all would have been simpler if a vote for us had meant a vote for independence,” he regretted.
It was Claude Morin who proposed gradualism in 1972: win the election and then hold a referendum on Quebec sovereignty. “After all,” he claimed, “the time is ripe for negotiation and consensus. The international community will never recognize our political status if we only scrape by to win.”
René Lévesque also believed it necessary to consult the people before changing the country’s constitution. At the November 1974 convention of the Parti Québécois, the referendum passed two to one. From then on, they aimed for the majority of the National Assembly. But members were divided. Lévesque had to exert influence so that the resolution could pass, which displeased some, certain of whom even tore up their membership cards.
“It was the first crisis that had the potential to completely ruin us,” Lévesque confessed.
After the Parti Québécois was elected on November 15, 1976, René Lévesque returned to the very essence of the Sovereignty-Association Movement that he had founded nine years earlier. “Today,” he said, “I value this union more than ever!” It was a point of honour he set for himself. A sovereign Quebec must establish an economic partnership with Canada. On the strength of this faith, he curtailed the radical wing of the Parti Québécois that wanted to declare immediate independence. Lévesque was wary of idealists who didn’t accept the ground rules of democracy.
“They’re nitpicking troublemakers!” he said. “With left-wingers like these we’ll rot from within.”
From early 1977 on, the leader of the PQ needed to contain the aftershock. Lévesque had a heavy load to carry. One false move could endanger the entire party.
Any discussion among the party members – the Péquistes – inevitably resulted in a debate about the party’s options. Should they hold the referendum in the first year of the mandate? No. The leader’s response was unequivocal. Lévesque had other projects near to his heart, including passing a law on political party financing.
“There will be no more secret funds. Enough of giving money to friends of the party. I want the first law my government passes to give voters confidence.”
Certain people advised him that he was taking a risk by putting the referendum on hold. Lévesque remained firm:
“As Claude Morin says, you can’t force a flower to grow. Everything in good time.”
“If we lose, we can expect criticism.”
“And if we win,” he added confidently, “people will say we had intuition.”
It was difficult to choose ministers among the seventy-one PQ members elected November 15. Lévesque would make some jealous and he warned those most in a hurry: his nominations were not cast in stone. In the Eastern Townships, where he had gone to escape for a few days, he said he would begin the never-ending task that was choosing a cabinet.
First, a list of the most likely names: Jacques Parizeau for Finance. What about Jacques-Yvan Morin for Culture? He tore up the piece of paper and began again. Then he remembered Robert Bourassa’s advice. While playing at designating future PQ ministers, the Liberal leader had noted, “Monsieur Lévesque, you would be better off having so-and-so in your cabinet rather than outside it.” He was right. The PQ leader worked on tirelessly, then went back to square one, determined this time to get it right.
During his sixteen years in politics, René Lévesque had known ups and downs. In September, for example, he had considered throwing in the towel. But Claude Charron’s interview in Le Devoir had galvanized him. Being called a “little old man” and “dead wood” at age fifty-four was hard to swallow! Should he resign, make way for new blood? No! Retiring was out of the question. The Parti Québécois had to remain true to the commitments it had made at the last convention. Swinging too radically to the left was out of the question. The “little old man” was resilient. He ordered the discontented: “Leave! Go found your own party!” Everything could have fallen apart at that point. But luck had it that Robert Bourassa, banking on the excitement of the Olympics, prematurely called the election for November 15.
His list completed, Lévesque met with each new minister. Jacques Parizeau was awarded the “triple crown”: Minister of Finance, President of the Treasury Board, and Minister of Revenue. He thus held the most important position in the PQ cabinet. Jean Garon, named Minister of Agriculture, at first considered refusing. He was informed he would end up regretting it: Lévesque never forgot an insult and especially disliked being opposed. The PQ leader was soon to offer Claude Charron, who had openly opposed his leadership at the Handfield Inn, the Department of Youth and Sport – with the problem of the Olympic deficit as a bonus! This was a hot potato in the hands of the young rebel who had opposed the leader. And Lévesque named Lise Payette, who had hoped for Culture, as Minister of the Department of Consumer Affairs, Cooperatives, and Financial Institutions. Not very original, the only woman appointed to caucus told herself. A woman in the Liberal government had held the same position just before her!
“I didn’t recruit people from the world of finance,” René Lévesque proudly pointed out, emphasizing the contrast with economist Robert Bourassa’s former Liberal government.
Complex J building of the Grande-Allée in Quebec City was aptly called “the bunker.” The elevator went right up to the cabinet room. Windowless, its walls covered in carpet, this softly lit strongroom looked like a flying saucer. Smack in the middle, an impressive horseshoe-shaped table dominated the entire room. “It looks like Dr. Strangelove’s war room,” remarked Lise Payette. “It feels as if we’re isolated in a space capsule,” added Lévesque. Before the opening of the first PQ Parliament, set for December 14, the meetings were like family get-togethers. People were becoming acquainted, sizing each other up. One, rather casual, removed his socks under the table; another grumbled constantly, contradicting everyone. All were on guard: they could not allow a colleague to eat into the slightest piece of their territory. It was a male chauvinist environment characterized by starchy ritual. On each side of the premier, in alphabetical order, alternating, the ministers sat properly in the seat designated by a card. The school of British parliamentarism was strict and disciplined. This first PQ cabinet was learning the ropes, and the students were well behaved. The most unruly waited until later before making themselves heard. René Lévesque had a moderating effect on the zealots: the people had voted against the Liberals, not for the PQ. Linguistic battles, the Olympic deficit, and the wear and tear of power had gotten the better of the Bourassa government. “We will try to learn from the errors of our predecessors.” René Lévesque was especially fond of one project among several and kept returning to it: “We will give Quebecers a code of ethics in voting practices.” Enough favouritism and insidious patronage. Any gift over twenty-five dollars had to be returned. Holding interest in companies doing business with the State was out of the question. People who had shares in the stock market had sixty days to dispose of them. Looking hard at each cabinet minister, Lévesque concluded:
“And if I ever catch one of you bribing anybody, I’ll blow the whistle on you
