I was, in fact, confident. But while I felt calm as I entered the courtroom, I had not prepared myself for that moment (I was prepared for a hundred other moments, but not that one!). As I heard the first count being read, a surge of emotion surfaced, but I had to push through and focus on the task at hand. Other than when Premier Kathleen Wynne took the stand, and when the judge delivered his final verdict forty-seven days from the start of the trial, this was the most intense moment of the experience for me. My breathing became a bit erratic and tears threatened. It became much bigger than having to answer what seemed like a simple question: “How do you plead?”
It was in that moment that I alone had to answer. Reality crashed down, and I had no choice but to discard my disbelief at actually standing before a judge.
I spared a thought for my long-time therapist, the late Dr. Ralph Bierman, who taught me how to manage my anxiety. I reached deep and slowed my breathing. It felt a little like what people describe as your life flashing before your eyes in the moment of a sudden death. In this case, it was my political life flashing before my eyes. I had survived every major challenge I’d encountered, because I had learned to believe in myself, and to trust my gut and what I knew to be true.
I thought of all the people who believed in me. In the room was my good friend Kathy Robinson and my strong legal team. Family and friends who were angry and frustrated on my behalf had gone out of their way to be sure I knew how much faith they had in me, and in my integrity. And there was my Liberal family, most of whom had supported me from the first moment the so-called “Sudbury scandal” took root.
It did not take long to reach the place I needed to go. I had been there before. I refused to allow the doubt of others, the nastiness, the mean-spirited intent to do damage, to overtake what I knew in my gut. I was innocent, and I would be proven innocent.
In a clear, confident voice—but with my heart pounding in my chest—I responded “Not guilty” to both counts. Erin later said the tone was perfect, genuine. People often seem shocked when someone sounds genuine. The simple reality is that it’s easy to be that authentic when you believe what you are saying, when you’re telling the truth. The trick is to figure out where that conviction lives. Mine came from a place inside of me that existed only because of years and years of fighting the battles as they came along—and learning the lessons that came with those battles—and never giving into those who wanted me or my cause to fail. It’s the place that my hero Nellie McClung was referring to when she said, “Never retract, never explain, never apologize—get the thing done and let them howl!” I was a warrior and I would win this battle no matter who was howling, and regardless of the fact that this was the most public fight of my career.
The Sudbury saga was major for me of course, but truth be told, had I returned to work as if it had not happened, it probably would have faded into another chapter in my compendium of career lessons. What happened after the charges were dismissed, though—when I tried to return to my place in the Ontario Liberal Party—was a whole different story. That experience motivated me to document what it’s like for a person who has dedicated much of their life to partisan politics. After all, what else was I going to do when I found myself sitting on the sidelines as my party self-destructed in the 2018 campaign in Ontario, when Kathleen Wynne joined the ranks of strong women who failed to be re-elected?
My intention in writing this book is not to name names (though that will happen in the course of my storytelling) but to draw from my experience to share the best lessons I learned in the backroom—the ones that sustained me in both the brightest and darkest hours of my career. It’s my hope that this book will become required reading of sorts for anyone considering a career in politics or as political staff in government, so they come to understand the highs and lows that await them.
But the lessons aren’t just for the politically inclined. What I’ve learned crosses industries and positions and is especially relevant for any woman who envisions herself at the helm of something big—even if she intends to direct the show from behind the curtain. In fact, maybe this book should actually be called How to Let ’Em Howl. Because if I can teach the next generation of political staffers, especially women, anything, it should be that.
Chapter 1 Bloom Where You’re Planted
“The formula for success is simple: do your best and someone might like it.”
– Marva Collins
There are many routes into politics. Some people come for a single purpose, like supporting someone they believe in, or pursuing a specific issue they feel strongly about. Some look to bring about a change in government, or decide to run for election. For some it starts as an internship or a job. But a much smaller group have been “called” to serve a partisan cause. They love the political world and are at home in it. I fall into the latter category.
Regardless of how you get involved, or how long you stay, there is no world like it. It is certainly not for everyone. Just like you can’t be an emergency room doctor if you faint at the sight of blood, you won’t survive politics if you cannot deal with the behind-the-scenes reality of how partisan politics works. Chaos is the norm, but it is a manageable chaos if the hierarchy, structure and discipline are in place to handle things as they come at you. It’s critical that people are in place to triage the “incoming” and determine priorities.
It takes a strong operation, a team of people who understand the overall imperative of the organization, and clear, concise direction from the Centre. (In government, “the Centre” is either the Premier’s Office or Prime Minister’s Office, or if you’re in opposition, the Leader’s Office. Within political parties, it means the leadership group at the central party or the central campaign.)
But the bottom line is if you can find a way to endure the ups and downs of winning versus losing (because there are almost certainly more downs than ups), it is an exciting, enriching and extraordinarily fascinating world, conducted mostly in backrooms. But that endurance will require you to give your all, no matter how big or small the task. It’s not about the glory, it’s about your contribution.
Lesson: You may not like the assignment, or you may have envisioned a different role for yourself, but by giving the task your best, you will always win, regardless of the outcome.
I became a Liberal early in life. In 1968, I was in grade six at Sacred Heart School in Guelph, Ontario. The school was in the heart of “the Ward”—ward one, and the part of town where many Italians first came to live when they immigrated to Canada. The immigrant wave from Italy settled in many towns across southern Ontario, including Guelph. My grandfather and grandmother came in 1912 and 1913, respectively. They met, married, and their eight children were raised in this neighbourhood. I never knew my grandfather, Sam Sorbara, as he died unexpectedly and in grim circumstances when his youngest child was only a few months old.
My grandmother persisted, in a very challenging situation. She is the first female role model I remember, and in today’s terms she would have been rightly bestowed the title “badass.” I’m not sure she’d approve of the independent woman I became—divorced, no children, career-oriented, family more distant than she would have ever allowed. Regardless, I saw in her a strong woman in control of her world. She raised her fatherless kids in the best way she could, with no money and at a time the world was struggling through a global war.
Concetta Sorbara, my nonna (or Nonie, as my family called her), was a strong, disciplined matriarch who taught her children and grandchildren that family came first. In those days, priests, parents and teachers held great sway and kids were never right. You did what you were told, and you certainly did not talk back to authority. And women were meant to obey their husbands.
She went to mass daily and her faith (and all the other grandmothers dressed in black) got her through. When I would show up on a weekday morning and sit with her in church, she would proudly boast to her friends that I would become a nun. When I got a bit older, I told her boldly my choice was to be a