Jason Kenney, minister of immigration, who has been accused of personally intervening on behalf of convicted felon Conrad Black. Lord Black, you may recall, came to international fame by becoming the publisher of the London Telegraph, the Chicago Sun-Times, and the Jerusalem Post¸ as well hundreds of other newspapers across North America. For his part in rescuing the Telegraph, Mr. Black was awarded a British peerage, becoming the Right Honourable Lord Black of Crossharbour. The Canadian prime minister at the time, the Right Honourable Jean Chrétien, often a target of Black’s media clout and conservative views, invoked an obscure Canadian law and demanded that Black renounce either his peerage or renounce his Canadian citizenship. Black was so outraged at this attempt to embarrass him among his fellow Lords that he renounced his Canadian citizenship, even though he and his Canadian wife continued to maintain a house in Toronto as one of their principal residences.
Several years later, embroiled in financial troubles, Black was charged and convicted in the United States of fraud and obstruction of justice, and sentenced to prison in Florida. After successful legal challenges to two of his three convictions, he served a total of three and a half years, and was released in May 2012. Since he was no longer a citizen of Canada, in anticipation of his release Black requested and received a temporary residence permit—a permit that would require renewal every year—to enter and live in Canada. As soon as he was released, he returned to Canada.
Noted immigration lawyer Guidy Mamann, in response to questions posed to him by the press, said he thought it was highly unlikely that someone of Black’s status and circumstances would have been granted a temporary residence permit without the knowledge of the minister of immigration, Jason Kenney. By saying that Kenney, the immigration minister, knew of the application, he was clearly implying that Kenney personally influenced the decision, a process typically left for bureaucrats to impartially decide, interfering in what should be a straightforward, non-politicized process. Kenney denied the allegation, and one of his aides pursued the matter, asking the Law Society of Upper Canada to censure Mamann for bringing the minister of immigration into disrepute. The Law Society of Upper Canada rejected the complaint, so more recently a group of Canadian immigration lawyers, led by Lorne Waldman, wrote a letter to the minister of immigration agreeing with Mamann’s contention that it was highly improbable that the decision to grant the residence permit to Black was made “without any input from yourself,” further asserting that they found “the attempt by you and your officials to muzzle freedom of expression to be reprehensible.”2
Kenney’s office responded, saying, “We gave [Waldman] the opportunity to review documents that contradict his and Mr. Mamann’s false accusations. Unfortunately, rather than review the evidence and pursue the truth as one would expect from a lawyer, he chose the path of shameless self-promotion and public spectacle.” Kenney maintains that, after learning about Black’s application for the permit in February, he turned the matter over to civil servants without further comment.
No doubt this story might seem like a very minor matter, but it could prove otherwise. Americans know from following presidential politics how major scandals start out in such minor events. There are a number of relevant background elements that come into play, which make the story more intriguing.
Since the time when Black was imprisoned, Jean Chrétien’s Liberal Party, under a new leader, lost the federal election (and two more since) to Stephen Harper’s Conservative Party, who have formed a government far more in step with Black’s political and economic views. Black’s largest Canadian newspaper, the National Post, is highly sympathetic to Harper’s government. Furthermore, Harper’s government has routinely been characterized as more secretive and less open with the press about its inner workings than previous governments, and this allegation plays right into that perception, something that isn’t likely to be well received by the Canadian public. Still further, Prime Minister Harper has a reputation for being the most hands-on leader this country has had in decades, reading every file, scanning every brief, and having full control of his cabinet ministers. If Kenney influenced the decision to grant a residence permit to Black, is it possible that Harper was kept in the dark, or did this decision go all the way to the top? And yet further, if this decision in Black’s favor did come from the highest levels, and someone who is a friend of the government’s and among the super-rich appears to receive preferential treatment, and those voicing concern over the truth or even the perception that this is the case are threatened with harm to their careers—in this case, disbarment—what does that say about the current government’s values?
When the next election comes, a lot could rest on the answer to the question, “Did he or didn’t he?” A lot rides on the facticity of one tiny purportedly historical incident, an incident that no one has stepped forward to testify to, an incident that is at this point only an inference based on probabilities that are themselves dependent on a set of observed behaviors. Simple or complex, history matters.
The judgment that something is in fact historical, that some report of an incident is in fact true, routinely determines whether or not someone keeps her job or is fired, whether someone gets to keep custody of his children or must relinquish that role to someone else, and in some jurisdictions whether or not someone lives or dies. Our entire system of justice is based on investigating whether or not alleged behavior actually took place. Documents, eyewitness testimony, expert opinions, and even previous rulings involving similar elements are all weighed in the minds of judges and jurors until a verdict—a fallible but highly consequential verdict—is delivered.
Even when past events occurred too long ago for us to question eyewitnesses, those events can and are routinely reconstructed in narrative form in order to provide perspective on present day realities. Let me offer an example.
My last name is Bruce. Everywhere I go, I get called “Bruce” as if that were my first name. I am used to that by now, but for years I’d wished I had a last name that was more commonly a surname, like Smith, Jones, or McDonald. And though I never asked them, I bet my children felt the same way—that is, until one summer when we went to Scotland on a family holiday. From Edinburgh we took a bus out to Stirling, and toured the museum situated at the historical site of the Battle of Bannockburn, which tells the story of the rise of Robert the Bruce as king of Scotland, and Bruce’s decisive victory over superior English numbers in June of 1314 that paved the way for centuries of Scottish independence. Just as awe-inspiring as the statue of a mounted Bruce at Bannockburn was the image of our great ancestor carved into a pillar of the main gate of Stirling Castle. Bearing the surname of that great warrior made our hearts swell with Scottish pride, and we couldn’t help but wonder if bearing the surname Bruce didn’t entail some kind of obligation to embody his virtues: his courage, his cunning, his determination. At some point during the day, my son turned to me and said, “Now I understand what it means to be a Bruce.”
Ask anyone why they feel it is important to be Italian, Kenyan, or Australian, and once they’ve told you what they treasure about their national identity, they will usually be happy to relate a culturally authorized and highly polished historical narrative, one that involves a battle, a migration, a flourishing kingdom, the rise of a great hero, or the invention of some great contribution to civilization.
For those of us who are Christian, we likely carry with us a small batch of stories that we trot out to explain why we identify with the particular branch of the church we find ourselves in. Christians from India proudly relate the tradition that the Apostle Thomas travelled to India and founded congregations there. Roman Catholics talk about the crucifixion of St. Peter in Rome. Lutherans and Anglicans share the stories of Luther and Cranmer (and maybe even Henry VIII), and Methodists recall the tireless work of the Wesleys. In cases like these, historical events aren’t simply curiosities, the answers to the Sunday Times crossword, but serve as vital, genetic components of our identities, and help explain why we are the way we are, as if they had a force that reached far into their own future. History matters.
A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of the company of one of my favorite theological discussion
