Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, the guy with the nice hair and the comfort of his dear old dad’s trust fund, still doesn’t get it when it comes to understanding the struggles of the middle class.
As prime ministers go, he’d make a good drama teacher-cum-drama queen but waiting for him to become a prime minister is like waiting for Godot.
How many times has he cried publicly, for example? There was when he talked of the death from cancer of Tragically Hip front-man Gord Downie and when he apologized for Canada’s discrimination of the LGBTQ community.
But tears are not enough.
Once summer ends, our federal political parties will be up to their arse plotting the 2019 election campaign, begging for political donations, coming up with the kind of slogans where bullshit baffles brains, and digging through social media and dusty archives looking for new dirt in which to play the old game.
Surely Canadians have grown weary by now of Trudeau the Younger who, like no prime minister before him, loves to buff-shine his own image.
In Friday’s column, I referred to pushback poor old Bev Oda got back in 2012 when she dared order a $16 orange juice at the posh Savoy Hotel in London, Eng., while doing some international grunt work for the former Conservative government of the much-maligned Stephen Harper, a true policy wonk with true economic cred.
Compared to Trudeau, Oda was skinflint, yet she was drummed out of Harper’s cabinet and into resignation by taxpayer outrage.
She must envy Trudeau’s Teflon.