Canada What Comes After Armageddon?

By JAMES L. GRAFFE OTTAWA

For months June 23 had loomed as the date of Canada's constitutional Armageddon. If the ten provinces failed by that time to ratify the delicate agreement known as the Meech Lake accord, years of effort at balancing the aspirations of French- and English-speaking Canadians would automatically fall apart -- and so, in the most pessimistic prognosis, might the country.

Last week the deadline came and went without the desperately sought unanimity. Instead there was constitutional confusion and, finally, admission that the controversial agreement was dead. Canada faced the divisive possibility that Quebec would reject any further attempt to negotiate with the other provinces on the issues that had riven the country and consumed so much of its energy. "In the name of all Quebeckers, I want to announce my profound disappointment," said a drawn Premier Robert Bourassa. "English Canada must clearly understand that Quebec is today and forever a distinct society, capable of ensuring its own development and its destiny."

The outcome was unmitigated disaster for Prime Minister Brian Mulroney. He had stressed time and again that the Meech Lake effort would fail unless two balking provinces voted to ratify the accord. At the center of Mulroney's concern was the agreement's recognition that Quebec could preserve and promote a unique status as a "distinct society" within Canada, based on the fact that the province is the only one with a French-speaking majority. Many other Canadians, including former Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, charged that the accord might fatally weaken the country.

Two weeks ago, Mulroney thought he had secured an agreement on the pact after a 70-hour marathon of closed-door bargaining with provincial premiers in Ottawa. Last week he saw that deal fall apart when the legislatures of Manitoba and Newfoundland adjourned without taking ratification votes. "Today is not the day to launch new constitutional initiatives," a somber Mulroney said afterward. "It is a time to heal wounds and reach out to fellow Canadians."

There was rejoicing, however, among Canadians who objected to the accord's content. The Manitoba standoff was a victory for the legislature's only native member, Elijah Harper, 41, a Cree Indian. Harper had managed to stall debate on the Meech Lake question for almost two weeks. He wanted the accord to fail, on the ground that it did not recognize the unique status of Canada's 700,000 aboriginal people. Thousands of his supporters gathered before the legislature in solidarity, pounding drums and holding prayer vigils.

"Our fight is not with Quebec," said Harper, who throughout his stonewalling clutched an eagle feather as a sign of divine guidance. The province's aims "are the same goals we as aboriginal people are seeking to achieve." Ottawa's attempts to mollify Harper with promises of an active role in future constitutional reform were rejected by native leaders. Said Manitoba's Ovide Mercredi: "We aren't interested in horse-trading."

The federal government made a last-ditch attempt to save the deal. Mulroney's chief constitutional negotiator, Senator Lowell Murray, announced that the government would ask the Supreme Court to extend the June 23 deadline, thus giving Manitoba time to complete its ratification. The maneuver had the opposite result. The premier of the other dissenting province, Newfoundland's Clyde Wells, complaining bitterly of the "fabricated precipice" of the June 23 deadline, then called off his own legislature's vote. Murray announced an hour later that the accord had expired.

What next? The entire point of the Meech Lake accord was to bring Quebec into the reformed 1982 constitution the province had refused to sign. Another goal was to short-circuit Quebec's up-and-down aspirations to break away from confederation in favor of separate nationhood. To those ends, Mulroney and Bourassa had supported the "distinct society" clause as the means to preserve Quebec's French language and culture, a deep concern among the province's 6.5 million residents. Seven other provincial premiers agreed, with varying degrees of reluctance.

As that hard-won agreement died last week, the country sank into a fit of finger pointing. Ottawa blamed Newfoundland's Wells for the debacle. But Mulroney himself was a major target. Said Jean Chretien, favored to become & leader of the opposition Liberal Party: "Prime Minister, Canadians will never ever forgive you."

In Quebec, Jacques Parizeau, leader of the separatist Parti Quebecois, struck a pose shoulder to shoulder with his rival Bourassa. "Canada is saying no to Quebeckers," he declared. "I say to my premier, let's try to find a way together to the future of Quebec."

The damage looked to be lasting. Even before the accord collapsed, polls showed that 63% of French-speaking Quebeckers supported some form or other of separation from the rest of Canada. The stage was set for a demonstration of that unhappy feeling as the province prepared for its "national" holiday, St. Jean Baptiste Day, on June 24. It augured to be one of the most fervent expressions of nationalist sentiment that Quebec had seen for decades. Such passions may not fade easily. Last week it was difficult to see through the shattered accord how Canada might put the pieces back together again.