Freeland’s resignation pushes deficit news to one side on a very strange day in Canadian politics

Monday’s media lockup for the Fall Economic Statement (FES) will go down in history as one of the weirdest events in Canadian political history.

The doors to the policy briefing in Ottawa opened at 9 a.m. Chrystia Freeland resigned as finance minister seven minutes later, kicking off round after round of rumour and speculation.

Hours after the lockup was meant to start, the book containing the FES, which was supposed to be released at 10 a.m., remained shrouded under a black tablecloth.

Periodically, a voice came over the crackling in-house PA to offer updates that didn’t say much of anything at all.

“Due to incoming information, we are now determining next steps,” the disembodied voice said at one point.

Hours passed with no word on what those “next steps” might be.

Lockups are a traditional part of government policy rollouts. Journalists, experts, bureaucrats and political staff cram into a conference hall with stale coffee, pre-wrapped sandwiches and an early copy of the policy in question.

A lockup allows journalists and stakeholders to review the documents and ask questions of the bureaucrats before crafting their stories. Once the policy in question is tabled in Parliament, the lockup is lifted and journalists are free to broadcast its contents.

Journalists in Monday’s lockup — many of whom doubtless would have preferred to be on Parliament Hill chasing reaction to the political earthquake — watched various feeds of news programs on their laptops and took bets on what might happen next.

They wandered the halls of the John G. Diefenbaker Building in Ottawa wondering whether the economic statement would actually be released.

The building itself is perhaps best known as the former home of the Commission of Inquiry into the Sponsorship Program and Advertising Activities (the so-called “sponsorship scandal”) headed by Justice John Gomery.

That inquiry led, at least in part, to the fall of Paul Martin’s government.

Instead of digging into budget speeches and annexes and spending charts, shellshocked reporters stuck in the Diefenbaker Building were left to parse the bombshell statement Freeland had posted to social media.

“Upon reflection, I have concluded that the only honest and viable path is for me to resign from the cabinet,” wrote the suddenly former finance minister.

The news itself was a shock. The fact that it came mere moments before the beginning of the lockup only served to amplify the sense of chaos.

And Freeland didn’t quit quietly. She took direct aim at her former boss, his policies and, in some ways, the FES itself.

Specifically, Freeland said Canada faces a grave challenge from incoming U.S. president Donald Trump’s threat to impose sweeping tariffs on all Canadian imports.

“We need to take that threat extremely seriously. That means keeping our fiscal powder dry today, so we have the reserves we may need for a coming tariff war. That means eschewing costly political gimmicks, which we can ill afford and which make Canadians doubt that we recognize the gravity of the moment,” Freeland wrote.

Eventually, staffers announced the lockup would begin at 1:45 p.m. The tablecloth shroud was lifted and journalists had a little more than two hours to study the FES.

In the end, the economic statement itself was the least interesting part of the lockup.

The political drama of the day cast a long shadow over the numbers. Even news of a $61.9-billion deficit paled in comparison with the implications of Freeland’s resignation.

Fifteen years ago, the political columnist Paul Wells wrote what he called the four rules that govern Canadian politics. The first was: “For any given situation, Canadian politics will tend toward the least exciting possible outcome.”

Wherever things go from here, the lockup for the 2024 FES will join a short list of Canadian political events that broke Wells’ first rule.