duncan Sandys, to meet Commonwealth heads of government individually to discuss Britain’s interest in Europe, Diefenbaker protested that Sandys was the wrong person, that a meeting of Commonwealth prime ministers should be convened instead, and that France, in any case, would not agree to Britain’s terms. “I told him that I had seen a report re France to the effect that France was continuing to insist that joining the Common Market must be on the basis of the full acceptance of the Rome Treaty, and that during the discussions that the United Kingdom Government had made it clear that it did not intend by joining to abrogate the trade and industrial products from Canada, nor Agricultural products from Canada, Australia and New Zealand.”³ Diefenbaker insisted that he did not object in principle to British entry, but press reports suggested that his purpose in calling for a full meeting of prime ministers was “to form a common front to protect Commonwealth trade interests in [the] British market.” Failing that, a proposed conference of Commonwealth finance ministers in September 1961 seemed to be the first occasion for a collective response.⁴

In preparation for Sandys’s visit to Ottawa, Macmillan assured Diefenbaker on July 3 that “the decision we have to take now is not whether to join the Common Market, but whether to open negotiations with a view to finding out what special arrangements would be obtainable. Previously we had hoped to avoid entering negotiations unless there was a high prospect of success. But since it is not possible to clarify the position in advance, we feel that the risk of a breakdown might have to be accepted.” That seemed partly intended as reassurance to other Commonwealth countries that Britain would go into negotiations determined to protect their trading interests, and to accept rejection if it could not do so.⁵ Macmillan explained that Sandys would discuss “how best to organise a system of close and continuous Commonwealth consultation to cover the period of preparations for negotiations, the negotiations themselves, and the eventual decision… whether or not to join the EEC.”⁶

Diefenbaker and Drew were convinced that the Macmillan government had already made a decision in favour of entry, and that all this reassurance might be a trick. Open protest was thus a legitimate means of forcing a British retreat. But Norman Robertson and Robert Bryce were disturbed by the signs of public conflict, and argued for a return to quiet diplomacy. Bryce advised Diefenbaker that he should express Canada’s apprehensions “without making any statement either to Sandys or in public that could be used to blame Canada for upsetting a move that is now the evident desire of the UK Parliament and public, as well as the UK government.” Instead, he should argue privately that the United Kingdom had little bargaining strength against the six, and that if Commonwealth trade could not be protected, the association would be seriously damaged “at the very time that it appears likely to prove the most valuable in helping to bridge the widening gap between the white peoples and coloured peoples.” The Commonwealth, then, was worth more to British power and prestige than membership in the community; the United Kingdom should recognize that and draw back.⁷

The prime minister let Howard Green, George Hees, Donald Fleming, and Alvin Hamilton take the lead in meetings with Duncan Sandys on July 14; but he met with Sandys as well, and added his own gruff message of opposition. He believed that the Commonwealth would be damaged: “that was my feeling and it might be emotional as I had a deep attachment to the Commonwealth.” If the United Kingdom joined the market, Diefenbaker said, “Canada and Australia would be driven into closer relations with the United States.” He suggested that the United States was trying to “push” the United Kingdom into the Common Market (a description of American methods that had particular meaning for Diefenbaker since he had acquired the Rostow memorandum in May), but Sandys denied it. The joint communiqué after the meetings reflected Canada’s “grave concern” over the British initiative. The Canadian press responded coolly, in its turn, to Canada’s obstructiveness.⁸

Following the Sandys mission, Macmillan told Diefenbaker in late July that his cabinet had decided to enter negotiations with the European Economic Community. He recognized that there were substantial Commonwealth trade interests at risk, but he reiterated that only negotiations could reveal what special arrangements could be secured. On the political side, he asserted Britain’s belief that it could maintain its Commonwealth role more effectively from inside the community than from outside. He spoke of “consultation” and “close contact” with Commonwealth countries throughout the negotiations.⁹ On August 3 the British parliament gave its support to a British application for entry.

Canada then took its campaign to the meeting of Commonwealth ministers of finance and trade in Accra, Ghana, in mid-September, where Duncan Sandys faced twelve countries opposing British entry to the community. The debate, occupying an entire day, was framed by an opening speech from George Hees and a closing speech by Donald Fleming. Hees argued that Britain would lose, not gain, economic benefits in Europe; that Canadian trade would face “an entirely new and seriously disturbing situation … extensive damage – and in some cases, irreparable damage”; and that Commonwealth ties of “tradition, trust and trade” would suffer. He urged Britain to maintain its Commonwealth trading arrangements unchanged. Fleming made “a pleading speech” dedicated, in his own words, to “the Commonwealth and its glorious contribution to freedom, peace, human government and the progress of mankind.”¹⁰ The conference communiqué expressed “grave apprehension” over the British initiative and doubted whether the interests of Commonwealth countries could be protected. The UK delegation, in response, promised “close consultation with all Commonwealth Governments at all stages in the negotiations.”¹¹

Christopher Young reported accurately in the Ottawa Citizen that Canada had led other nations in “ganging up” on Britain at Accra, and that they had offered Britain a choice between the European Economic Community and the Commonwealth. Having done that, Diefenbaker could not admit it. He told the House of Commons that Hees and Fleming had been misreported. A week later the Financial Times of London commented: “The extreme weakness of the New Zealand position is its strength, and the restraint with which its problems are put is far more likely to meet with a sympathetic response and understanding in London, and in the six, than the violence with which the Canadians plead their intrinsically far weaker case.”¹²

That kind of comment was not helpful. Diefenbaker complained to Macmillan about unfair treatment from the British press, and henceforth, in his public comments, he was careful to emphasize Britain’s right to choose and its promise of continuous consultation. “We are trying to strengthen Britain’s bargaining position in order to assist the Commonwealth,” Diefenbaker noted defensively.¹³ But the peevish and resentful tone never disappeared.

Britain made its formal application for entry to the community in October 1961, but did not make the text of its presentation available to other Commonwealth governments. When the chief British negotiator, Edward Heath, made arrangements to brief Commonwealth diplomats in London in early November, Drew chose not to attend, in what seemed to be a show of Canadian displeasure. That was reported in the Daily Express as a “snub”; the Observer spoke of “an openly obstructive” Canadian attitude; and the Guardian reported that the Canadians were “simmering with indignation.” The Sunday Times judged that Britain had little remaining patience with what it called “the Diefenbaker-Fleming administration.” Canadian newspapers repeated the refrain.¹⁴ All that flack prompted Diefenbaker to cable and telephone Drew instructing him to issue a statement at once “making it clear that no snub was intended”; and Drew immediately did so, declaring that the story was “absolutely false.” Basil Robinson noted that “the incident was minor but, like the Accra affair, it illustrated the difficulty Diefenbaker had in coordinating the public statements of his senior colleagues on matters where his own feelings were mixed and his signal therefore muffled.”¹⁵

As the United Kingdom pursued its negotiations over the next fifteen months, Diefenbaker kept a jaundiced eye on events, complaining frequently about the lack of consultation and taking pleasure in every sign of French intransigence. His cabinet reported increasing public distaste for Diefenbaker’s running fight with the United Kingdom.¹⁶ By the time that Macmillan agreed to a Commonwealth prime ministers’ conference on the issue for September 1962, the British hoped for a quick and successful resolution; but Diefenbaker thought that unlikely. When Charles de Gaulle finally vetoed the British application in January 1963, Diefenbaker gloated. That was a mean ending to an episode that brought him political credit neither at home nor abroad. Macmillan, who saw “all our policies … in ruins” after the French veto, must have indulged himself in a bit of black humour when he asked Diefenbaker, on the same day, whether Canada would accept free trade with the United Kingdom.¹⁷

WHILE HE WAS PREMIER OF ONTARIO, LESLIE FROST PLAYED A DUAL ROLE IN HIS relations with John Diefenbaker, as a government leader in the industrial heartland and as a friendly mentor in matters financial and political. As premier he was not always successful, especially in his attempts to alter the fiscal balance between Ottawa and the provinces. As mentor he was a patient source of counsel, whatever his disappointments may have been in his role as premier. When Diefenbaker stumbled into his conflict with James Coyne in the summer of 1961, Frost was glad to see an old difficulty faced, but appalled by the mishandling of Coyne’s departure. He offered Diefenbaker his advice on a successor; and once Coyne had gone, he moved quickly to repair the prime minister’s frayed relations with Oakley Dalgleish of the Globe and Mail This was necessary, Frost believed, as preparation for an election in 1962: “It is important from your standpoint, but also I think … from the country’s standpoint. As a matter of fact, we cannot afford to have divisions among interests whose objectives are in common.” Frost proposed that he and Diefenbaker should make a casual visit to Dalgleish at home, in order to “break the ice in a big way … His support in the business area is very important & the above ‘gesture’ would be overwhelming.”¹⁸ The meeting apparently took place, with amicable results that were evident in correspondence and Globe editorials for the next few months.

By that time Frost had decided to retire as premier. When he did so in November, he wrote to Diefenbaker to assure him that “my interest in the grand old party will remain as active as ever … To the Party I have devoted most of the active years of my life. This I propose to do in the future … I am interested in your success and the Party’s success. It will be a pleasure always to give my aid and support.”¹⁹ A month earlier, Diefenbaker had offered Frost the Canadian ambassadorship in Washington, but Frost declined because he did not wish to leave Canada – and because he felt unable to adjust to the “social rigidities” of diplomatic life in Washington. He left open the possibility of a senatorship, although he preferred to see that reward go to “others who had given long and good service.” Frost hoped instead that he could carry on with his role as facilitator and guide in relations with business and labour.²⁰

Frost feared that Diefenbaker had lost direction and was heading for defeat in 1962. When the prime minister asked for his advice on policy in February, Frost responded at once in a series of letters suggesting an election manifesto drawing on ideas from persons inside and outside the party. In Ontario, he recalled, he “always bore in mind the fact that there are not enough Tories … to elect a Conservative government. They provide a great nucleus, but one has to go out into the highways and byways and get people, regardless of previous political affiliation and background. Many of my best supporters were people who had voted the other way a few years before.” The other parties, he knew, had impressive “brain trusts” at work. What Diefenbaker needed was “a statement of policy, a manifesto if you will, which is confident, understanding, practical and appealing … Such a thing would be morale boosting and would give our people an objective around which they can rally.” Frost appealed to the spirit of John A. Macdonald, in invocation of Diefenbaker’s great 1958 campaign.

There is a parallel today to John A’s day. In 1877 certainly the winds of change were blowing much as today. The minds of people were perplexed. John A. sensed this and had a series of great picnics and made statements of policy from which evolved the national policy, a political philosophy which pretty much dominated the scene for nearly fifty years … My suggestion is that you prepare such a statement of policy and fit into the same the multitude of worthwhile things this government has done to carry out its purpose. The government in many ways has done a very remarkable job, but I am afraid the effect of these things is going to be lost unless they are part of a composite picture of policy.²¹

Specifically, Frost suggested tax reductions to spur economic growth, a confident acceptance of British entry into the European community, a generous immigration policy to bring to Canada “fine people from elsewhere, with all of their skills and creative capacity,” and a general review of tax structure to reduce impediments to industry.

A week earlier, after a personal meeting with the prime minister, Oakley Dalgleish had written Diefenbaker with similar proposals to stimulate growth and to show “that your government understands the problems of business.”²² Diefenbaker told Frost that Dalgleish’s letter was “cold,” and Frost, always sensitive to the Chief’s fear of criticism, reassured him. “Please remember it was really a memorandum. In my many associations with him he has criticized me on many occasions. Very often, unfortunately, I found he was right. When the chips were down, however, with due recognition to my frailties, he helped me and he was always prepared to assist me to put my story across, provided it was right. My job was to make sure that it was such and that I could sell it.”²³

This piece of counselling – both political and psychological – seemed to work. Diefenbaker met twice with Dalgleish, on one occasion for “about five hours,” to discuss both his and Frost’s proposals. He told Frost that “your ideas are excellent and the suggestions are of such a nature that I will gather together a number of the Ministers tomorrow to discuss the question at length.”²⁴ The result was a request to both Frost and Dalgleish to give him ideas for an election manifesto. Frost responded at the end of March with a five-thousand-word paper prepared with the help of five long-time associates. “Back of this document,” Frost wrote, “I have endeavoured to weave the conception which I followed during my years in office, going back to 1943, that in this country we should create an environment in which there could be expansion and development, and in which business could grow, flourish and provide employment. In my opinion, upon that depends everything.”²⁵ Diefenbaker promised to study the paper in detail.²⁶

Soon afterwards Dalgleish added his own comments, emphasizing that business had to be reassured that government understood its problems and would promote growth, and that Canada’s friends abroad must be given similar reasons for confidence. There was more than implied criticism of Diefenbaker’s record in this appeal: Dalgleish noted that investors looked on Canada with “both doubt and wonderment … I acknowledge that much of this has been created and sustained by the pessimistic talk of our own politicians, and others, about unemployment, etc., over the past two years. As you know I do not believe the pessimism is justified but at the present the proof that it is not must come from us.”²⁷

Frost’s and Dalgleish’s advice was intended to prop up a faltering regime, and above all to salvage some support for it in the business community. Parliament had reassembled in January to hear an uninspiring speech from the throne made up of odds and ends of unfulfilled election promises, plus another list of new spending promises; and the prime minister had delivered a defensive address which, in effect, accused the opposition of misgoverning the country since 1958.²⁸ What followed was a ragged and ill-attended session, as front- and back-benchers alike took to the hustings.

Almost two years had passed since the election of a reformist Liberal government under Jean Lesage in Quebec, and by now the Quiet Revolution was transforming the province. As the pressures for fairer treatment of the country’s French-speaking minority mounted, the prime minister rejected suggestions for a royal commission on French-English relations. At the abortive cabinet meeting in Quebec City, Diefenbaker raised the subject of using French in cabinet meetings, but this was empty pretence, since Donald Fleming and Davie Fulton were probably the only two English-speaking ministers who could claim any facility in the language. At the same meeting Fleming proposed that federal government cheques should be bilingual. For six weeks the cabinet wavered inconclusively on the subject, until it agreed in February to the minister’s proposal to introduce the reform as a simple administrative change, without legislation. His announcement to the House, on February 6, 1962, was an anticlimactic response to the awakening of French-speaking Canada.²⁹

Diefenbaker expected an election within months, but he had not decided on a date, and found it painfully difficult to do so. The Gallup Poll, which he claimed to ignore, continued to show his party running behind the Liberals. His cabinet was tired, fretful, discouraged by its public failings, anxious about its division on issues yet to be settled, disenchanted with and yet intimidated by the leader who had brought them to power five years earlier. They knew now – all of them – that he had feet of clay. What held them together was not Diefenbaker’s inspiration but the fear of defeat.

In the press gallery, an adviser told Diefenbaker in January 1962 that he faced “a dangerous degree of personal animosity among most of the members.” He attributed this not to any failings of policy, but to resentment over a loss of “the close personal relationship they had with you some years ago” and sloppy disregard for the press in ministers’ dealings with reporters before and after cabinet meetings. “The many complaints I hear,” his correspondent wrote, “seem to be highly personal, giving the impression that some who recall earlier close relationships have become progressively surprised, hurt, annoyed and finally, vindictive.” He suggested the institution of regular press conferences, which would give the prime minister a platform for his “established skill in reply and repartee” and restore a “more friendly reporting atmosphere.” “Desirable questions” could be arranged, and undesirable ones would receive considered replies that might discourage reporters from “mak[ing] up their own answers as they are doing now.”³⁰ Diefenbaker was not, by the winter of 1962, in a mood to make the disciplined effort that this would require, and he matched the press gallery’s vindictiveness with his own.

According to Donald Fleming, the prime minister preferred to call a spring election without a budget. That would allow the cabinet to authorize patronage spending without any attempt to place it within a framework of fiscal policy – and would send the deficit skyrocketing for another year. Fleming argued with his usual passion for a budget, made his preparations, and at last got it in early April; but his appeals for spending restraint were unavailing. In late March and early April the ministry announced new federal loans for New Brunswick power projects, credits to China for additional grain purchases, new acreage payments for wheat farmers, extended freight rate reductions, more generous unemployment insurance payments, wider Maritime coal subsidies, and a frigate construction program for the Canadian navy. The throne speech had also promised increases in old age and disability pensions. The budget, on April 10, estimated a $745 million deficit despite what Fleming foresaw as a period of “rapid economic growth.” The press represented this as a modest victory for Fleming against the “big spenders.” Since the prime minister had ordered Fleming to deliver his speech in one hour, he was obliged to omit large parts of the text, to deliver the rest at breathless pace, and to ask the House for extra time. He finished at 9:50 in the evening – fifty minutes over the prime minister’s allowance – leaving Mike Pearson just ten minutes to reply. That was all he received, since the House never returned to the budget debate. One week later, after revealing the cabinet’s decision to build a causeway from the mainland to Prince Edward Island, Diefenbaker announced the dissolution of parliament for an election on June 18, 1962. The parliamentary reporter of the Montreal Star summed up the whole twenty-fourth parliament as “sometimes aimless, often ill-tempered, and always potentially explosive. Few will mourn its passing.”³¹

THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY, WHICH HAD FLOATED THROUGH THE MIRACLE-WORKING campaign of 1958, had lost its enchantment with the leader. On Diefenbaker’s suggestion, Allister Grosart called a meeting of key party organizers at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal in the early winter of 1962 to discuss electoral prospects. He was shocked to hear from them that, in Dalton Camp’s words, “the game was over … we’d probably lose the next election, or we’d take an awful pounding.” Diefenbaker, they said, was a liability and should be kept off television. Other ministers should be out on the road to turn the focus away from the prime minister. The dissatisfactions spilled out all day as Grosart recorded their complaints and challenged their judgments. By evening he too was a casualty: the meeting marked “the absolute end of any confidence in Allister … they didn’t believe in him and they didn’t believe he was in touch with reality and they didn’t think either that he would do anything about what they were telling him, or that he’d have any power or influence to do anything.” The day ended in a drunken banquet at which Grosart, the wine expert, tossed the first empty bottle over his shoulder to shatter on the floor behind him, as everyone sought unhappy oblivion in alcohol.³²

Diefenbaker preferred not to believe the pessimistic reports. He wrote to Elmer on March 23 that polls showing Conservative support at 21 percent in the west, Liberal support at 25 percent, and 39 percent of electors undecided were wrong. “Our members in the House are very enthusiastic and are anxious for an election and certainly would not be in that state of mind if the polls mean anything. They were so far astray in 1957 and 1958, and I haven’t been advised of anything that would bear out the reports that are being given in this connection.”³³ The people wanted an election, he believed. It would be “a tremendous battle,” he told another correspondent, not because his government deserved criticism, but because the air was full of Liberal propaganda. “There will be no limit to opposition attacks, however unfair … it has become regular procedure.”³⁴

In response, Diefenbaker, on the encouragement of several supporters, was developing a campaign of attack that would cover both the Liberal Party and the New Democratic Party. The election, he said, would be a battle between free enterprise and socialism. Diefenbaker had tried out the theme in a March 1961 speech that prompted an angry response from his friendly nemesis Eugene Forsey of the Canadian Labour Congress. “Frankly,” Forsey wrote, “that speech dismayed me … I don’t think you are doing yourself or your government justice. You are making it appear that your main concern is a doctrinaire devotion to an abstract theory called ‘free enterprise,’ to which you are prepared to sacrifice almost anything; whereas it seems to me that, on the contrary, you have tackled unemployment and other problems without any such doctrinaire preconceptions, but in the traditional Conservative spirit: pragmatic, empirical, common sense, down to earth, looking for the best practical solution, whether it involves more government interference or less, more public enterprise or less.”³⁵ Diefenbaker drafted a reply suggesting that Forsey must have momentarily lost his calm detachment out of commitment to “the socialist party.” But he thought better and did not send it.

Nevertheless the theme still appealed to him. It would allow Diefenbaker to remind voters of his 1960 United Nations speech attacking Soviet communism and imperialism; it would identify the NDP as the party of regimentation; and by free association it would link a group of prominent new Liberal candidates and advisers with the wartime Liberal regime that had “paralysed Parliament and interfered with the rights of the provinces.” It would even, at its nastiest, allow the prime minister to suggest cryptically that “softness on communism” was not something that Pearson should risk discussing. Diefenbaker tried out the broadened theme during the throne speech debate of January 1962, and he used it intermittently during the election campaign, when it ran as a discordant background melody.³⁶

The officially advertised party program was more constructive. It was partly the product of Leslie Frost and Oakley Dalgleish’s outline of incentives to business, and partly of a draft prepared in 1961 by an informal committee under Alvin Hamilton’s direction. “To be believable,” Hamilton told Diefenbaker, “it mentions what has been done on the first stage of the national development program. To appeal to the emotions, it speaks of the principles which guide the government. To build enthusiasm for the future, it outlines the eleven point program.” The program promised a range of incentives and benefits, most of them previously announced, that marked a new scale of bidding for the popular vote out of public funds. It was matched by an equally bountiful Liberal platform. The bidding war would continue for the next twenty years.³⁷

The prime minister’s campaign, like his previous ones, saw him crisscross the country by plane, train, and car, touching Newfoundland and British Columbia once, the Maritime provinces twice, the prairies three times, Quebec four times, and Ontario five times, usually arriving back in Ottawa overnight on Saturdays for a single day at home between weekly journeys. There were major rallies in London, Edmonton, Victoria, Vancouver, Quebec City, Montreal, Toronto, and Hamilton, and many visits to small town and rural constituencies where the party counted on fervent loyalty to the Chief.³⁸

With none of Diefenbaker’s magnetism on the platform, Pearson took the advice of his American pollster, Lou Harris, to emphasize the Liberal team. Still, the iron law of parliamentary campaigns thrust him willy-nilly into personal battle with the prime minister. Pearson opened his campaign in Charlottetown at the end of April by challenging Diefenbaker to a television debate on the Kennedy-Nixon model. Diefenbaker scoffed and turned him down. As he had told Eisenhower in September 1960, “Why advertise your political opposition?”

Diefenbaker was incensed that someone else was doing that. Early in May, President Kennedy hosted a White House dinner for Nobel Prize winners from the Western hemisphere, at which Pearson was one of the honoured guests. In Diefenbaker’s eyes that was bad enough, but Kennedy compounded the crime in what was reported as a forty-minute private conversation with the Canadian opposition leader before the reception. Pearson told the press that they had discussed many subjects, including disarmament, NATO, and Britain’s application to the Common Market. When the departing American ambassador to Canada, Livingston Merchant, arranged what he thought would be a fifteen-minute appointment with Diefenbaker at his Sussex Drive residence to offer his farewell on May 4, he walked unwittingly into a hurricane. The meeting resulted in a flurry of tough talk in Washington and the threat of a major diplomatic incident.³⁹

Robinson warned Merchant before the interview that Diefenbaker “was in an extremely agitated frame of mind” over the political use Pearson had made of his meeting with Kennedy. Despite the warning, Merchant was unprepared for Diefenbaker’s “disturbed and disturbing attitude.” What he heard was a two-hour “tirade” in which “the exchanges, while personally friendly, became heated.” Kennedy’s personal meeting with Pearson, the prime minister said, was “an intervention by the President in the Canadian election.” Pearson’s associates would be bound to use the meeting as evidence of Kennedy’s trust in Pearson: Walter Gordon had already done so the previous evening.

Diefenbaker added that he was “shocked” that Kennedy wished to get rid of Commonwealth preferences, and accused the Americans of thinking they “could achieve this by supporting Pearson who was prepared to accept without argument Britain’s unconditional entrance into the European Common Market.”

The Prime Minister then went on to say that Canada-United States relations would now be the dominant issue in the campaign. He said the campaigning would be more bitter than it was in 1911 and he referred to Champ Clark’s statement during the course of that campaign which it took the Canadians until 1917 to recover from. (According to my recollection, Champ Clark who was the Speaker of the House of Representatives, said publicly something along the line that it was inevitable that the United States should annex Canada. The basic issue of that campaign was the question of a reciprocal trade agreement with the United States and the outcome of the campaign was won and lost on the slogan of the Conservatives, “No truck or trade with the Yankees.”)

In his fury, Diefenbaker said he would have to confront the Liberal line head on – the claim that Pearson could better handle relations with Washington. “He thought he would probably be forced into this by the middle of or end of next week.”

In countering the Liberal line, he said he would publicly produce a document which he has had locked up in his private safe since a few days after the President’s visit to Ottawa last May. This document he says is the original of a memorandum on White House stationery, addressed to the President from Walt Rostow and initialled by the latter, which is headed “Objectives of the President’s Visit to Ottawa.” The Prime Minister says that the memorandum starts:

“1. The Canadians must be pushed into joining the OAS.

“2. The Canadians must be pushed into something else…

“3. The Canadians must be pushed in another direction …”

Diefenbaker told him, falsely, “that this document came into his possession a few days after the president left, through External Affairs, under circumstances with which he was not familiar, but his understanding was that it had been given by someone to External Affairs.” This authoritative evidence of the American intention to push Canada, Diefenbaker told Merchant, “would be used by him to demonstrate that he, himself, was the only leader capable of preventing United States domination of Canada.” The prime minister added that an investigation was under way to determine whether “some Liberal supporter of Pearson” in the Canadian Embassy in Washington had set up the interview with Kennedy. The incident, Diefenbaker said, would “blow our relations sky high.”

Merchant reported that Diefenbaker was tired by an overnight flight from Newfoundland, where he had experienced “an exhausting and frustrating whistle-stop campaign,” and that he was uneasy about his keynote address planned for that evening in London, Ontario. “He was excited to a degree disturbing in a leader of an important country, and closer to hysteria than I have seen him, except on one other possible occasion.” Merchant felt that Olive was concerned about his state: She was “hovering over him when I arrived and obviously doing the same when I chatted with the two of them for about ten minutes before departure.”

Merchant attempted a response, and reported that Diefenbaker was “willing to hear me out.” He told the prime minister there was no reason to criticize Kennedy for taking the occasion to discuss international affairs with a prominent Canadian visitor. “It was childish to assume that this constituted any effort or intent to intervene in Canadian domestic politics.” He offered his word that the US administration had no favourite party in Canada, and assured him of the president’s great personal respect. But he implied that Diefenbaker was lying about how he had obtained the document, and delivered a stern diplomatic warning. “I urged him in strongest terms to discard any thought of revealing publicly the document which he said he had in his possession. I said that I had never seen or heard of it and that it was not conceivable to me that if such a memorandum were genuine, it could have been transmitted officially or unofficially to anyone in the Canadian Government.” If the document was genuine, it was confidential advice to the president which “had no official status and was not intended for Canadian eyes. Moreover, I said that were he to reveal it publicly, there would be a serious backlash, if not in Canada, then certainly in the United States. People would ask how the Prime Minister had come into possession of such a privileged internal document addressed to the President of the United States, and why it had not been immediately returned, without comment or publicity.”

Merchant felt he had made an impression on Diefenbaker, but could not be sure whether the prime minister would refrain from using the Rostow memorandum in the campaign. He had known Diefenbaker, at other times, to be agitated “only to find that two or three days later the storm had passed. On this occasion, however, his only assurance as I left, was that he would not raise this issue tonight, and in fact, he said half jokingly… that he would not bring it up until I had left Canada, since, as he said, it would be up to another American Ambassador to pick up the pieces and he didn’t want to spoil my last few days in Ottawa.”

The ambassador concluded: “We have a problem.” At best, having blown his top, Diefenbaker would think again and act responsibly. “It is necessary, however,” he advised, “that we take out any available insurance against the worst.”

Merchant told George Ball that there was nothing to gain by interference in Canadian elections, or in the appearance of doing so. A successful intervention would label the winner as “a running dog of the United States” who would be “inhibited from acting along lines agreeable to us.” After an unsuccessful intervention, “the winner would hate us.” Since appearances had now given Pearson an advantage, he suggested some balancing gesture in Diefenbaker’s favour, such as a quickly staged and informal meeting between Kennedy and Diefenbaker, arranged at the president’s initiative.

As Merchant intended, this message was conveyed at once to the president. Kennedy’s national security adviser, McGeorge Bundy, gave detailed instructions to Ball on a response, and Ball passed these on to Merchant on May 8, along with a copy of the original Rostow memorandum.⁴⁰ In a footnote for Merchant’s information only, Ball said tartly that Kennedy had “no intention or desire” for an early meeting with Diefenbaker. The prime minister was on the campaign trail in Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, and Alberta during the week, so Merchant asked to see him as soon as he returned to Ottawa on Saturday, May 12. Merchant hoped that “the cryptic nature of my message will exert restraint on him,” although Diefenbaker had threatened “at some Quebec whistle-stop last night” to discuss the subject of a Canadian-made foreign policy later in the campaign.⁴¹ While awaiting Diefenbaker’s return, Merchant met with Robinson and conveyed Washington’s concern about the general course of Canadian policy and the prime minister’s “tirade.” He told Robinson he had a message from Kennedy which, he hoped, “would have a restraining effect.” Robinson, who was now due to be posted to the Canadian Embassy in Washington, left the meeting “overwhelmed by the size of the problem of explaining Canadian policy in Washington, especially on defence.”⁴²

Diefenbaker received Merchant at home on Saturday evening. The ambassador’s instructions called for a coy diplomatic dance, which he performed. Afterwards, he reported the interview by telegram to Washington.

I opened by saying I had delayed my departure by reason my grave and growing concern over our talk on May 4. I said I had not reported to the President his stated intent to reveal in present campaign his possession of confidential document of the President presenting advice of member his personal staff. I said I had only reported to the Department his belief Pearson intended capitalize in campaign on private conversation with the President on Nobel Prize occasion which I said had been informal twenty-minute chat in advance of formal dinner. Then I said I had independently obtained copy Walt Rostow’s memo which I found unexceptionable and concerning four subjects which had been frequently discussed and regarding which I had thought PM’s personal attitude favorable. Verb “push” I said corresponded to British “press” or Canadian phrase “seek to persuade.”

PM did not interrupt as I went on to say that I had not reported his threat to use existence or contents memo because consequences of his doing so would be catastrophic. PM interjected “they would be so in Canada.” I said I was not talking of Canada but of reaction in the US. I said if he did this the result in the US would be of incalculable harm with public opinion, in the government and in his personal relations and that consequently I had delayed my departure to urge once more that he abandon any such thought.⁴³

Diefenbaker backed down. He told Merchant that “he had given [the] matter further consideration and in light of what I had said to him on May 4 he had no present intention of using or in any way referring to [the] memo in question. He said if he changed his mind he would personally telephone me in Washington before doing so but he was now decided to discard any such thought.” According to Diefenbaker, only three other persons knew of the memo – Green, Fleming, and Churchill, whom Merchant described to Ball as “all … cool steady men.”⁴⁴

Merchant noted that Diefenbaker then set off on an “emotional sidetrack” by insisting that the United States was “trying to push” Canada around, but calmed down when the ambassador asked what evidence he could show for such suspicions. He turned instead (“with Gusto”) to the subject of his prairie campaign tour, though bemoaning the time and travels still ahead. The ambassador concluded his report optimistically. “Notwithstanding fact PM nervous and in my judgment on verge of exhaustion, I believe storm has passed and that chances are now minimal that he will embark on all-out anti-American line … At end conversation we both lowered our voices and with complimentary close he bade me warm good night.”

For the time being an understanding had been achieved, but the incident remains puzzling. If Diefenbaker, in a fit of anger and desperation, intended to use the Rostow memorandum, why did he warn Merchant beforehand? Was he hoping to be dissuaded from what would have been a dishonourable and self-destructive act? Did he expect that his threat would lead Kennedy to refrain from any further “intervention”? Why did he lie about the origin of the memorandum, in a way that could only be obvious to Livingston Merchant? Merchant later said that Kennedy had been “astounded and indignant” at this “species of blackmail,” and that he was himself “baffled and finally appalled by Diefenbaker.”⁴⁵

Merchant’s and Robinson’s observations – that Diefenbaker was “disturbed,” “overwrought,” “extremely agitated,” “excited to a disturbing degree,” “closer to hysteria than I have seen him,” “on the verge of exhaustion” – suggest a man on the edge. Perhaps his threat was not the act of a carefully calculating politician, but of an unsettled – and very fragile – spirit.

Despite his expressions of confidence, Diefenbaker was aware that his government and party were in trouble. The political atmosphere had changed since 1958, and the high expectations of that winter campaign could not be revived. Yet his own confidence and sense of stability rested on continuing signs of public support. The government had borne one critical blow after another since the cancellation of the Arrow in 1959. The prime minister’s moodiness, disorganization, and indecisiveness had undermined the confidence of his own cabinet. Diefenbaker was also bewildered by the complex technical questions of economic, financial, and defence policy that now overwhelmed his ministry. He had managed – temporarily – to contain the nuclear weapons issue, but the others were more immediate.

In the days before his first interview with Merchant, the prime minister faced a perplexing monetary crisis, and on May 3 it became public. The Canadian dollar – alone among the major currencies and in defiance of the fixed exchange rate policy of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) – floated in value on the international markets. From a position in the late 1950s when it stood at a premium against the American dollar, it drifted gradually downwards to a rate of about 95 cents US by the winter of 1961-62. The persisting Canadian recession, five consecutive budget deficits, an increasing deficit on the current trade account, and, it seemed, general uncertainty about the policies of the Diefenbaker government had unsettled the exchange markets. Once the election was called on April 18, an unanticipated stampede in the sale of Canadian dollars began. In the month of April alone, the Bank of Canada’s exchange fund sold $125 million of its foreign reserves to maintain the value of the Canadian dollar. That brought the decline in the exchange fund over seven months to about half a billion dollars, or one-quarter of Canada’s total exchange reserves.

The government’s chief financial advisers believed that Canada faced a continuing speculative run on the dollar and a potentially disastrous decline in its value. Diefenbaker was informed by Robert Bryce on April 29 that there was an exchange crisis, and senior officials met with Donald Fleming to discuss alternative responses. When they could not agree, Fleming recommended that the Canadian dollar should be pegged at 92.5 cents US. He gained Diefenbaker’s reluctant support for an approach to the IMF to approve the decision, and subsequently arranged for a special meeting of the IMF board for the evening of May 2 in Washington. Early that morning Diefenbaker telephoned Fleming to say he had changed his mind, but Fleming and his officials insisted that the process was under way and could not be reversed. Diefenbaker told him: “It will cost us the election,” and gave way. Cabinet, in the presence of eight ministers under Fleming’s chairmanship, ratified the recommendation, and officials set off for Washington to present the proposal to the IMF board. Meanwhile, Fleming flew back to Toronto for his nomination meeting, where he made no mention of the devaluation. The decision was announced to the press at 11:15 that night.⁴⁶

Diefenbaker suggested in his memoirs that the policy was mistaken; that Canada should have supported the floating value of the dollar through the election by selling reserves; and that it should have moved to a fixed exchange rate in an orderly way in the next budget. Instead, he claimed, it was forced to an emergency devaluation because the Kennedy administration “spooked” the New York money market “to get rid of my government.” In this American conspiracy Diefenbaker saw the complicity of officials from the Department of Finance, “powerful interests” on Bay Street, the CBC, and the Liberal Party. The Liberals did, indeed, take advantage of the crisis – once devaluation had occurred – to ridicule the competence of the Diefenbaker government.⁴⁷ But there is no need for so elaborate an explanation of the affair. Diefenbaker admitted he had “no direct proof for his claim, and there were enough objective reasons to explain the run. Once it had begun, pegging at a lower level, with IMF support, offered a reasonable means of stemming the tide.

Diefenbaker’s conspiracy theory had apparently not taken form at the time of devaluation. If it had, he would certainly have added it to his catalogue of Kennedy’s offences when he met Merchant on May 5. But the disturbing evidence of a government that had lost control – something that was bound to feature in the rest of the campaign – preoccupied and unsettled him, and he went into the meeting with Merchant carrying that burden of anxiety. Harold Macmillan had also spent a day in Ottawa after his latest visit to Washington, asserting his commitment to the Common Market negotiations and emphasizing the president’s eagerness to support those efforts.⁴⁸ If there were no great conspiracies confronting the prime minister, fortune, at least, was not working in his favour as it once had done.

The devaluation, which offered trade benefits for Canada, occurred in the worst possible political circumstances. A Winnipeg Free Press cartoonist lampooned Donald Fleming hoisting the remnants of a dollar to the mast. Jokes about the “Diefendollar” or “Diefenbuck” swept the country, and phony green bills with mutilated ends were soon circulating from St John’s to Whitehorse. The easily caricatured administration seemed to have become its own caricature.

Diefenbaker was convinced that few of his ministers were pulling their weight in the campaign. Alvin Hamilton made an imprudent remark about a cabinet compromise on the dollar’s value and suggested that he preferred a value of 90 cents US. Donald Fleming tried to explain the exchange crisis, but was too abstract. Ellen Fairclough had mysteriously avoided the press in a campaign visit to Vancouver, and in mid-campaign the prime minister complained that “19 Ministers have cancelled out the meetings arranged for them. I want the daily record of any Minister who did that.”⁴⁹ In Quebec, a report to Diefenbaker early in the campaign suggested that the organization was “completely ineffectual” and doing nothing.⁵⁰ Apparently the leader would have to count on nothing more than his old magic on the platform.

In London, Ontario, the prime minister was joined on stage by Leslie Frost, his successor John Robarts, and most of the federal cabinet. Diefenbaker opened the campaign by defending the government’s record and laying out a tedious “prosperity blueprint” – the Hamilton-Frost mélange of spending promises and business incentives, which did not add up to a coherent or inspiring program. The audience stewed in 90-degree heat and was not roused.⁵¹ By mid-May Diefenbaker was complaining publicly about complacency among Conservative supporters. Later in the campaign, when he went on the attack, he could still bring his audiences alive with his furrowed brows, jokes, insinuations, and one-liners. Pearson’s brains trust, he said, was “a cacophony of paragons, pseudo-economists, economic centralizers, and former bureaucrats.” In the west he offered more promises of aid, and met his hecklers wittily – including a gaggle of Doukhobor women in Trail, British Columbia, who stripped naked before him – until the mass meeting in Vancouver on May 30.⁵² That night he faced an arena audience of 7000 that was well sprinkled with protesters. Diefenbaker kept his temper in the face of constant interruptions, but could not silence them. Charles Lynch described the scene: “With the concessionaires taking a hands-off attitude, the prime minister was left to cope with the situation himself. Perspiring, running his hands through his flying hair, his eyes flashing, he talked of organized anarchy. He said he liked good fun too. He spoke of an Elizabethan sense of a grand design for Canada. He hammered on unity. All this was to no avail … John Fisher, bathed in perspiration, kept scribbling notes and passing them up to his chief … nothing seemed to work.”⁵³

Two days later, in Chelmsford, Ontario, the Diefenbakers faced “the ugliness and invective of a hysterical mob” as they made their way to their car with the local Conservative candidate. Diefenbaker used the demonstrations to suggest planned obstruction by the Liberals and the NDP: “They thought they silenced that speech, but they did far more for the Conservative party than all the speeches of the campaign.” On June 7 Joey Smallwood handed Diefenbaker the evidence of collusion by forcing the St John’s Rotary Club to cancel its invitation to Donald Fleming to address them on devaluation. An exhausted Diefenbaker found himself refreshed and aroused when cast in the martyr’s role.⁵⁴

When the Liberal Party advertised its claim that devaluation would bring higher prices for consumers, Diefenbaker issued a stern warning to the big companies: “I don’t want any group or corporation in this country no matter how successful they may be, to take advantage of this situation. I serve notice here and now that if, in the next few days, this kind of thing is going on there will be action as effective as it is drastic.” That left producers and retailers puzzled and fearful. Alvin Hamilton added his own threat that the government might undercut oil prices by building a national oil pipeline to Montreal.⁵⁵

Despite outbursts of the old fire, Diefenbaker rarely created the excitement of 1958. But his challenger Mike Pearson aroused even less enthusiasm on the platform. By early June reporters were widely expecting a minority parliament. They watched rural Quebec with special fascination as the colourful leader of the Quebec Social Credit Party, Real Caouette, brought out the crowds in the Quebec City, Saguenay, and Beauce regions with his rough-hewn words and promises of bliss. As the campaign ended, the prime minister appealed more and more to ethnic and anti-American sentiments. At the Ukrainian Hall in Montreal on June 11, he joked bitterly about the abuse of his name: Diefenbucks, Diefenbliss, Diefenbunkum; double, double, Diefentrouble/Diefenboil and Diefenbubble. “If I didn’t have the name I have I don’t know what the Liberal party would do … The playing with my name indicates what they think of those of non-French and non-English origin.” He reminded his audiences that he was the leader who had dared to confront Khrushchev at the United Nations, while Pearson was curiously soft on communism. In the prime minister’s leaping rhetoric, Pearson had become simultaneously the candidate of big business, John Kennedy, and Nikita Khrushchev. Diefenbaker was the candidate of the people – except, it appeared, in rural Quebec, where Caouette matched his populism.⁵⁶

In the last three weeks of the campaign, the Liberal lead in the Gallup Poll narrowed from 44-36 percent to 38-36 percent as voters drained away to the NDP and Social Credit. Diefenbaker and the Conservatives held their own. The Globe reported that “there is a vague, difficult to measure lack of confidence in Canada’s political leadership of any stripe … The Conservative campaign has been essentially a one-man show with Mr. Diefenbaker the man. If they fail to win, he must take the blame; if they do win he can claim the victory, no matter how many seats they lose, for his own.”⁵⁷

Oakley Dalgleish offered the Globe and Mail’s measured support for the Diefenbaker government in a front-page editorial on June 5. The Liberals had offered “negative and destructive criticism,” and had spent their time in opposition “fashioning new planks to fasten on the shaky structure of the Liberal Welfare State. Liberal irresponsibillity has been amply demonstrated in this campaign. While the party spokesmen have gone about the country heaping criticism on the Government’s budget deficits, alleging financial mismanagement, they have simultaneously promised, if returned to power, to launch vastly expensive new schemes for health and welfare and capital programs. The Liberals, in fact, have been consistent only in their inconsistency.” “Our readers,” the editorial continued, “will not need to be reminded of the occasions – far too numerous for our liking – when we have felt it necessary to criticize the Conservative Government in sharp terms.” But those criticisms were usually directed not at its decisions, but at “its methods of implementing them.” Sometimes the government had gone “too far, too fast,” in redeeming its promises, but it had met those promises “more faithfully than any government since the turn of the century.” Now Diefenbaker promised that the task of his government would be to create the business climate “to pay the bills and meet the challenge ahead,” and he was bound to make “a sincere effort to translate these words into national policy.” The editorial concluded: “On the record of the parties, without minimizing the mistakes of the past Conservative Administration, the Government, in our opinion, should be given a vote of confidence by the people of Canada.”⁵⁸ That was no ringing endorsement, but it matched the sceptical mood of the country in the summer of 1962. The Montreal Gazette commented that the prime minister had “failed to make an effective appeal to Quebec, despite the fact that he has enlarged the flow of money to this province to a remarkable extent.” In general, he had “left the impression of blurred aim and clumsy method.”⁵⁹ The Edmonton Journal, which had supported Diefenbaker in 1958, switched its allegiance to the Liberals.

John and Olive were on their railway car in Prince Albert for election day on June 18 after a final rally in Hamilton and a weary appearance on national television over the weekend. The first news from the Atlantic provinces showed the Tories losing about a quarter of their seats to the Liberals; but as the polls closed and the count moved to Quebec and Ontario, the outlook darkened. In Quebec the Créditistes decimated the Conservatives in the countryside, taking twenty-six seats, to thirty-five for the Liberals (a gain of ten) and only fourteen for the Tories (a loss of thirty-six). In Ontario the Conservatives held their edge outside the cities, while the Liberals and the NDP made huge urban gains. The Conservatives were down to thirty-five, a loss of thirty-two seats. The government would be saved or overthrown in the west. Across the prairies, Diefenbaker’s followers kept the faith: The Chief held forty-two of forty-eight ridings. In Saskatchewan the Conservatives actually increased their popular vote over 1958. Finally, maverick British Columbia split four ways to steal the majority away. Next morning Diefenbaker surveyed the wreckage: He held 116 seats to the Liberals’ 100, Social Credit’s thirty, and the NDP’s nineteen. Five ministers – David Walker, William Hamilton, Noël Dorion, Jacques Flynn, and Bill Browne – had been defeated. The loss of ninety-two seats was devastating and incomprehensible. But the minority victory kept Diefenbaker clinging to power against an opposition whose unity was uncertain. Groping for words to a reporter, the prime minister took refuge in some typical advice of Sir John A. not to do anything quickly: “Precipitous action did not always result in wise decisions.”⁶⁰

Overnight, the Conservative Party had been transformed, in parliament, into a rural, English-speaking minority party. The Liberals and the NDP swept the cities, where they took over half the popular vote to the Tories’ one-third. Even the ethnic vote was lost to the Liberals and the NDP; and young voters, similarly, turned away from the Conservatives. John Diefenbaker kept his strength among western farmers and the beneficiaries of his party’s regional development grants. Those were narrow constituencies. The Liberals were disappointed that they had failed to overcome the government at a single blow, but the initiative had passed to them.

While Diefenbaker absorbed the electoral setback, he was faced with a second and more serious exchange crisis as he flew back to Ottawa. From the end of May the Bank of Canada’s exchange fund had been forced to renew its massive selling of US dollars after a three-week respite. On election day alone, $41 million was sold into the exchange market, and in the next two days the bank’s reserves fell by a further $110 million in the effort to maintain a 92.5 cent Canadian dollar. The speculators had descended in a horde, expecting a further devaluation as Canada exhausted its reserves. Fleming, with Diefenbaker’s approval, was determined to maintain the dollar at its pegged rate, which required quick and massive support for the exchange fund from abroad. Louis Rasminsky and the senior officials of the Department of Finance rushed to design a program of borrowing and economic restraint that would meet the conditions of the International Monetary Fund and the foreign banks, and on June 20 the cabinet went into five days of continuous session to argue over its acceptance. Every hour was crucial, as reserves continued to decline by more than $40 million each day.⁶¹

Predictably, Diefenbaker appointed a committee of cabinet to meet with Bank of Canada and departmental officials, and wrangling continued into the evenings. The immediate need was to convince international lenders that the budget deficit would be reduced and the adverse trade balance improved. The prime minister judged such action to mean that “those in the bureaucratic and financial communities” had seized the opportunity of the crisis “to bring about a reversal of the declared fiscal policy of my government.”⁶² In the sense that “the declared fiscal policy of my government” was an unending series of budget deficits accumulated on political grounds, that was correct. As the reserves declined, the government had no reasonable options. Diefenbaker explained the reversal in his memoirs:

Having failed to win a majority, we had now to stop the run on the dollar by other means. We were a minority government with a crisis on our hands. I had little choice but to accept the advice of the senior officials as to a program of emergency measures. Our exchange reserves had now fallen below the $1,000 million level, which these officials contended was the minimum we could safely hold. There was a danger that they could vanish entirely within a month or two, leaving us at the mercy of the market from day to day. The essence of the problem was to regain the confidence of foreign and Canadian investors in the Canadian dollar. The fact that they were wrong in feeling that we were not paying enough attention to “sound” financial policies was no longer the point. They were the ones whose opinion was important now.⁶³

On Sunday morning, June 24, cabinet agreed to a package of emergency measures: temporary tariff surcharges ranging from 5 to 15 percent on about half of the country’s imports; reduced exemptions from customs duties for Canadian tourists returning from the United States; a reduction of government spending amounting to $250 million annually; and Canadian borrowing of over a billion dollars (US) from the IMF, the American Export-Import Bank, the US Federal Reserve, and the Bank of England. That evening Diefenbaker issued a press statement announcing the austerity program before the opening of Monday’s markets; and the next evening he made a national radio and television broadcast to explain his government’s measures. Simultaneously the Bank of Canada set its rediscount rate at a record high of 6 percent. Diefenbaker insisted that the action was temporary, intended to “relieve the pressure on the Canadian dollar in the exchange field, to bring about greater stability in our international transactions and to strengthen our exchange reserves.” He said that further, long-term measures would be introduced to improve the country’s current accounts, and he called on Canadians to unite in common purpose to support his actions. Surprisingly, he did not recall parliament to discuss the crisis. “I think it well,” he commented, “that Parliament should not meet until after a cooling-off period so that time will be given for political passions to subside and be followed by calm reason which, I have always found, is the basis of effective discussion and consideration.”⁶⁴ The government, battered and bruised by election losses and the exchange crisis, needed time to regroup.

While the prime minister struggled in cabinet over the austerity program, Leslie Frost wrote to Diefenbaker to reassure him that “you are the only Conservative leader since John A.’s passing in 1891 who has managed to keep on top of the heap through three successive elections. I think this … adds to the measure of people’s appraisal of your personality and ability to meet the challenge of these days and following.” He added that the troubled financial and political situation was a “ready made situation for a leader who will grasp the nettle with both hands.” That meant moving Donald Fleming out of the Department of Finance.

Much as I like Donald, I do not think he can give the confident direction that is required. I think this job is for yourself … By actively assuming the leadership of the tops in industry, business and finance you can be unassailable and none of the competing parties could challenge you. If they do you would have built up a body of opinion which was lacking in this last election which would be enough to turn the scales. I am quite satisfied that our people are prepared to be told what they have to do. We have to work hard, tighten our belts and devote everything to development and expansion.⁶⁵

This was encouragement to make the economic changes then being forced on cabinet, and to seek renewed alliance with the alienated business and financial communities. When Diefenbaker announced the government’s emergency program, Frost wired two messages of congratulation. The second was a concise sermon: “Remember the positive side more exports hard work lower costs employment. Business incentives in other words an aggressive determined people aiming at a greater more prosperous country.”⁶⁶

Harold Macmillan also had words of comfort. On June 22 he wrote to say that he was working with the Bank of England to provide assistance in the emergency, and he added some armchair philosophy which pointed more to his own political difficulties than to Diefenbaker’s. “You and I, who have been through the ups and downs of politics, know what a rough life it is. We here are having, as you have had, a strange movement away from the older Parties, which is perhaps a sign of the spiritual pressure upon young people today and the long drawn out contest between East and West. We older people know that it will last our life-time but the younger ones hope to see some sign of dawn. However, whatever the reason, it is rough going.”⁶⁷

A few days later Davie Fulton offered his advice from the inside. He thought the government’s problem was one of both image and substance – and elaborated on the theme over seven pages. The government’s image “generally was bad”; it was insufficient explanation to say, as Diefenbaker had complained during the campaign, “that Ministers did not get around the country enough or failed to make enough of the right kind of speeches. The trouble was that no coordinated presentation of the work of the Government as a whole was ever developed – or at any rate it was certainly not sufficiently developed, or developed in time.” Before the next election, which he expected soon, Fulton insisted that “a strong picture should emerge of a Government which, even under the present difficult circumstances, accepts responsibility to govern and grapples on a planned basis with the problems now confronting us and introduces programs to meet both the short and the long-term needs of the country.”⁶⁸ This was criticism that no minister had dared to offer before June 18.

Fulton accused the prime minister of making a false claim about the exchange crisis; what was worse, the claim was not believable. “The question is being raised: How could a situation of such proportions have arisen only in a few days? This in turn leads to the suggestion that the true facts are not being told.” The government had to speak quickly and truthfully in a policy statement that would guide all ministers.

My suggestion is that the general effect of the statement would be to remove the impression that we are saying that the crisis developed only after the Election. We should, on the contrary, admit that the situation was serious prior to the Election (that is, during the campaign) and we should not minimize the fact that we took the action of pegging the dollar to meet a situation that was serious. We should not pretend otherwise. We should go on, however, to point out that the situation did not reach crisis proportions until just before actual voting day and in the four days immediately following.

…It seems to me to be … particularly essential to guard against the possibility of Ministers in their individual interpretations continuing to suggest that there was nothing to worry about until the Election was over – and then something suddenly developed. The public simply will not buy this and it would play into the hands of our opponents.

While his emphasis was on public relations, Fulton made clear that his worries related to deeper inadequacies in the government’s performance. His letter came close to a declaration of non-confidence in Diefenbaker’s leadership. Privately, Fulton had certainly lost that confidence.⁶⁹ Diefenbaker was shaken by Fulton’s accusation that he had misled the public.⁷⁰

The election results, the exchange crisis, severe press commentary, and Diefenbaker’s correspondence all pointed to the need to give the cabinet a new face. Diefenbaker knew it, although he could not admit that he had actually done anything to justify the public’s loss of faith. Partly, the problem was to replace five defeated ministers; partly, it was to shift the two ministers – Fulton and Fleming – who seemed to threaten his confidence most directly; partly, and most urgently, it was to recover some support in the business and financial community. The prime minister cast about desperately for advice, and in his conversations with Gordon Churchill he talked frequently of resignation.⁷¹

In that atmosphere Oakley Dalgleish offered his frank counsel, which he hoped would not seem “an impertinence.” He recalled his previous support for Diefenbaker since 1956, and especially his suggestions after the 1958 victory that Diefenbaker should create an inner cabinet of half a dozen strong ministers and an advisory group of “proven and respected business and financial men to consult on … fundamental policies … I mention these conversations now, simply because they define the steps which I now urge on you. With the right group of consultants you can overcome the obvious deficiencies in the cabinet. Moreover, I am confident by this means you can take action on several fronts (which still needs to be taken) boldly and confidently, in the knowledge that the business community will co-operate and that the Liberals will have to go with you.” Dalgleish told Diefenbaker that he wrote as a friend, not a partisan, “who shares your aspirations for this country.” He pledged his own and the Globes aid in doing “anything and everything we can in the cause.”⁷²

The next day the prime minister’s old confidant Bill Brunt, to whom Diefenbaker had just offered the speakership of the Senate, was killed in a car crash as he drove home to Hanover, Ontario. Brunt, like David Walker, had been his loyal supporter, electoral financier, and counsellor since 1942. Now Diefenbaker had lost one in defeat and another in death within three weeks.⁷³ The burdens grew heavier.

On July 12 the Diefenbakers attended Brunt’s funeral in Hanover, in the course of which the prime minister talked at length with Leslie Frost. In his desperation, Diefenbaker proposed that Frost should join the cabinet as minister of finance – and once more, as in the previous autumn, Frost declined. His first response was lengthy and ambiguous, reasserting the view that his best service would be as an informal link to the business community and repeating most of Dalgleish’s pro-business advice.⁷⁴ Diefenbaker noted on July 16 that “I phoned Frost and said I could not make anything out of his letter and would like to know what he meant.” He meant no – but Frost suggested that Diefenbaker should let Dalgleish explain.⁷⁵ Diefenbaker persisted, in several telephone conversations with Frost and Dalgleish. Failing acceptance of the Finance portfolio, the fallback was a senatorship. Frost resisted all the prime minister’s pleadings.⁷⁶

Instead, he and Dalgleish proposed that Diefenbaker should invite Wallace McCutcheon of the Argus Corporation to join the cabinet. McCutcheon was unknown to Diefenbaker, and Frost recalled that the prime minister “was most diffident.” Over several weeks, with no other prospects for strengthening the cabinet from Toronto, Frost and Dalgleish wore Diefenbaker down. McCutcheon was willing. He would resign his directorships and accept appointment to the Senate as a minister without portfolio. By early August Diefenbaker was reluctantly convinced, and at the same time smugly satisfied that he had mended his bridges to Bay Street.⁷⁷

Meanwhile he was juggling other possible changes in cabinet with his usual uncertainty – a state worsened by exhaustion, the gloom of defeat, and personal grief. On July 13 Diefenbaker was stunned by the news that Macmillan had brusquely dismissed one-third of his cabinet, including the chancellor of the exchequer. This was ruthlessness beyond Diefenbaker’s capacity and temperament. “I wish,” he told Elmer the next day, “that I had enough members to make possible a general reconstruction, but that is impossible.” ⁷⁸

The old cabinet met weekly for routine business while Diefenbaker shuffled his lists and hesitated. On the weekends he retreated with Olive to Harrington Lake, where she urged him to get away for a longer holiday. On July 21, as he stepped off the verandah onto wet grass, Diefenbaker turned his ankle in a gopher hole and heard “a sharp snap followed by severe pain and swelling.” He had broken a bone, and was sent to bed by his doctors – who may have been prescribing for low spirits as much as for a broken ankle.⁷⁹ “Their advice was medically sound,” Diefenbaker wrote in his memoirs, “but politically disastrous. An invalid’s bedroom is neither an ideal place for Cabinet meetings nor a location suited to keeping track of the political manoeuvrings about one. But flat on my back I remained.”⁸⁰ His secretary, Bunny Pound, suspected that he had chosen the accident: “Dief didn’t want to go to the office … he wanted to be by himself for a while … so he fell in the gopher hole. This was sort of psychological. He didn’t want to have any of this trouble. He just wanted to sit there in his bed, and grumble and growl and think about things … I think, possibly, he realized that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He had all of these talents, all this sort of semi-genius, but he had no control over it.”⁸¹ By mid-August, however, he was reassuring his brother that “I have been around the house now for several hours during the last few days and should be out of here soon.” As he compared himself with “other members of the Cabinet whose health has been undermined by work,” he reflected gratefully that “I have been so fortunate in not having been laid up at any time since becoming leader of the Party in 1956, excepting one mishap in January 1959 and the present one. I do not recall when I have been in better health.”⁸²

Diefenbaker had steeled himself to move Donald Fleming from Finance and Davie Fulton from Justice, and at the end of July he began meeting ministers to discuss the changes. Fleming recalled that when they met, Diefenbaker spoke with “disarming frankness … wistfully,” as “a sorely troubled, almost beaten, man.” Fleming recorded his words. “Don, you and I are in the doghouse. I think you should be relieved of the portfolio of Finance. You get the blame for everything, and it’s hurting your future chances. I think you should have a portfolio that will give you a fair opportunity. I don’t know how we will replace you in Finance. You know more about finance than anyone else in the House of Commons. In fact, you know more about finance than all the rest of the House of Commons put together.”⁸³ The minister was struck by Diefenbaker’s “unchallengeable sincerity,” and concluded that “I must aim to be helpful, constructive and, above all, unselfish” as the prime minister struggled to keep the foundering ship afloat. He accepted Diefenbaker’s wish that he should move to Justice, providing Fulton understood that the choice was the prime minister’s.⁸⁴

Negotiation with Davie Fulton was more troublesome. Diefenbaker began aggressively by claiming that “I found it difficult to speak fully with him because if the future was anything like the past it would find its way into the papers.” He cited two incidents, most recently their December 1962 conversations over the previous cabinet changes. Fulton denied that he had passed reports of their private talks to reporters for personal advantage: “Mr. Diefenbaker, that’s quite wrong, and if you persist in thinking that I am disloyal to you on a personal basis, there is only one course: you must ask for my resignation.” Diefenbaker did not want that, and told Fulton he would be moving to National Revenue. Fulton replied that he could not accept such a demotion. On August 9, the day when Diefenbaker expected to announce his new cabinet, Fulton proposed Public Works as an alternative. After consulting his ministers informally, Diefenbaker agreed. But Fulton was alienated and already thinking about a move back to British Columbia to contest the provincial party leadership in the new year.⁸⁵

Later in the day, Governor General Vanier met the cabinet at 24 Sussex Drive for a round of musical chairs. This cabinet shuffle was utterly unlike Macmillan’s “night of long knives” less than a month before. No one was dismissed; three new ministers took their oaths; and six ministers shifted jobs. The only public surprise was the appointment of Wallace McCutcheon as a senator and minister without portfolio: “Kennedy’s got McNamara,” Diefenbaker boasted, “I’ve got McCutcheon.” George Nowlan became minister of finance; Fleming, minister of justice; Fulton, minister of public works; and Ellen Fairclough left Immigration for the Post Office. Besides McCutcheon, the other additions were Richard Bell in Citizenship and Immigration, and Paul Martineau in Mines and Technical Surveys.⁸⁶ Green and Harkness, two equally loyal and upright ministers who were still at odds over nuclear weapons, were left where they were to carry on the combat. Diefenbaker, in his preoccupation, had not thought about that issue since the election. By some miracle of postponement it might simply evaporate. Pierre Sévigny wrote that the swearing-in “was not a very pleasant occasion. Though everything was done with admirable elegance and appropriate solemnity, we all knew that something was wrong, desperately wrong, and those who were present looked and must have felt uncomfortable.”⁸⁷

The cabinet changes couldn’t bear much assessment. The press expressed general sympathy for Fleming, welcomed McCutcheon and Bell, noted Fulton’s disappointment, and pointed to the cabinet’s continuing weakness in Quebec. With the promotion of Nowlan and the accession of McCutcheon and Bell – none of whom had been Diefenbaker supporters in 1956 – the new cabinet seemed somewhat less a one-man show. Whether that meant anything would have to be tested.⁸⁸ Diefenbaker braced himself for the new parliament by rereading Donald Creighton’s biography of John A. Macdonald and taking courage from “his victory over that ‘malignant host’ of enemies who tried to thwart his nation-building work.”⁸⁹ The Chief could see his own malignant hosts gathering all around.

FOR TWELVE DAYS IN SEPTEMBER 1962 THE DIEFENBAKERS HAD A BRIEF OFFICIAL visit to London for another Commonwealth prime ministers’ conference, with the usual hectic but pleasurable round of entertainment at 10 Downing Street and Buckingham Palace. For Diefenbaker the conference itself was less pleasant, since this was Macmillan’s bow to Commonwealth consultation over Britain’s application to enter the European community. As the delegation travelled to London, Basil Robinson found Diefenbaker “crotchety” and determined not to follow the advice of his cabinet and officials to play down his indignation. Macmillan led off discussion on September 10 and was followed by his chief negotiator, Edward Heath, whose long exposition, in Macmillan’s judgment, left the prime ministers “exhausted – and I hope impressed.” But for two days after that he faced “a broadside attack” led by Diefenbaker, whose speech, Macmillan felt, was “false and vicious.” Diefenbaker repeated his demand for secure access to the British market for Canadian agricultural products, and predicted that President de Gaulle would not permit British entry to the market. Macmillan was furious and depressed by the antics of this “mountebank,” this “very crooked man … so self-centred as to be a sort of caricature of Mr. Gladstone” who thought only of his own political advantage. But Macmillan realized that Diefenbaker was so deaf that he probably couldn’t follow the speeches, and took satisfaction in presenting an innocuous conference communiqué for approval, knowing that Diefenbaker’s deafness allowed him to “pass from one clause to another fairly rapidly.” Robert Menzies, after initial protests, grew reasonable and “reverted to his favourite sport of teasing Diefenbaker.” The communiqué translated all these goings-on into “the frank and friendly atmosphere which characterises Commonwealth meetings.” The press – fed by the British delegation’s hostile briefings – pointed to Diefenbaker as the dog-in-the-manger.⁹⁰

THE PRIME MINISTER RETURNED TO OTTAWA ONLY A WEEK BEFORE THE OPENING OF parliament on September 27. Diefenbaker had recorded his intention to create an inner cabinet and a confidential economic advisory council “to be consulted on fundamental policies,” as Oakley Dalgleish had suggested. During the early autumn, Wallace McCutcheon made some tentative contacts with prominent bankers and businessmen,⁹¹ but as cabinet and House business flooded the agenda and Diefenbaker followed his erratic ways, the proposal drifted off into obscurity. The speech from the throne was a compendium of well-intentioned promises: a resolution to repatriate the Constitution from Britain; a federal-provincial conference on a distinctive flag and other national symbols; partial self-government for the Northwest Territories; an Indian claims commission; a national economic advisory board; increased farm credits; and initial planning for a national system of contributory old age pensions.⁹² The government had reason for renewed hope in one respect: By mid-September the emergency economic program had successfully restored Canada’s currency reserves and an attitude of confidence among the international financial community. Interest rates fell steadily during the autumn, and some of the import surcharges were removed as Diefenbaker had promised.⁹³

Writing to Leslie Frost on October 7, the prime minister was confident: “The session,” he reported, “has started out better than many had thought possible.”⁹⁴ The reason was not that the government made any special impact (no legislation had been introduced), but rather that the opposition parties were careful to avoid any combined votes that might defeat it. As the session continued, the Liberal opposition gradually became more aggressive – and more frustrated by the absence of any cabinet policies to attack. Against the advice of George Nowlan, who urged the introduction of a new budget, cabinet agreed in October to seek interim supply covering most of the fiscal year, to avoid a major budget debate, and to reintroduce the budget resolutions from the previous April. The House filled its time with drawn-out and rancorous discussion of the estimates.⁹⁵

Behind the scenes, shifting groups of ministers engaged in talk about how to deal with an inadequate prime minister. Diefenbaker had grown more irritable over the summer, more inclined to rage and complain at the slights of the press and the opposition. As he broadcast his complaints at every interview, his colleagues talked to one another with mounting concern.

They confided to friends who, in turn, spoke to other friends, and soon it was said that John Diefenbaker was sick, close to a nervous breakdown, under his doctor’s care, and ready to resign at an early date. Members of his immediate entourage tried to encourage him. They asked the Leader to be less emotional, and begged him to use more discretion in his conversations with outsiders. Never one to accept advice too freely, the Tory Leader gave indications that he might mend his ways, but he kept on worrying and talking.⁹⁶

“The cabinet was not at ease with itself or with its prime minister,” Davie Fulton recalled. For perhaps one-third of its members, the problems of governing the country gave way to the problem of changing the leadership. “The uncertainty,” Gordon Churchill remembered, “and the belief that Mr. Diefenbaker was not sure whether he wanted to remain leader were accompanied by all sorts of plans to relieve him of the leadership; and much energy was expended in the fall of 1962 trying to find ways of replacing him … A group of dissidents came to me asking me to urge Mr. Diefenbaker to resign, knowing full well that if I did so, Mr. Diefenbaker would almost certainly have stepped down. But I refused to do it, and some of them always held that against me thereafter.”⁹⁷

This was not organized revolt. It was frustrated and directionless complaint, stimulated by electoral failure, economic confusion, the prime minister’s aging and loss of self-confidence. Very often, the vehemence of complaint was proportional to the intake of hard liquor. One group of ministers, including Nowlan, Halpenny, and McCutcheon, began to meet regularly in McCutcheon’s office to drink and gossip at midday. They were joined by a varying band of drinkers and non-drinkers, freely exchanging forbidden thoughts about a replacement for the prime minister. One day when Churchill dropped by, McCutcheon asked whether he would be prepared to take over if Diefenbaker resigned. Churchill replied that he had told Diefenbaker the same day that if he departed, George Nowlan should take over. “That,” said Churchill, “was indicative of the whole atmosphere of the time.”⁹⁸

NO SINGLE ISSUE OF POLICY DOMINATED THESE EARLY AND FORMLESS CONCLAVES. The government was in decay, and no one knew what to do about it. What brought the House and the country to attention – and the cabinet to its last paroxysm – was the Cuban missile crisis. At 10 am on October 22, 1962, Diefenbaker was informed that Livingston Merchant, the retired American ambassador to Canada, would arrive at 5 pm to brief him with an urgent message from President Kennedy. The White House had announced that Kennedy would speak to the nation on television at 7 pm.

The subject was Cuba. Since early September, reports and partisan warnings proliferated in the United States that the Soviet Union was sending offensive military weapons to the Castro regime. On September 13 Kennedy warned publicly that the United States “will do whatever must be done to protect its own security and that of its allies” if the Soviets established “an offensive military base of significant capacity” on the Caribbean island.⁹⁹ On October 15 the Canadian Embassy in Washington reported to Ottawa that the president was under intense pressure over his Cuban policy during the mid-term congressional election campaign. “The sense of national humiliation is so pervading,” the embassy noted, “and the public feeling in favor of ‘doing something about Cuba’ is so strong that it is almost impossible to exaggerate the inflammatory character of the issue. The President and his colleagues are making a creditable attempt to maintain a public sense of perspective and restraint and it is very much in the Canadian interest that this attempt should not fail.” The report urged Ottawa to support recent American measures affecting Soviet air and naval traffic to Cuba as a contribution to moderating the American debate. Ottawa responded positively.¹⁰⁰

On the weekend of October 20-21, Robert Bryce and Norman Robertson learned from at least two sources that the White House had information that Soviet medium-range missile sites were under construction in Cuba and that a dangerous crisis was imminent. Bryce informed Diefenbaker as the information came in, but he knew nothing about what action the president contemplated.¹⁰¹ Thus Diefenbaker had indirect warning that emergency planning was under way in Washington. Basil Robinson reflected on these events from the prime minister’s perspective.

He did not know the extent of the evidence or in what way the United States would react. But he had had more than twenty-four hours to get steamed up about what he was to be told and perhaps also what he would be asked to do. Despite what he had learned in advance, it would have been completely out of character if he had not been upset at being presented with the evidence of the Soviet missiles and the outline of the president’s plans, at a stage when he could do little more than acknowledge their receipt. It was, after all, a very important development for the defence of North America, and it had been he who had entered (hastily, it will be recalled) into the NORAD agreement five years before. That agreement had underlined the importance which the two governments attached to the ‘fullest possible consultation on all matters affecting the joint defence of North America.’ The prime minister’s resentment at the absence of genuine advance consultation should have come as no surprise.¹⁰²

Kennedy informed Harold Macmillan of his plans by cable on Sunday evening, and dispatched emissaries on Monday to Ottawa, Paris, and Bonn to brief his other close allies. He apologized to Macmillan for deciding on action before consultation. The problem, he explained, was the need for security and speed. Macmillan appreciated Kennedy’s position and, in a telephone conversation the next evening, pledged complete solidarity.¹⁰³

At the White House the mood was “excited, almost chaotic” as Kennedy prepared his television address.¹⁰⁴ On Sunday afternoon US missile crews were placed on alert, mobile forces and aircraft were moved to Florida, and Strategic Air Command bombers went onto advanced airborne alert. Through the day on Monday, Kennedy carried on his regular public schedule while continuing his urgent private consultations and briefings.

During the day External Affairs prepared a background memorandum for the prime minister, summarizing its knowledge of events before Merchant’s visit. “We are aware,” it said, “through intelligence channels that as of October 16 the U.S.A. had satisfied itself through photographic and other intelligence media that offensive ballistic missiles with a range of between 1100 and 2200 miles were being installed in Cuba in sufficient number (an estimated 40) to directly threaten the security of U.S.A.”¹⁰⁵ The department judged that – in the light of the president’s previous public warnings – “the conclusion is unavoidable that the U.S.A. is about to embark on some counter action.” This might involve a full blockade, or a “swift invasion and occupation,” or bombing of the missile sites, an ultimatum to the USSR, and “full public disclosure … of the new Soviet capability in Cuba.” Any of these actions was likely, the department thought, to lead at once to a Soviet countermove in Berlin – at the least a total blockade as in 1948-49. The situation “could clearly rapidly escalate into global war, and with the United Nations in session, it can confidently be assumed that some international endeavour will be made to avert war and bring about a negotiated settlement.” The parallel was Suez in 1956, “when international action to contain and put an end to the fighting was instituted almost simultaneously with the national action taken by France and the United Kingdom to protect what they considered to be vital interests. The question arises as to whether there is again a role for Canada to play.”

The department had a specific suggestion.

The only action which could be taken in a United Nations context which might avert measures which could lead to conflict, would be a move in the Security Council to have a group of “neutral” nations – perhaps the 8 nonaligned members of the Eighteen Nations Disarmament Committee – conduct an on-site investigation in Cuba of the U.S.A. Government’s charge that that country has permitted the installation on its territory of offensive nuclear missiles. If vetoed in the Security Council or otherwise rejected by the Soviet Union and Cuba, the issue could be taken to the floor of the Assembly where an overwhelming vote in favour of such a proposal could be expected. Even if such a move failed to result in the admission of an investigation team to Cuba, it would at least have the virtue of confirming and exposing the aggressive designs which the U.S.A. maintains the Soviet Union has on North America. To be fully effective such a proposal would have to be discussed immediately with the U.S.A. Government before President Kennedy makes his announcement at 7 p.m. tonight as the possibility cannot be ruled out that his announcement may be of measures already ordered against Cuba.¹⁰⁶

Diefenbaker drew double emphasis lines opposite this paragraph. The department had recommended an appeal to the president before his speech to “avert measures which could lead to conflict,” and it did so in language that was bound to alert Diefenbaker’s interest. Here, it implied, was Diefenbaker’s Suez: his chance to match the achievement of Mike Pearson; his chance, perhaps, to win a Nobel Prize. In these delicate circumstances – facing a direct confrontation between the superpowers and in knowledge of the strained relations between Kennedy and Diefenbaker – the suggestion could be seen as either a counsel of prudence, or a careless appeal to a troubled prime minister’s vanity. If Diefenbaker had followed the advice, there would at least have been private consultation with Washington before any public statement. A rebuff would presumably have involved no public embarrassment. The department would perhaps have been wiser not to give Diefenbaker ideas.

By some slipup, or calculation, Diefenbaker did not receive the memorandum until he returned home after his interview with Merchant, so there was no chance for any consultation by telephone with Kennedy before the president’s broadcast.¹⁰⁷ At 5:15 pm Merchant arrived at the East Block with the American chargé d’affaires, Ivan White, and three intelligence officers.¹⁰⁸ Diefenbaker, Howard Green, and Douglas Harkness received them in the cabinet room. Merchant gave Diefenbaker a letter from Kennedy and a copy of the president’s speech, both of them explaining that the United States possessed “clear evidence” that Soviet offensive nuclear weapons had been installed on Cuban soil, and announcing a naval and air blockade “whose object is to prevent the introduction into Cuba of further nuclear weapons, and to lead to the elimination of the missiles that are already in place.” Kennedy added that he was requesting an urgent meeting of the UN Security Council, where the United States would present a resolution calling for the removal of “missile bases and other offensive weapons in Cuba under the supervision of United Nations observers.” He hoped Canada would “work actively with us and speak forthrightly in support of the above program in the United Nations.”¹⁰⁹ Merchant explained that the evidence had been gained by aerial surveillance, and he showed the Canadians large intelligence photographs of the missile sites.

Merchant felt that “the early minutes of our talk were a bit difficult.” Diefenbaker was “somewhat brusque in manner,” offended that he had not been consulted earlier, and “openly sceptical in attitude concerning the missile menace until the full intelligence briefing had been given him.” Harkness received what he thought were “hazy” responses to his questions about the stages of alert of American forces, and expressed the view that a Soviet-American confrontation at sea would be more likely to cause general war than an American landing in Cuba. Diefenbaker requested a single brief change in Kennedy’s text, which Merchant achieved. By the end, Merchant believed that Diefenbaker’s “whole attitude swung around to sympathetic understanding and I had thought a willingness to give public support to the President.” Merchant left the meeting to return to Washington, believing that Diefenbaker would not make any public statement until the next day.¹¹⁰

Diefenbaker returned home to watch the president’s address, and only then did he read the memorandum from Howard Green intended for use before Kennedy’s speech. Soon afterwards Pearson called Diefenbaker to ask for a statement in the House in response to the president’s declaration. The prime minister could hardly refuse the request in such ominous circumstances. With his thoughts still jumbled, Diefenbaker jotted down a few phrases – “a sombre & challenging speech,” “no time for panic,” “time for quiet calmness and resolve and action in UN,” “anything that looks like mobilization will be dangerous,” and a reference to the key proposal from the Green memorandum: “Have a group of ‘neutral’ nations perhaps the 8 nonaligned members of the 18 nations disarmament committee conduct an on site inspection to ascertain if offensive nuclear weapons are installed.” The prime minister was driven quickly back to Parliament Hill, reflecting grimly on a situation that could “rapidly escalate into global war.”

With the notes in his hands, Diefenbaker told the House that he was responding to Pearson’s request in order to appeal for unity and calm in a dangerous time. He did not challenge Kennedy’s assertions, and insisted that “the existence of these bases or launching pads is not defensive but offensive.” He did not criticize the United States for lack of consultation. But he challenged Soviet claims that their activities in Cuba were defensive, and he suggested inspection by an independent UN delegation to confirm the facts. If the suggestion had been made before the American ultimatum, no one could reasonably have seen it as a challenge to Kennedy’s claims. But now the situation had subtly changed. The charges had been made, the ultimatum issued, and US naval forces were moving to the blockade lines. Before 7 pm only the Soviets had posed any threat to the peace; now, by their acts, the Americans did so too. As he concluded, Diefenbaker appealed for suggestions that might diminish “the obvious tensions that must grip men and women all over the world tonight … Our duty, as I see it, is not to fan the flames of fear but to do our part to bring about relief from the tensions, the great tensions, of the hour.” Pearson agreed with the prime minister that the United Nations “should be used for the purpose of verifying what is going on.”¹¹¹

This was a reaction of solidarity tinged with scepticism and fear. It was not the declaration of unqualified support John Kennedy expected in so grave a crisis, but it was honestly ambiguous in the Canadian tradition, and it reflected the anguish in Canadian minds that evening. As two academic critics comment:

To turn to the United Nations for assurance was not only consistent with Diefenbaker’s own position before the crisis but also a typical Canadian response. Canada had consistently supported the UN, Canadian statesmen had played a major role in strengthening it, and the UN was the one area of world politics where the Canadians believed they could exert some influence. Canadian doubts, latent or implied, about the wisdom of American actions were a reflection of perceptions of the Cuban-American issue. Some Canadians, their suspicions raised by the original American denials of involvement in the Bay of Pigs operation, may have had doubts about US claims as to the existence of an offensive base. Many, including some Canadian officials, feared that the United States might once more be overreacting.¹¹²

A president with more understanding of Canada, less arrogance, and more respect for the Canadian prime minister might have ignored Diefenbaker’s reserve. But Kennedy was already disenchanted with his neighbour and in no mood for indulgence as he turned to face down Nikita Khrushchev. Livingston Merchant’s “surprise and disappointment” at Diefenbaker’s response were echoed in the White House. At the Canadian Embassy in Washington – where reading and interpreting the US administration’s perceptions of Canada was the reason for existence – the prime minister’s remarks in the House “had pained and dismayed everyone.”¹¹³

Almost at once the Canadian position grew more ambiguous. When Harkness returned to his office after Kennedy’s address, the chief of the defence staff, Air Chief Marshal Frank Miller, informed him that American forces had gone on “DEF CON 3” alert. He requested permission to put Canadian forces – especially Canadian NORAD units – in the same state of readiness.¹¹⁴ NORAD headquarters had mixed Canadian-American staffs, and the entire system was designed to operate in integration. Harkness agreed that he should do so, but after consulting the war book guidelines (which were being altered), he decided he should first consult the prime minister. Diefenbaker arranged to see him at once, and Harkness left his office confident that the decision would be no more than a formality.

Instead, Diefenbaker hesitated. He would not authorize an alert without a cabinet decision the next morning. Harkness returned to his office to discuss with Miller “what action we could take, without declaring a formal alert, which would put us in a position of maximum preparedness short of this.” They agreed to order immediate “full manning of the three H.Q.’s… Intelligence and communication centres, warning orders to the Commands and manning of their communications.” This amounted to virtually full, though informal, compliance with DEF CON 3. Diefenbaker was not informed.¹¹⁵

Next morning Harkness and his chiefs of staff reviewed the latest intelligence reports, “which were ominous.” Russian freighters carrying missiles were still on course, apparently preparing to test the American blockade on the following day. Harkness directed the military to prepare all necessary orders for each stage of readiness to coincide with American actions, to take effect “as soon as I telephoned from cabinet that the alert had been authorized.” At cabinet, he reviewed the intelligence reports and recommended an alert “if the situation deteriorated.” All ministers, he judged, would have agreed, but “the Prime Minister argued against it on the ground that an alert would unduly alarm the people, that we should wait and see what happened, etc. He and I finally came to fairly hot words, but he refused to agree to the alert chiefly, I think, because of a pathological hatred of taking a hard decision.” No conclusion was reached.¹¹⁶

The frustrated minister returned to his chiefs of staff and ordered all the actions they had discussed earlier that morning to be applied “in as quiet and unobtrusive a way as possible … These measures accomplished the majority of the purposes of an alert … but did not reassure the United States and our other allies, as the declaration of an alert would have done, that we were prepared to fight.”¹¹⁷ During the day Harkness continued to argue in favour of an alert, without informing Diefenbaker of his latest action. Diefenbaker would agree only to another special meeting of cabinet the next morning. That afternoon the prime minister had a heated telephone conversation with the president in which Kennedy objected to Diefenbaker’s public call for UN inspection and urged him to order the appropriate military alert. Diefenbaker later recalled his complaint to the president: “When were we consulted?” and Kennedy’s response: “You weren’t.” The conversation did not incline Diefenbaker to approve the alert.¹¹⁸

Cabinet on October 24, Harkness wrote, “proved to be a long and unpleasant meeting at which members … were asked for their individual opinions. Most favoured the alert. The meeting was about to end inconclusively when I made a final effort with a rather angry outburst that we were failing in our responsibilities to the nation and must act, which produced an outburst from the Prime Minister to the effect that he would not be forced into any such action.” When Harkness returned to his office, Miller told him that the American Strategic Air Command and some naval forces had moved to DEF CON 2 (“immediate enemy attack expected”). Harkness went back to Diefenbaker, showed him the message, and insisted that Canada could delay no longer. The prime minister responded in agitation: “All right, go ahead” – and at last the formal alert was issued. In the end, Diefenbaker had acted with a wave of the hand, and without a cabinet decision.¹¹⁹

Meanwhile, the prime minister had made clear to the House, after discussions with Pearson, that his call for UN involvement had been intended to support, rather than undermine, President Kennedy’s position.¹²⁰ But Canada’s public stance remained confused after a CBC interview with Howard Green on October 24 in which he refused to offer endorsement of the American blockade and insisted that NORAD was not yet involved. The most he would say was that “the Americans have considered that the action has been necessary and they’ve taken it and I think that we must accept that fact.”¹²¹

By Thursday morning Diefenbaker realized – as Bryce, External Affairs, and members of cabinet had advised him – that there was a need to clarify the government’s stance for the sake of understanding in his caucus, among the Canadian public, and in Washington. Bryce and the department produced drafts for a new statement to the House, and that afternoon Diefenbaker reviewed Canada’s actions in support of the United States and insisted that the crisis had been caused by the Soviet Union. Canada stood with its allies and was prepared for all contingencies. Canadian NORAD forces, he said, were at “the same level of readiness as the American forces under NORAD operational control.”¹²² Diefenbaker was now firmly on side. Two days later, as the confrontation played out, the Washington Post commented editorially that any differences between Canada and the United States over Cuba had been “swept aside by the Soviets’ provocation … Whatever the outcome, it is deeply reassuring that no cool air is blowing from Canada.”¹²³

The crisis was not over. On Wednesday, Soviet ships had begun to turn back from the confrontation line, but there were provocative submarine movements in the western Atlantic, and construction work continued at the Cuban missile sites. President Kennedy’s crisis team maintained its round-the-clock consultations as it made preparations for air strikes on the bases, while urgent communications were exchanged between the White House and the Kremlin. On Saturday, October 26, an American U–2 photographic spy plane was shot down over Cuba as Kennedy and Khrushchev engaged in negotiations on a secret deal to avoid nuclear war; and elsewhere the risks of unplanned military engagement mounted as American forces reached hair-trigger readiness. Cabinet ministers and senior officials in Washington, Ottawa, and other Western capitals prepared to move to their emergency headquarters and evacuate their families to the countryside. Diefenbaker told a staff member “we would all be obliterated in a few days.”¹²⁴

Diefenbaker was near distraction. He was receiving overnight briefings on the latest intelligence reports each morning at 6:30 am as he ate breakfast. Orme Dier, his new External Affairs liaison officer, recalled an incident in a letter to Basil Robinson.

One episode that I will never forget occurred just before the crisis reached its climax. Bill Olivier and I were at the breakfast table at the appointed hour but the P.M. was not waiting for us. He surfaced about 20 minutes later, in his bathrobe as usual, complaining that worry had kept him awake most of the night. Indeed, he did look pretty beat. Just as I was placing our material before him, the butler appeared with the breakfast. I immediately retrieved the papers and stood aside while the repast was laid. As soon as the butler closed the door, the Chief stood up at his choleric best and almost literally laying his finger aside of my nose, gave me the best of his House of Commons dressing-down. Pacing up and down, he made it excruciatingly clear that I was a guest in his house, that he would not stand being humiliated before his staff, and that he did not need a civil servant to point out what was right or wrong. When I managed to make reference to security classifications, I was immediately shot down for impugning his awareness of such matters as well as for my rudeness and lack of respect. The tirade ended abruptly, breakfast and the documents were quickly ingested and the meeting ended in silence.

Later that day Diefenbaker explained that his outburst had been the result of lack of sleep. Dier took this as “an oblique apology,” and “concluded that my boss was an extremely difficult but nevertheless human old curmudgeon.”¹²⁵

On Sunday morning, October 28, at 9 am Washington time, Radio Moscow broadcast Khrushchev’s concession: Work at the sites would stop and the weapons would be dismantled and returned to the Soviet Union, in return for Kennedy’s promise not to attack or invade Cuba. Kennedy responded at once to welcome “this statesmanlike decision,” and both sides agreed on United Nations supervision of the dismantling operation. There was no announcement of the other American concession, which was carried out without fanfare in the following months: US Jupiter missiles located in Italy and Turkey, and targeted on the USSR, would also be removed.¹²⁶ The world relaxed.

Diefenbaker issued an unusual Sunday statement that morning.

Mankind will breathe more hopefully now that there is an early prospect that the threat to the Western Hemisphere from long-range Soviet missiles in Cuba will be removed.

This prospect has resulted from the high degree of unity, understanding and cooperation among the Western allies. In this the Canadian Government has played its full part. Indeed Canada was the first nation to stop overflights of Soviet aircraft so as to prevent war material being carried to Cuba and as well to that end instituted a full search of all Cuban and Czech planes which are entitled under international agreement to use Canadian airport facilities.

The introduction of missiles into the Western Hemisphere has brought the world too close to disaster for anyone to indulge in either self congratulations or complacency at this time. I know there will be universal relief that in the last two days the outlook for the peaceful solution of the Cuban problem has greatly improved but there is a continuing need for negotiation on this and other potential sources of threats to world peace.

The United Nations deserves special mention for the worthy and constructive role it has played in this crisis.¹²⁷

Diefenbaker rushed to the front of the parade – but only after his defence minister and his armed forces had acted surreptitiously to sustain the country’s military commitments. The whole cabinet knew that the experience would have its costs. The prime minister’s loyal lieutenant Gordon Churchill told Douglas Harkness after the October 24 cabinet meeting that “the country just could not afford to have the Prime Minister in that position at a time of crisis – he refused to act when action was absolutely necessary.”¹²⁸

FOR DOUGLAS HARKNESS AND OTHER MINISTERS, THE IMMEDIATE RESULT OF THE Cuban affair was to reopen the subject of nuclear warheads for Canadian NORAD and NATO forces. The shock of the crisis, the sense that there was no time for consultation in an emergency, and new forebodings about the inability of the prime minister to make decisions under pressure pointed to the urgency of an agreement with the United States to supply the warheads. At the next cabinet meeting on October 30 Harkness raised the issue, and gained unanimous agreement that negotiations with the United States should recommence. Ministers agreed that Canada should accept warheads in Europe on the same terms as other NATO countries. In Canada, Harkness accepted a compromise: “We were to try to get an agreement under which the nuclear warheads, or essential parts of them, would be held in the United States, but could be put on the weapons in Canada in a matter of minutes or hours. This arrangement I did not think was likely to prove satisfactory, but it was a great relief to have the question settled as far as the European weapons were concerned and to have a basis to work from for the Canadian weapons.” Negotiations were to be undertaken by Howard Green, Douglas Harkness, and a few officials, along with Gordon Churchill. Diefenbaker himself had added Churchill to the team, Harkness wrote, “evidently with the idea that he would hold the balance between Howard and myself and would prevent deadlocks occurring.”¹²⁹

In late November negotiations commenced in Ottawa. Agreement was quickly achieved over warheads for Canadian weapons in Europe, where the United States proposed its standard, two-key arrangement. Agreement on Canadian warheads was more difficult because of Green’s insistence that Canada should be able to say that no nuclear weapons were stored on Canadian soil. The negotiators allowed for a maximum of two hours to arm the weapons in an emergency. But if warheads were to be stored across the border, large numbers of men and aircraft would be needed on standby to perform the task. The Americans produced several further proposals, none of which seemed practical, and by early December the meetings ceased. When Harkness sought Diefenbaker’s approval for the European weapons agreement, the prime minister argued that he would accept only a complete package. In January US Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara told Harkness that the latest standby scheme was unworkable. The final American counterproposal, to store some parts of the warheads separately in Canada, was unacceptable to Green and Diefenbaker.¹³⁰

Meanwhile, the Cuban crisis had precipitated open revolt in the Conservative Party. On November 8 George Hogan, who had served Diefenbaker through three election campaigns and was then the national vice president of the party, addressed a party group in Toronto and issued his text to the press, where it made headlines the next day.¹³¹ Hogan sent a copy to the prime minister, noting that “it expresses a rather complete disagreement with our policy on Cuba and nuclear weapons.” The policy, he said, “has done and is still doing more damage than any other single thing that has happened since we came into power. I gather from the press that the Cabinet is not solidly behind this policy. I profoundly hope so, because I believe we are in real trouble unless it is changed.”¹³²

In his speech, Hogan spoke of the party’s long and instinctive commitment to Canadian independence from the United States, but rejected the view that “the Conservative Party, or any party, can build a constructive policy for Canada on a basis of anti-Americanism … There is a time to stand up to the Americans, and there is a time to stand by them; and I suggest that when the security of the North American Continent is menaced by the threat of nuclear attack, that is a time to stand by the Americans clearly, swiftly, and unequivocally.” Canada was bound by geography, common tradition, and direct military alliance to joint defence of the continent. NORAD, he recalled, had been signed by the Conservative government.

In return for Canada’s reasonable expectation to be consulted in advance about NORAD’s activities, Hogan suggested four changes of policy to indicate solidarity with the United States. Canada should break diplomatic relations with Cuba, suspend trade, give the Canadian deputy commander of NORAD the authority to place Canadian air units on alert when necessary, and set a time limit on reaching agreement with the United States to accept nuclear weapons. On NORAD, he explained:

The NORAD Agreement was founded on the assumption that the defence of one country was inseparable from the defence of the other. If enemy bombers or missiles ever start heading for our cities, questions of sovereignty and national control will swiftly become very academic. I believe we must either honour the NORAD Agreement or withdraw from it. To withdraw from it is unthinkable. But if we honour it we must do so in a way that will leave no doubt of our intention to be ready to respond swiftly and immediately to any hostile attack. Any other approach renders the whole concept useless.

On nuclear arms, Hogan endorsed the government’s dedication to general nuclear disarmament. But Canada, he judged, was trying to influence attitudes from a position of weakness, “what in plain language amounts to a policy of unilateral disarmament.” Tactical, defensive weapons were useful as part of the Western deterrent and were thus a stabilizing rather than a destabilizing influence. He suggested a last, “massive attempt” to achieve an agreement on nuclear disarmament. If that failed, Canadians should “consider ourselves free thereafter to acquire defensive nuclear weapons.” This was a modest proposal, calling for less than the cabinet had already accepted. But it involved public disagreement with established policy, which remained obscure. Hogan believed that he spoke for the interests of the Conservative Party as well as the country: “Let us take a clear stand on behalf of our security, our principles, and our friends, and stick by it come what may.”¹³³

Diefenbaker read the morning papers and called Hogan at 8:30 am to tell him he had “done a complete job against the Federal Conservative Party.” Later in the day the prime minister commented that Hogan spoke only for himself and not for the party. Others suggested Hogan’s resignation.¹³⁴ But it was clear that he represented a powerful element of opinion in the party and the country in the aftermath of the missile crisis.

The prime minister performed a precarious juggling act as more and more balls were tossed into the air. The conflicts in his cabinet represented acrimonious divisions in the party, the House of Commons, and the country. For several weeks Diefenbaker toyed in cabinet with the prospect of an early election, to be fought on a pro-nuclear platform after acceptance of nuclear warheads. His colleagues, while favouring a nuclear agreement, opposed that kind of single-issue campaign.¹³⁵ In this atmosphere of disorientation, ministers prowled in and out of each other’s offices searching for some means of dealing with Diefenbaker’s foibles and the government’s disarray. The Liberal opposition reflected the disturbed mood as it harried the government with growing impatience. The Social Credit Party, which held the balance in the House, seemed less and less reliable as it manoeuvred for advantage before the faltering government. In Washington it was obvious that the Kennedy administration, in the afterglow of its Cuban triumph, had no further patience with Diefenbaker.

The new American ambassador to Canada, the career diplomat W.W. Butterworth, arrived in Ottawa in early December and had his first interview with the prime minister on December 17. Neither Diefenbaker nor Butterworth mentioned the delicate issues of warheads, the missile crisis, or relations with Cuba. Each seemed to be taking careful measure of the other, and the conversation centred on Britain’s negotiations for entry into the European Common Market. Butterworth reported to Washington that Diefenbaker, “although vigorous in speech and gesture … struck me as being unwell and exhibited evident signs of palsy or perhaps Parkinson’s disease.”¹³⁶ President Kennedy and Prime Minister Macmillan had arranged to meet in the Bahamas just before Christmas to review the broad issues of East-West relations, the state of the alliance, and British weapons in the wake of the missile crisis. When Diefenbaker learned of the meeting, he invited Macmillan to Ottawa afterwards. Macmillan responded with an invitation to meet him in Nassau on December 21, following his meeting with Kennedy. Macmillan flattered Diefenbaker by proposing “a personal exchange of views on a number of international problems and in particular … the possibilities of negotiations with the Russians in the near future and of progress towards a general detente.” Diefenbaker accepted the opportunity for discussion of the big issues with alacrity. Whether or not he expected any relief from his own nuclear problems at the meeting, there was always political advantage in being seen as a leading partner in the North Atlantic alliance. In fact, after Cuba, Macmillan too was feeling marginalized in an alliance dominated by Washington, and, like Diefenbaker, was seeking escape from his own political and military dilemmas. Kennedy was about to cancel development of the Skybolt missile project, and Macmillan sought recompense for the loss of a weapon for his V-bombers.¹³⁷

The Canadian party flew to Nassau on December 21, where Diefenbaker joined Macmillan and Kennedy for lunch in what he described as “the ninth inning” of the Macmillan-Kennedy talks.¹³⁸ Photographs freeze a record of the false camaraderie of the occasion. Macmillan, at least, was satisfied that his negotiations had led to an American promise to provide Polaris missiles for a British fleet of nuclear submarines in exchange for the abandoned Skybolts, and in an unlikely bid for President de Gaulle’s support, Kennedy had also proposed discussions on the creation of a multinational NATO nuclear force. Nothing in the lunchtime discussion touched directly on the sensitive Canadian issue of the warheads.¹³⁹

During the next day and a half, Diefenbaker and Macmillan met several times. They engaged in the usual tour d’horizon, but Diefenbaker was especially interested in defence questions. Macmillan reviewed his negotiations with Kennedy over weapons, while Diefenbaker searched for parallels in the Canadian-American relationship. He could find only the most tenuous links in the leaders’ hopes for further disarmament talks with the Soviets, the vague proposal for a multinational NATO nuclear force, and a general commitment to improved conventional forces.¹⁴⁰ Not surprisingly, Kennedy and Macmillan had shown no interest in Diefenbaker’s problems during their own talks.

When Diefenbaker reported to parliament on the Nassau meetings on January 21, 1963, however, he had found what he claimed to be essential support for his attitude of indecision. “The agreement reached by Britain and the United States at Nassau,” he told the House, “represents the first firm commitment to certain ideas concerning military policy in the western alliance which have been evolving for some time.” The proposal for a joint NATO nuclear force, to include tactical forces in Europe, “has relevance for Canada and in the NATO Council is now the subject of intensive discussion in which Canada is fully participating.” What was more, “Nassau raised the whole question of how political and military control will be exercised in future within the western alliance. The discussions of this subject are bound to continue for many months to come … and I would not expect any firm decisions in the near future. I can say this much – that the Nassau agreement aims at preserving an objective long sought by this Government – a limitation on the further enlargement of the nuclear family in the national sense.” In Diefenbaker’s interpretation, the message of Nassau was made-to-order. “The whole future direction and shape of the military forces of NATO are in the process of review. The enormous costs of modern weapons systems and the speed with which they become obsolescent dictate the utmost care in reaching final decisions. It would be premature at this stage to say anything further about Western defence policy until there is a clearer indication as to whether or not some form of NATO multilateral nuclear force can be worked out.”¹⁴¹

But before that report to the House, the Canadian kaleidoscope had been severely shaken. The Diefenbakers remained in Nassau for the holiday, returning to Ottawa on January 2 after “a wonderful rest for Olive and me although she has suffered from the pain in her back more than usual.”¹⁴² In Nassau the prime minister addressed the local Kiwanis Club, but was disturbed that distorted press reports of his remarks might reach President Kennedy. He wrote a note to Basil Robinson in Washington to tell him that “at no time did I say, directly or indirectly, that the United States action violated NORAD. What I did say was that consultation had not taken place and there was no information until the late afternoon of the day that President Kennedy made his speech.” If Canada, “having responsibility for joint air defence, had been consulted, we would have been in readiness to act forthwith.” Robinson and his colleagues at the Canadian Embassy “did what little we could to spread the remedial balm.”¹⁴³

The day after Diefenbaker’s return, the retiring NATO commander, General Lauris Norstad, arrived in Ottawa on a brief farewell visit. Diefenbaker cancelled a meeting with him, and Norstad was met at the airport by Pierre Sévigny, Air Chief Marshal Miller, and the press. Responding to a few questions, Norstad threw himself, by accident or design, into the Canadian controversy.

Reporter: General, do you consider that Canada has committed itself to provide its Starfighter squadron in Europe with tactical nuclear weapons?

Norstad: That is perhaps a question you should direct to the Minister rather than me, but my answer to that is “Yes.” This has been a commitment that was made, the continuation of the commitment that existed before, and as the air division is re-equipped that air division will continue to be committed to NATO and will continue to play an extremely, increasingly important role.

Reporter: In the field of tactical nuclear …?

Norstad: That’s right.

Reporter: I’m sorry, sir – will play an extremely important role with or without nuclear weapons?

Norstad: I would hope with both … We established a NATO requirement for a certain number of strike squadrons and Canada committed some of its forces to meet this NATO established requirement. And this we depend upon.

At this point Norstad asked Miller if he was saying anything more than had already been acknowledged in Ottawa, to which Miller replied: “I think you’re quite right on that; quite right on that.” The questioning continued.

Reporter: Does it mean, sir, that if Canada does not accept nuclear weapons for these aeroplanes she is not actually fulfilling her NATO commitments?

Norstad: I believe that’s right. She would be meeting it in force but not under the terms of the requirements that have been established by NATO … We are depending upon Canada to produce some of the tactical atomic strike forces.

Reporter: General, did you say that you believe that Canada has committed this Starfighter group to tactical weapons?

Norstad: No doubt – I know that they have committed the Starfighters, yes…

Reporter: Sir, do the Starfighters have any capability, in your view, with conventional weapons?

Norstad: They could have. But … we should have other conventional forces. We should not degrade their deterrent value by making them conventional.¹⁴⁴

Sévigny was silent throughout the questioning, but eventually ended it. Norstad departed for Washington, leaving ministers scurrying for cover. Diefenbaker was infuriated but refused comment; others insisted Canada always fulfilled its commitments. The newspapers turned their questions back on the prime minister. Had Canada made a commitment to nuclear weapons or not? The headline of André Laurendeau’s editorial in Le Devoir went further: “Do Canadians have a government?”¹⁴⁵

Harkness urged Diefenbaker to resume negotiations to accept the warheads, but without success. Norstad’s frankness prompted only stubborn denial. Diefenbaker “went on at length complaining about Norstad and arguing that the situation was now impossible.” Harkness recalled:

I pointed out the decision to secure the warheads had been made, that Norstad had said nothing we had not said ourselves, and that time had run out on us because our forces now had the weapons and thus no reasonable arguments for further delay could be put forward. He was completely evasive in regard to the whole matter and it became increasingly evident that he had changed his mind and was unwilling to proceed as agreed on about a month and a half earlier.¹⁴⁶

Despite Harkness’s advice that Green and Churchill favoured renewed negotiations, and that more than half the cabinet wanted an early decision, Diefenbaker kept the issue off the cabinet agenda. Harkness decided that he would resign from cabinet unless the question was settled “in a very short time.”¹⁴⁷

The Liberal Party’s policy on nuclear weapons had been almost as confusing as the government’s. Since January 1961 the party’s official stance had opposed nuclear weapons for Canada’s NORAD forces and accepted them for NATO units only if they were under collective NATO control. But Pearson’s advisers, including the defence critic Paul Hellyer, pressed him to make an unequivocal declaration in favour of taking the warheads for the four weapons systems designed for them. On January 12, 1963, Pearson chose a speech in Scarborough, Ontario, to declare that he was “ashamed if we accept commitments and then refuse to discharge them.” Canada should “end at once its evasion of responsibility, and … discharge the commitments it has already accepted for Canada,” while also undertaking to renegotiate its way out of a nuclear role for the longer run. The declaration caused a substantial rift in his own party, but gave Pearson a new image of decisiveness that was bound to reflect badly on his rival. In Washington, the administration took note, and Basil Robinson reported a fresh sense that agreement could await another Canadian election, which would “result in a better prospect of a solution palatable to the United States.”¹⁴⁸

Harkness believed that Pearson’s about-face relieved Diefenbaker of his most serious political problems. He could safely accept nuclear warheads without risking defeat in the House and a divisive election campaign. But when he met the prime minister to urge an immediate decision, the response was perverse. “To my complete surprise he took the position that we must now oppose the position taken by Pearson and delay any decision on acquiring the warheads. I told him that this was impossible – we would be completely illogical, would make ourselves look ridiculous and, from the political point of view, would lose the backing of many of our strongest supporters. I said that I could not support and argue in the House, or in an election campaign, any course of action differing from that decided on in November. We parted on strained terms.”¹⁴⁹

As the nuclear stormclouds gathered, the Progressive Conservative Party prepared for its annual meeting in Ottawa. Eddie Goodman, who was chairman of the resolutions committee, knew that the weapons issue was the only matter of controversy facing the meeting and that delegates would insist on debating a resolution favouring the acceptance of warheads. On January 15 his committee passed a “clear, but mild resolution” commending the government for its attitude on disarmament and urging it to accept nuclear weapons unless the great powers adopted a nuclear disarmament treaty before July 1963. In negotiation with Diefenbaker and Green, Goodman agreed to set that deadline back to December, but Diefenbaker subsequently ordered party headquarters not to print and distribute the resolution. Goodman and the national secretary, Flora MacDonald, went elsewhere for copies, and held a press conference to ensure that the resolution reached the public. Diefenbaker and Allister Grosart then altered the agenda of the meeting to place the prime minister’s address just before Goodman’s presentation of resolutions, and the Chief implored the meeting, with all his passion, “not to tie my hands in my quest for peace.” Goodman admired the performance and commented to MacDonald: “At least we made the s.o.b. go all out to beat us.”

The prime minister had one more device in his hands. When the applause died away and Goodman finally took the platform, he was faced with an amendment to the defence resolution providing that it should be “referred to the government for its consideration and decision” rather than approved. Goodman argued instead that Canada should “regain its self-respect by meeting its international obligations,” but the meeting overwhelmingly adopted the amendment and saved the appearance of party-government unity. Diefenbaker had – momentarily – held off the storm.¹⁵⁰

Harkness now believed that Diefenbaker intended “to back away from a nuclear position and the whole defence policy we had followed for the previous four to five years.” He told four ministerial colleagues that he would resign unless the cabinet adopted a policy he could accept. At the annual meeting he faced awkward questions about Diefenbaker’s leadership, but as a member of cabinet he felt bound not to comment. When Senator Thorvaldson, the retiring party president, praised Diefenbaker in his banquet speech and then told Harkness “in the most vehement terms” that “we must get rid of Diefenbaker or we had no chance, and … the cabinet must accomplish this,” Harkness saw the irony. “This typified, I thought, the situation of a lot of Conservatives, then and later, who wanted to get rid of Diefenbaker, but wanted someone else to bell the cat.”¹⁵¹

Cabinet had entered a period of terminal breakdown. On Sunday, January 20, as ministers met at Sussex Drive to prepare for the opening of the House, Harkness insisted that the drift would have to end. He called for agreement on “a defensible position,” while Diefenbaker argued in favour of “no definite policy” until after an election. Ministers divided three ways: a few supporting Diefenbaker, more supporting Harkness, the rest remaining neutral and silent. Harkness eventually said that he would resign if Diefenbaker took the line of delay, but was persuaded to wait for two days, when the affair “was to be finally settled.”¹⁵²

The next day, after his House of Commons statement on the Nassau conference, Diefenbaker agreed to a general foreign policy debate later in the week, with a supply motion to follow in the days afterwards. At cabinet on January 22, Diefenbaker lectured on his difficulties and pleaded that Harkness’s resignation would be “politically fatal.” He promised to resign rather than allow that to happen, and proposed a cabinet committee consisting of Green and Harkness, under Fleming’s chairmanship, to review the record on nuclear weapons and to find an acceptable solution. Without consultation, Fleming added Churchill to the team. Over two days the committee held ten meetings, reviewing all the relevant documents from cabinet, the cabinet defence committee, the NATO council, and the United States-Canada ministerial committee on defence. Faced with the voluminous record, Green conceded that commitments had been made and cabinet had repeatedly approved the adoption of nuclear weapons. Harkness, too, gave up some ground. Fleming produced a unanimous report calling for early completion of negotiations on Canada’s nuclear role in NORAD “to secure the highest degree of availability to Canada,” while allowing for clarification of Canada’s NATO weapons at the ministerial meetings in May. That concession would avoid embarrassment to the prime minister for his previous references to NATO policy. Given the distance between Harkness and Green, this was a formidable achievement.¹⁵³

When Fleming and Harkness presented the unanimous report to Diefenbaker on Wednesday evening, the Chief greeted them in a truculent mood. Fleming gave Diefenbaker a copy of the document and waited for his praise.

Instead, after quickly glancing over it he angrily flung it down on the desk and said, “I won’t have it.” He repeated the words. There was nothing more for Doug and me to do than to say good night and leave. Outside he and I concluded it was all over … Our work had been rejected in the most offensive and peremptory manner. The last visible chance of rescuing the government on the issue of nuclear arms was gone, hopelessly squandered. I went home in despair. Dief had demonstrated that he was still capable of making decisions – wrong ones. But I had reckoned without his cunning.¹⁵⁴

Harkness told colleagues once more that he would have to resign. Fleming urged him to await the prime minister’s speech in the foreign affairs debate, while McCutcheon and Hees said they agreed entirely with him. “They urged me,” Harkness wrote, “to stand firm against the Prime Minister and said that we should act on the offers to resign, which he had made many times during the crisis and throughout the period from the 1962 election on, unless he accepted the position set out in the memo.”¹⁵⁵

On Friday afternoon, January 25, Diefenbaker rose before a crowded House to respond to Pearson’s indictment of his government’s indecision. In familiar manner he ridiculed the inconsistencies in Pearson’s own record while claiming logic in his own. His ministers listened as intently as others in search of that logic – and discovered only calculated obscurity. Canada had repudiated no undertakings, but it would not be pushed around by “anyone visiting our country.” For Donald Fleming “this was without exception the most equivocal speech I had ever heard in the House of Commons. It surpassed Mackenzie King at his best. It confused even his own cabinet colleagues.” The speech was the usual mélange of notes prepared by Robert Bryce and Diefenbaker himself. To his astonishment, Fleming saw in Diefenbaker’s bundle of papers the special committee’s memo, which Diefenbaker proceeded to weave, in disconnected bits, into his own text. Canada’s NATO role would be determined in May; negotiations with the United States for North American weapons had been “going on quite forcibly for two months or more.” “Every word of the memo now had full government authority back of it,” Fleming concluded. “This was an enormous step forward, or so we thought.”¹⁵⁶

Harkness too was briefly encouraged. He decided the prime minister had come off the fence. When Diefenbaker left the House, Harkness followed him to the lobby, shook his hand, and offered thanks. Diefenbaker did not reply. Charles Lynch found Harkness in the lobby to tell him that the members of the press gallery were “completely confused.” What did the speech mean? Harkness told him that the pro-nuclear message was contained in “four points near the end of the speech.” Lynch was sceptical.¹⁵⁷

The Saturday press took Lynch’s line. Defence policy was “left hanging in mid-air,” reported the Globe and Mail, “this is no policy at all,” complained the Ottawa Citizen; others echoed their uncertainty.¹⁵⁸ Harkness was dismayed, and concluded that Diefenbaker had intended after all to maintain his ambiguity. He decided to issue a press release “to bring things to a head and thus decide the matter, and at the same time to make my own position clear to the country.” Early on Monday morning he released a statement declaring that Diefenbaker had asserted “a definite policy for the acquisition of nuclear arms.” Diefenbaker summoned Harkness to his office and exclaimed: “This is terrible – you’ve ruined everything – why did you do it?…You had no right to make such a statement – you have put me in an impossible situation.” Harkness replied angrily that he was ready to resign at any time, and left when Diefenbaker refused any further argument. For two days Diefenbaker played a game of evasion in response to questions in the House; cabinet argued in circles; Harkness drafted his resignation; and delegations of ministers, led by Hees, Fulton, and McCutcheon, urged him to stay. On January 30, at a farewell party for the Fultons (who had now decided to leave Ottawa for British Columbia provincial politics), Hees, McCutcheon, Balcer, and other ministers pledged their word to Harkness that “we must get rid of Dief the next day.” The atmosphere was “very peculiar.”¹⁵⁹

A shaky conspiracy was taking form. Diefenbaker was in a condition of “numb torpor.” While Harkness and Fleming were still hoping to rouse him to a decision, perhaps half a dozen ministers had agreed he would have to go. Simultaneously, Oakley Dalgleish had reached the same conclusion, and was planning a Globe and Mail editorial making that demand. He was also in touch with Wallace McCutcheon, expecting to coordinate his public appeal with a cabinet revolt. McCutcheon, Nowlan, Fulton, Hees, and Fleming persuaded Dalgleish to hold his editorial for the following week, while cabinet made a final effort to resolve the crisis from within. McCutcheon, Nowlan, and Hees talked among themselves of Nowlan as interim prime minister while the party chose a new leader. Fleming thought of himself as the natural successor.¹⁶⁰

The next blow came from Washington, where there had been outrage at Diefenbaker’s January 25 House of Commons speech. Late in the afternoon of January 30 Basil Robinson was summoned to the State Department to receive a press release. It was “a frontal attack on the Canadian government for its nuclear policy.”

The Department has received a number of inquiries concerning the disclosure during a recent debate in the Canadian House of Commons regarding negotiations over the past two or three months between the United States and Canadian Governments relating to nuclear weapons for Canadian armed forces.

In 1958 the Canadian Government decided to adopt the BOMARC-B weapons system. Accordingly two BOMARC-B squadrons were deployed to Canada where they would serve the double purpose of protecting Montreal and Toronto as well as the U.S. deterrent force. The BOMARC-B was not designed to carry any conventional warhead. The matter of making available a nuclear warhead for it and for other nuclear-capable weapons systems acquired by Canada has been the subject of inconclusive discussions between the two governments. The installation of the two BOMARC-B batteries in Canada without nuclear warheads was completed in 1962.

In addition to the BOMARC-B, a similar problem exists with respect to the modern supersonic jet interceptor with which the RCAF has been provided. Without nuclear air defense warheads, they operate at far less than their full potential effectiveness.

Shortly after the Cuban crisis in October 1962, the Canadian Government proposed confidential discussions concerning circumstances under which there might be provision of nuclear weapons for Canadian armed forces in Canada and Europe. These discussions have been exploratory in nature; the Canadian Government has not as yet proposed any arrangement sufficiently practical to contribute effectively to North American defense.

The discussions between the two governments have also involved possible arrangements for the provision of nuclear weapons for Canadian NATO forces in Europe, similar to arrangements which the United States has made with many of our other NATO allies.

During the debate in the House of Commons various references were made to recent discussions at Nassau. The agreements made at Nassau have been fully published. They raise no question of the appropriateness of nuclear weapons for Canadian forces in fulfilling their NATO or NORAD obligations.

Reference was also made in the debate to the need of NATO for increased conventional forces. A flexible and balanced defense requires increased conventional forces, but conventional forces are not an alternative to effective NATO or NORAD defense arrangements using nuclear-capable weapons systems. NORAD is designed to defend the North American continent against air attack. The Soviet bomber fleet will remain at least throughout this decade a significant element in the Soviet strike force. An effective continental defense against this common threat is necessary.

The provision of nuclear weapons to Canadian forces would not involve an expansion of independent nuclear capability, or an increase in the “nuclear club.” As in the case of other allies custody of U.S. nuclear weapons would remain with the U.S. Joint control fully consistent with national sovereignty can be worked out to cover the use of such weapons by Canadian forces.¹⁶¹

Blast Off

At the State Department, Robinson was told that four years of discussions with Canada had “proved abortive and not for technical reasons.” The recent Canadian proposals to store component parts in the United States amounted to “a contrived solution which might … create added confusion at a time of emergency and might mislead people as to the state of continental defence.” The prime minister’s disclosure of secret negotiations – which was made without notifying Washington – had caused “much concern,” although this was not mentioned in the press release.¹⁶²

Telephone lines between Ottawa and Washington crackled, and within hours the Canadian ambassador, Charles Ritchie, had been “recalled for consultation.” Diefenbaker learned of the press release on a short trip to Toronto. As he returned to Ottawa late in the evening with Donald Fleming, he clutched the document in his hands, his eyes glowing fire: “We’ve got our issue now … We can call our general election now.” Fleming replied: “No, John. You can’t do that.” Three times the brief dialogue was repeated.¹⁶³

Cabinet met at 9:30 the next morning to face this latest and most serious storm. Ministers agreed unanimously on a strong protest, and under the leadership of Fleming, Hees, and Harkness, “beat off Diefenbaker’s proposal to dissolve the House that afternoon and enter an election campaign against the US administration. Instead, they bought a few hours’ time: they would discuss dissolution after the day’s debate in the House.¹⁶⁴

When the House met, the prime minister condemned the American statement as an “unprecedented and … unwarranted intrusion in Canadian affairs.” Canada, he said, would honour its obligations, but “it will not be pushed around or accept external domination or interference in the making of its decisions. Canada is determined to remain a firm ally, but that does not mean she should be a satellite.” He added the stinging comment that Pearson’s views bore “a striking resemblance” to those of the State Department. The three opposition leaders joined in rejection of the American statement, but insisted as well on clarification of the government’s policy. Pearson pursued the line by moving adjournment of the House for an emergency debate, and after two appeals against the Speaker’s rulings, the debate proceeded.¹⁶⁵

Mike Pearson, Robert Thompson, and Tommy Douglas complained of the government’s petty politics, tightrope walking, changes of direction, postponement and procrastination. Thompson’s shift of tone was particularly threatening, since Social Credit votes had previously sustained the government’s tenuous majority in the House. Only Harkness spoke for the cabinet, after Diefenbaker had agreed during the dinner recess that the minister could use his press release as a basis for his remarks. Harkness – ever hopeful – took this to mean that Diefenbaker “was prepared to accept my position on nuclear warheads.”¹⁶⁶

On Friday the pace of collapse quickened. In Washington Dean Rusk – responding to sharp criticism from the Washington Post and the New York Times – offered a limited apology for giving offence to Canada, but insisted that the administration was justified in “fairly setting out” the facts of the case. He would not say whether the State Department’s press release had been approved by the president. Arthur Krock of the Times reported that the statement had been cleared by Kennedy’s national security adviser, McGeorge Bundy.¹⁶⁷

In Ottawa, cabinet met twice. Diefenbaker was not ready to declare himself in favour of nuclear arms, and repeated his call for a dissolution on the issue of American interference in Canadian affairs. Several ministers protested that the consequences for the economy and for Canada’s defences would be dangerous. Diefenbaker insisted that he could win an anti-American campaign; “this, to him,” Harkness judged, “was all that mattered.” Debate churned on inconclusively, until Diefenbaker proposed another meeting for Saturday morning. Afterwards, discussion continued in ministers’ offices. Now at least nine ministers talked of resignation if Diefenbaker launched an anti-American campaign. George Hees thought that a united front of critical ministers could persuade Diefenbaker to abandon the intention – or could force him out the next day if necessary.¹⁶⁸

Diefenbaker frustrated that plan by dealing with a long list of appointments at the Saturday meeting. “It was,” Harkness believed, “quite evidently a trick to prevent the discussion we had all come for … Finally he tried to get a snap decision on … dissolution on the American interference basis, without any discussion, by simply asking each member in turn to say whether he favoured dissolution or not – a straight yes or no without remark.” Fleming, Hees, and Harkness protested and called for another meeting, but since the press gallery dinner was scheduled for that evening, members agreed to a Sunday morning, off-the-record meeting at 24 Sussex Drive. As they departed, ministers learned of the death that day of Chief Justice Patrick Kerwin of the Supreme Court of Canada.¹⁶⁹

In the inevitable conversations after cabinet, this time at George Hees’s room in the Chateau Laurier, Hees took on the task of opening the next cabinet meeting with the declaration that he would resign unless Diefenbaker did so.¹⁷⁰ By early evening, as the drinks began to flow in ministers’ offices before the gallery dinner, Fulton, Starr, Bell, and Churchill were “kicking around” the notion that Diefenbaker “might accept the Chief Justiceship of the Supreme Court.”¹⁷¹

The prime minister attended the gallery dinner in decidedly sombre spirit. The skits and songs were certain to be directed at his own dilemmas, and he was in no mood for them. With his imperfect hearing, he was especially offended by a parodic performance of “Jesus Loves Me”: “The people love me/This I know/Allister Grosart tells me so.” It included the lines: “Why they even say/I have Harkness’s disease.” This, Diefenbaker wrote, was slander: “That I was the victim of an advanced case of Parkinson’s disease … They sang and acted out my physical and mental sufferings.” Harkness, too, was an informal target during the evening, and early the next morning Diefenbaker received a telephone message that Charles Lynch had challenged Harkness to resign. If Harkness went, the Chief was told, three or four other ministers would follow, including Wallace McCutcheon. The informant would not say who the others were.¹⁷²

As he prepared for the Sunday meeting of ministers, Diefenbaker also reflected that “my leadership had just endured a week-long editorial barrage from the pages of John Bassett’s Toronto Telegram, and that this thundering might prelude some action by Hees or McCutcheon. At any rate, I was ready, or as ready as I could be in these circumstances.”¹⁷³ The old warrior drew a certain stimulation from the prospect of battle – even against his own team.

At mid-morning all the ministers except Ellen Fairclough gathered in the blue dining room at 24 Sussex Drive. Diefenbaker sat at the centre on the window side of the long table, his back to the dramatic sweep of the Ottawa River and the Gatineau hills beyond. Howard Green sat to his right and Donald Fleming to his left. Diefenbaker began by calling for the dissolution of parliament that afternoon, in order to pre-empt an early defeat in the House. The election was bound to have “strong overtones of an anti-U.S. platform” because of the intolerable American intervention. He asked quietly for other views.

Hees was the first minister to speak. An election, he said, required a genuine national issue, one that divided the parties. Yet the issue of the American press release had united all parties – and Dean Rusk had already apologized. What the people wanted was a government that made its own decisions, but on defence policy they did not know what decisions the government had made. The public believed there were commitments to be carried out, that the planes and the Bomarcs should be armed with nuclear warheads. An election fought against the United States would mean a Conservative rout: Grosart, he said, had told him that the party would win only thirty-seven seats if it went to the country. Suddenly there were interruptions, some in support, some opposed. Hees did not reach the point of asking for the prime minister’s resignation. The heat rose. Hees tried to continue and a voice cried: “Traitor!” The interjections grew louder.

Diefenbaker insisted: “I did not ask for this job; I don’t want it, and if I’m not wanted, I’ll go.”

Harkness turned coldly on the prime minister. “You might as well know,” he told him, “that the people of Canada have lost confidence in you, the party has lost confidence in you, and the Cabinet has lost confidence in you. It is time you went.” Personally, Harkness said, he had no option but resignation.

Now there was pandemonium. Diefenbaker banged the table and rose to his feet. “Those who are with me stand up, those against me remain seated.” Fleming and Bell asked what they were being asked to stand for, dissolution or confidence in Diefenbaker? The prime minister repeated his challenge. Some ministers stood, but moving left around the table, Fleming, Hees, Fulton, Harkness, Balcer, Flemming, Halpenny, Sévigny, Martineau, McCutcheon, and Bell remained seated. Eleven to nine against the prime minister – on an uncertain question. Diefenbaker sat, turned to Fleming, and whispered: “I’m going to tell them to make you prime minister.” “You can’t do that!” cried Fleming. Without a pause, Diefenbaker called out: “I propose that Donald Fleming be named prime minister. I will leave you to discuss the proposal. I will be in the library.”

Some ministers thought Diefenbaker had said he was going to Government House to resign.¹⁷⁴ Two ministers told Patrick Nicholson later that the prime minister seemed at that moment like a “raging lunatic.” Green and Churchill followed Diefenbaker to the door as Green cried: “Nest of traitors!” at those who remained. “I wouldn’t follow Fleming anywhere,” Churchill added. Mike Starr rose to follow them out. Alvin Hamilton joined him, yelling: “You treacherous bastards! No prime minister has ever had to deal with so many sons of bitches.” More ministers straggled out as others sat stunned.

McCutcheon eventually suggested that all this was foolishness: “If everyone resigns, there won’t even be a Cabinet left to fight an election.” A delegation left the room to persuade the others to return. “Amid shouting of insults and disorder,” everyone eventually came back except the prime minister.

Fleming now intervened in an effort “to restore the dignity of cabinet,” urging them not to “make bad history.” He acknowledged the prime minister’s whispered words about the succession, insisted that he had no warning of the proposal, and said that he put party unity first. A sense of calm returned, and ministers began to talk of the conditions they would need to maintain their support for Diefenbaker. Bell tried out a draft resolution, which was generally agreed after a paragraph calling for immediate talks between Diefenbaker and Kennedy on the nuclear issue had been eliminated. The rest of it read:

The Cabinet expresses its loyalty to the Prime Minister and its willingness to continue to give him full support.

Without in any way imposing any condition in respect of the foregoing resolution, Cabinet is of the opinion that immediate dissolution is most undesirable and that we should meet the House of Commons tomorrow and seek by every means to avoid defeat.

Harkness dissented, and said he would leave to write his letter of resignation. Green, in the chair, expressed the cabinet’s thanks for Harkness’s service in three ministries; and Harkness, grateful for this display of decency, shook hands around the table before departing.

Green, Churchill, Fleming, and Nowlan carried the message of reconciliation to Diefenbaker in the library, where he was quietly finishing a sandwich lunch in the company of Olive and his golden labrador retriever Happy. After brief reflection he returned and thanked the cabinet for its resolution of confidence. Diefenbaker suggested that some ministers should try to persuade Harkness to return, or at least to do no harm to the government in his letter of resignation. Hees and Fulton agreed to do so. At 2:30 pm the bizarre meeting ended.

Green and Churchill remained at Sussex Drive, and soon Diefenbaker called Fleming to return. He needed comfort. “We hashed and rehashed what had happened,” Fleming recalled, “and I felt little was being accomplished.” Olive served sandwiches, and about seven in the evening Fleming departed. Some time after that, when Nowlan and McCutcheon had joined the prime minister, Hees and Fulton returned to report they had persuaded Harkness to tone down his letter of resignation. Fulton then returned to the subject of the prime minister’s resignation for the good of the party and the country. McCutcheon grunted his support. Diefenbaker asked who should succeed him. Hees and Nowlan were apparently mentioned, but when Fulton added that the new prime minister might appoint Diefenbaker to succeed Patrick Kerwin as chief justice of the Supreme Court, Diefenbaker invited the two ministers to leave the house at once. During the evening Harkness’s letter arrived, with a note that it would be given to the press on Monday morning. He left cabinet declaring that “It has become quite obvious during the last few days that your views and mine as to the course we should pursue for the acquisition of nuclear weapons for our armed forces are not capable of reconciliation.” Harkness alone had made his position clear.¹⁷⁵

On Monday morning, February 4, cabinet met again to discuss the resignation and the coming confrontation in the House. Diefenbaker told Fleming: “You are going to be prime minister before this day is over … You and I are going over to see the Governor General this afternoon.” Fleming doubted that Diefenbaker could dictate the succession, and later reflected: “Whether he meant this and whether he would have carried out his professed intention I do not know, nor will I ever know. He may have been in earnest, or he may have been testing out the strength of his position or my loyalty, or perhaps he was talking somewhat aimlessly.”¹⁷⁶ Cabinet discussed its response to a Liberal Party promise of a royal commission on bilingualism and biculturalism, and agreed to propose a federal-provincial conference on the language question that afternoon. No one raised the subject of a replacement for the minister of defence. Diefenbaker also appointed his defeated friend David Walker to the Senate that day, and Walker joined him in Ottawa as the crisis deepened.¹⁷⁷

When the House met, the balconies were crowded. Harkness made a statement on his resignation that concluded: “I resigned on a matter of principle. The point was finally reached when I considered that my honour and integrity required that I take this step.” The prime minister’s prolonged indecision and the cabinet’s division were now matters of public record. The supply debate opened on a no-confidence motion by Pearson, worded deftly to attract the support of Social Credit and the NDP: “This government, because of lack of leadership, the breakdown of unity in the cabinet, and confusion and indecision in dealing with national and international problems, does not have the confidence of the Canadian people.”¹⁷⁸ Who could deny it?

For the government, the crucial votes in the House now belonged to thirty members of the Social Credit Party under the leadership of Robert Thompson and Real Caouette. For a few months after the 1962 election, Thompson had kept closely in touch with Conservative intermediaries, manoeuvring carefully to avoid the government’s defeat and an early election. Now his members reported dissatisfaction with the government in their constituencies, and his contacts with the ministry had ceased. Thompson, fearful that his party would precipitate the government’s defeat, wanted some significant concessions to offer his back-benchers. On February 1 he had sought out the journalist Patrick Nicholson to deliver a message to Senator McCutcheon. Social Credit would vote against the government on the supply motion unless it announced a timetable for action on four points: tabling the new spending estimates, introducing a new budget, carrying out some measures already approved by parliament, and clarifying the commitment on nuclear weapons.

McCutcheon thought the request reasonable, and promised a response by Monday morning. In the meantime, there were further discussions between Thompson, Nowlan, and Churchill similarly aimed at reconciliation.¹⁷⁹ Thompson also sent an emergency message to his Conservative friend in New Brunswick, Michael Wardell, whom Diefenbaker had recently appointed as chairman of a new federal agency, the Atlantic Development Board. Wardell was flown to Ottawa on Sunday afternoon from the RCAF base in Shearwater, Nova Scotia, in the company of the chief of the air staff. Thompson met him on arrival at Ottawa airport and briefed him during their drive to the Chateau Laurier, where Wardell telephoned Diefenbaker. As the prime minister absorbed the results of his chaotic cabinet meeting, Wardell gave him Thompson’s conditions for support:

T.’s terms: a simple statement by D. of his nuclear arms policy, or alternatively his acceptance of an inter-party committee on defence with the government retaining the sole responsibility for formulating policy. The statement was to be made in Parliament on Monday before the Liberal motion of no confidence, which would be on supply. The statement could embody three statements D. had already made which were “hidden in a mass of other words.”¹⁸⁰

Wardell added Thompson’s other three points about the parliamentary timetable, “none of which,” he thought, “could conceivably create an issue.” In response, Diefenbaker “complained bitterly of T., said T. had lost no opportunity of publicly slighting him.” Diefenbaker was exhausted, and promised to see Wardell in his office early on Monday morning. Wardell then consulted Hugh John Flemming, who told him it was essential “to reach an understanding with Green overnight,” since Green was closest to Diefenbaker. “This advice,” Wardell wrote, “was, I think, fatal.” Wardell reached him, and Green said he had been with Diefenbaker during Wardell’s earlier call and knew everything.

Next morning Green was with Diefenbaker when he met Wardell in the prime minister’s East Block office – which was frenetic with ringing telephones, ministers and officials rushing in and out, and harassed secretaries. Wardell explained Thompson’s terms again, said they were modest, and asked for a message which Thompson could give to his caucus that morning. Diefenbaker was hostile: “Thompson never loses a chance to humiliate me … Let Thompson know I will not be kicked around.” But the prime minister left the issue for settlement with Green as he departed for the cabinet meeting, and Green offered no objection. Wardell told Thompson an agreement was possible.

At midday, Thompson gave Wardell a typed carbon copy of the Social Credit terms. He took them to Howard Green, who read them and said: “We shall have nothing to do with it. It is presumptuous and it is foolish of Thompson to make such suggestions.” He predicted dissolution and an early election. There was no further communication from Diefenbaker on the terms. As Nicholson judged, “He did not deign to give that ultimatum the recognition of a reply: but he resolved to meet the undoubtedly serious threat by supplying the information in his own way and at his own time.”¹⁸¹

Following Pearson’s speech on his no-confidence motion, Thompson entered the debate just before the dinner adjournment. He quoted with approval that day’s Globe and Mail editorial – which spoke of an early election as “a disaster” – and added that “We, in this party continue to stand on our previous policy … to go along with a reasonable discussion and debate on the supply motions that are yet to come and on the estimates which are yet to be brought forward.” But when debate resumed at 8 pm, his tone had changed. “We have reached the point where we almost reluctantly, shall we say, believe it would be worse for the country not to go to the people to ascertain their will, than it would be to prolong the life of this Government which is not fulfilling its responsibilities as it should.” He outlined the party’s four conditions for support. “We did not intend to issue an ultimatum. In spite of our last minute appeal asking, begging, pleading that the government fill the vacuum that had been created because they have not done these things previously, we have no action.” He moved an amendment to the Liberal motion framed around the Social Credit conditions:

This Government has failed up to this time to give a clear statement of policy respecting Canada’s national defence, and has failed to organize the business of the House so that the 1963-64 estimates and budget could be introduced, and has failed to outline a positive program of follow-up action respecting many things for which this Parliament and previous Parliaments have already given authority, and does not have the confidence of the Canadian people.¹⁸²

Afterwards, he told Wardell that he had changed course because Diefenbaker had made no response to his approaches.¹⁸³

Now there were wheels within wheels revolving. Nicholson, hearing a radio news flash reporting the Thompson amendment and predicting the government’s defeat, drove back to Parliament Hill in a snowstorm, found Hees in the House, and arranged to meet him after the adjournment at 10 pm. He was determined to bring Thompson together again with a Conservative minister, and Thompson agreed to join them later. But Nicholson’s own calculations had shifted. Once Hees had poured him a scotch-and-water from his “hospitable cupboard,” Nicholson suggested that he could see “a broad highway leading to a continuation in office under a new leader and supported by thirty Social Credit votes … I don’t know what he [Thompson] would say to you, because I haven’t discussed it with him, but I’ve a good idea he might tell you that a new leader of your party might change a lot of pictures. I know his view is that this would scotch the need for an election now, and his party would support almost any new P.M. who would get on with urgent business.” Hees was intrigued and agreed to meet Thompson, who was already on his way. But he wanted other ministers present, and quickly gathered Léon Balcer, Pierre Sévigny, and George Nowlan to his office by telephone. At about 10:30 pm Thompson joined the party – but took only ginger ale. He said there had been no response to his messages from Diefenbaker, and he was “through supporting this government of inaction.”

One of the Quebeckers declared: “The anti-Dief boys in the Cabinet will force him out; wouldn’t that satisfy the Socreds?” Thompson wondered why that hadn’t happened. He would only accept deeds. The drinking party muddled on into the night towards a conclusion, consuming two bottles of scotch on the way. George Hees was assigned to bell the cat. He would meet Diefenbaker the next morning to demand his resignation, and later in the day the dissenting ministers would confront the prime minister together to ask for his resignation or deliver their own. Thompson told them that if Diefenbaker resigned before the vote, his motion would no longer apply. Social Credit would certainly give reasonable support to a new prime minister willing to meet the party’s terms, but he would not accept Howard Green as prime minister. Well after one in the morning, Nicholson delivered Sévigny to his home.¹⁸⁴ The core of dissident ministers had abandoned their pledge of loyalty within thirty-six hours of giving it to the prime minister.

At 8 am on Tuesday, February 5, George Hees called at Sussex Drive to urge the prime minister once more to resign. He predicted the government’s defeat in the House that day. No one, he said, would campaign with Diefenbaker if an election were called. But the government could be saved, with Social Credit support, if he resigned at once in favour of Donald Fleming. He mentioned once more, as an enticement, the vacant chief justiceship – on the very day of Patrick Kerwin’s funeral. Diefenbaker consulted Olive, telephoned Gordon Churchill, and told Hees he could go to hell.¹⁸⁵ Later in the morning one group of ministers gathered at Hees’s main-floor parliamentary office (while the press swirled in the hallways outside) to consider their next step after the failure of Hees’s guerrilla attack. Unaccountably, they decided to wait twenty-four hours until after the parliamentary vote before challenging Diefenbaker again. They would ask for a meeting of ministers at 9 am, to precede the regular Wednesday caucus meeting at eleven. Meanwhile, Diefenbaker’s loyalist ministers, Churchill, Hamilton, Starr, Dinsdale, and Monteith, were rallying Conservative back-benchers – who had so far been left out of everyone’s calculations – to show their support for the Chief. A mid-morning radio report that George Nowlan had replaced Diefenbaker as prime minister was quickly denied, and the cheerleaders redoubled their appeals. As Diefenbaker made his way into the House at 2:30 pm he was greeted in the lobby by a cheering mass of faithful MPs.¹⁸⁶

During a short question period, Paul Martin innocently asked Diefenbaker “if it was not communicated to the right honourable gentleman today that a number of his colleagues wished him to vacate the office of Prime Minister – and be replaced by one of his colleagues?”¹⁸⁷ The variation on that rumour was that Thompson had demanded Diefenbaker’s resignation as his final condition for support – which was more or less true, although “demanded” was not quite the right word to describe what had emerged in the midnight hours. Wardell, who was in the Speaker’s gallery with Olive, asked her whether the prime minister was aware that Thompson had not imposed that condition. She thought not, and asked Wardell to send a note down to Diefenbaker. He wrote: “Dear Prime Minister: I talked to Thompson this morning. He stated the same terms as yesterday: with a short concise statement on nuclear arms repeating your own previously expressed three points. He made no condition of your own resignation from office.” The note was passed down by messenger. Diefenbaker read it, “looked up and nodded.”

In this confusing atmosphere of speculation and intrigue, Diefenbaker took the floor. He attacked the Liberals, the military establishment, and the Americans, and eventually addressed himself to the Créditiste members who would decide the government’s fate that evening: “If our hands are tied, they are tied not by the other two parties but by the official opposition. They bear the responsibility … We place before you our views on defence … We will bring in new estimates … within … one week … We will bring down a budget… by the end of February.” On everything but the nuclear issue, Thompson’s conditions had been fully granted. The Liberal opposition, Diefenbaker claimed, had simply treated the Social Credit Party as a joke. Pearson “loves thee, but he loved you not until yesterday.” They should not join his league. Diefenbaker asked the House for its confidence. “The other day I saw the benefits of calling an election, thinking only of the political consequences in our favour. But I asked, ‘What will its effects be on a rising economy in the years ahead and the months ahead, unless we get those things on the statute books that would continue the upsurge of the economy of Canada?’ ”¹⁸⁸

But it was too late. Thompson awaited only the deed, and the deed had not been committed. His party would vote against the government. “What numbed or paralysed John Diefenbaker,” Fleming wondered, “that he did not raise a finger to ward off defeat in the House when that could have been done?” He could not answer the question. When the House returned after dinner, the bells rang for the division on the Social Credit amendment, and 256 of the 265 members took their seats. Only two Conservatives were absent: Douglas Harkness, who was in his office, and Art Smith, who stood behind the curtains to watch the vote. When the roll was called, the Halifax Conservative Edmund Morris and the NDP member Harold Winch abstained, and two NDP members, H.W. Herridge and Colin Cameron, voted with the government. Otherwise, party lines held, and the government was defeated 142 to 111. The amended Liberal motion passed by the same count. The chamber erupted in singing, yelling, and paper-throwing while the prime minister made his barely audible announcement that he would go to the governor general the next day. The House adjourned into the teeming hallways. Upstairs, dissident ministers and their wives gathered at Pierre Sévigny’s office while a Canadian Press reporter diligently recorded their names. Stories of the secret plans for Wednesday morning’s cabinet coup, when the Chief would be unseated, flowed freely that night with the alcohol.¹⁸⁹

Overnight, Hamilton, Green, and Churchill had arranged to reverse the order of the two meetings planned for the morning. The dissidents had already proven themselves disorganized, not to say feckless, and they had no effective means of preventing the further delay in confronting the prime minister. The caucus would take place at nine, the cabinet meeting at eleven. They would have to take their chances, first of all, in a meeting where western members loyal to John Diefenbaker held the majority. In a defensive campaign to sustain the prime minister that had been, on balance, as inept as the campaign against Diefenbaker, this was an astute move.

Both Oakley Dalgleish and John Bassett had been closely in touch and in loose collaboration with the cabinet dissidents over the previous two weeks. As the House vote approached on Tuesday evening, Dalgleish printed his postponed editorial, titled “Now Is the Time…,” on the front page of Wednesday’s Globe, calling for the prime minister’s retirement so that “a strong man might succeed him” and avoid the government’s defeat. But “now” was too late: minutes after the paper went on sale on the streets, the government fell. Dalgleish altered a few sentences to bring the editorial up to date for the final edition. It condemned the government’s paralysis since the previous June, and lamented that the country had been thrown into “an election that could well be disastrous.” The fault lay squarely with John Diefenbaker, who took no economic decisions after the 1962 emergency measures, who could not honour the country’s military commitments to the United States, who obstructed Britain’s efforts to enter the European Common Market, and who “continued to cling to the post of leader” after abdicating its responsibilities. His ministers – who could, Dalgleish claimed, have led the country sensibly – had been “frozen in enforced inactivity” by the prime minister. The editor offered Diefenbaker a dignified exit – or perhaps (still banking on what the dissidents said they would do that morning) simply the appearance of one:

The man who could not lead the Government into action to cure Canada’s economic difficulties is unfit to lead the Conservative Party into action in this election. For the sake of the party and the country, he should give up the leadership. In our view the country must always come first, but the welfare of the country is entwined with the welfare of the Conservative Party. In our system it is essential that we have two strong political parties. If Mr. Diefenbaker continues in the leadership he will do the party irreparable harm and perhaps destroy it as a national force.¹⁹⁰

Bassett’s editorial in the Telegram on Wednesday morning, titled “Diefenbaker Era Closes,” could be read as though the palace revolt had already taken place. “At this moment both his party and the country see only the tragedy of this brilliant man with his myriad political talents, brought down by his inability to make and carry through hard decisions with purpose and determination … At sixty-seven, this man who flashed so brilliantly across Canada’s political firmament less than six years ago, cannot expect again to lead his country. Possibly he will not even lead again his party.” But Bassett sought to soothe his friend’s departure with praise. The party and the country owed him “a tremendous debt of gratitude” for his restoration of the two-party system, the dignity of parliament and of the citizen, and the destruction of “narrow prejudice … When the passions of the last few days subside, when the public comes to realize the battering he withstood, the cheap jokes, the organized riots of the last election campaign, the cruel rumours about his health, the fury of some of those who could not believe he had deprived them of office – then the public will re-appraise his worth and his contribution to the land.”¹⁹¹ The two Toronto editorials were written for a single reader: If the prime minister wouldn’t respond to the bad cop’s insults, perhaps he would accept the good cop’s blandishments.

When Diefenbaker walked into the caucus meeting in the Railway Committee Room at 9 am on February 6, he knew exactly what his opponents wanted. But he did not know what he wanted. Earlier, in his Commons office, he told Dalton Camp, Howard Green, and his secretary Marion Wagner: “That’s it. Get the Governor. I’m going to advise him to send for Donald Fleming and they can have it. I don’t want it, I’m finished, finished.” Green protested: “Ah, come on now, John. We’re not going to quit and you’re not going to quit.” Diefenbaker insisted: “No, I’m finished. Olive wants me to resign.” Green told him he was going to contest the election and “have a lot of fun.” Diefenbaker replied: “It may be a lot of fun for you, Howard, but it’s not going to be any fun for me.”¹⁹² Diefenbaker and Green departed for the caucus meeting in this state of uncertainty. The prime minister remained in turmoil, unable to come to a decision on his own as long as his counsellors gave him contradictory advice. He did not know whether he would still be in power that evening. If the day ended in resignation, he did not know whether that would come as his own decision, or be forced on him by his ministers. The Chief needed others to make up his mind for him.

Hees, the chairman of caucus, seated at the centre of the table with Diefenbaker on his right, began the meeting by reading a long, prepared statement blaming the government’s defeat on the prime minister and warning against an anti-American election campaign. After some time Diefenbaker interrupted: “What’s going on here? Who is the leader of this party?” This, he said, was a meeting to hear the views of MPs, not of the chairman. He challenged Hees with more questions about the minister’s recent actions. There was an eruption of shouting before Hees could continue. At some point (the accounts differ) Hees began to cry. When he ended, he announced his intention to resign. McCutcheon and Sévigny said they would join him. The shouting erupted again, as other ministers attempted unsuccessfully to make themselves heard. Diefenbaker rose again to speak, while his prairie claque cheered the room into silence. Perhaps half the cabinet had not joined the chorus. “If I’m not wanted I’ll go,” Diefenbaker yelled, and started towards the door. Some members cried “No! No!” while others rushed to surround him and prevent his departure. Diefenbaker dramatically retraced his steps and resumed his performance, talking of the big business plot against him as he stared down Senator McCutcheon. The Chief and his supporters were taking control of the meeting.

Alf Brooks, Grattan O’Leary, and Fisheries Minister Angus MacLean – sensing the palpable shift of mood in Diefenbaker’s favour – spoke with the eloquence of passion for party unity, for a united cabinet, and for loyalty to the prime minister in an election campaign. There were cries that the dissidents should change their minds and shake hands with Diefenbaker. One after another ministers rose and declared their loyalty, some of them in shame, and finally George Hees gave in to the overpowering sense of the occasion. As Wallace McCutcheon tried to leave, “he was forcibly brought back to the front by several members, said he would stay in the cabinet and shook hands with Diefenbaker.” Diefenbaker declared that he would stay if the caucus gave him unanimous approval, and asked all his supporters to stand. The room rose as a man. In this intimidating atmosphere, only Harkness and Sévigny dared to resist – and Harkness had to throw off Brooks and O’Leary as they tried to pull him to his feet. Diefenbaker, triumphant in what seemed to him unanimous endorsement and the conquest of his foes, announced that he would stay and lead the party. He leaned over to Hees, took his hand, and said, “George, we’ve got this election, and you and I are going to fight it together. I’ve got to have you beside me. I’ll change the defence policy better to suit you fellows’ views.” Hees recalled: “I was so excited I jumped up on my feet, and I was crying; there were tears in my eyes. I figured here we were at last, in with a defence policy that meant something.”

The meeting broke up in cheers and applause, as Diefenbaker and Hees launched themselves arm in arm from the room into the mob of reporters and cameramen at the door. “I still carry on,” Diefenbaker exulted. “Tell them about it, George.” Hees spilled over: “Best caucus we ever had; the show is on the road. We are going to knock hell out of the Grits.”

His decision made, Diefenbaker walked back to his parliamentary office with Donald Fleming, who told him he would not contest the election. Diefenbaker said, “I’ve been thinking about the death of Chief Justice Kerwin and thought you would be a good person to be Chief Justice … Let’s see what others think about it.” But that, like so many other incautious or mischievous words of the prime minister, proved fantasy. An innocuous meeting of cabinet followed, and at one o’clock in the afternoon Diefenbaker visited Rideau Hall, emerging to announce that the House was dissolved and an election had been called for April 8.¹⁹³