The thought was a reminder that in a mere ten days he, James Howden, would stand here in the House and announce the Act of Union and its terms. Then would be a time for greatness and great issues, with petty concerns – stowaways, immigration, and their like – forgotten or ignored. He had a sense of frustration and annoyance that the present debate was at this moment considered significantly when, in fact, it was laughably trivial compared with the issues he would soon reveal.
And now, after a speech of almost an hour, Bonar Deitz was ending.
'Mr Speaker, it is not too late,' the Opposition Leader declared. 'It is not too late for the Government, in charity and magnanimity, to allow this young man Henri Duval the Canadian domicile he seeks. It is not too late for the individual himself to escape the tragic prison to which an accident of birth has grimly sentenced him. It is not too late for Duval -with our help and in our midst – to become a useful, happy member of society. I plead with the Government for compassion. I urge them that we should not plead in vain.'
After announcing the wording of the formal motion '… that this House regrets the refusal of the Government to accept and discharge its proper responsibility in the matter of Immigration…' Bonar Deitz sat down to a thunder of desk tops on the Opposition side.
Immediately, Harvey Warrender was on his feet.
'Mr Speaker,' the Immigration Minister began, in his bass, booming voice, 'as usual the Leader of the Opposition has managed to flavour fact with fantasy, cloud a simple issue with excessive sentimentality, and has succeeded in making a normal lawful procedure of the Department of Immigration appear like a sadistic conspiracy against all mankind.'
At once there were angry cries of protest and 'Withdraw!' countered by cheers and desk thumping.
Ignoring the outcry, Harvey Warrender continued heatedly, 'If this Government had been guilty of a breach of law we would deserve the contumely of the House. Or if the Department of Citizenship and Immigration had failed in its proper legal duty, ignoring the statutes enacted by Parliament, I would bow my head and accept its condemnation. But since we have done neither, I tell you I will accept neither.'
James Howden found himself wishing that Harvey War-render would moderate his aggressive tone. There were occasions in the House of Commons which called for a boisterous, free-swinging kind of tactic, but today was not one. Here and now quiet reasonableness would be more effective. Besides, the Prime Minister was uncomfortably aware of an undercurrent of hysteria in Warrender's voice. It persisted as he continued, 'What is this charge of infamy and heartlessness which the Opposition Leader lays before you? It is simply that the Government has not broken the law; that its Department of Citizenship and Immigration has honoured its obligations exactly according to the Immigration Act of Canada, with undeviating fairness.'
Well, there was nothing wrong with that; in fact it was something which needed to be said. If only Harvey, personally, could be less intense…
'The Leader of the Opposition has spoken of the man Henri Duval. Let us ignore for the moment the question of whether this country should take on a burden which no one else wants, whether we should open our doors to the human garbage of the seas…'
From across the House a roar of protest eclipsed in volume all the earlier skirmishes of the day. Harvey Warrender had gone too far, Howden knew. Even on the Government side there were shocked faces, with only a few members responding half-heartedly to the opposition clamour.
Bonar Deitz was on his feet. 'Mr Speaker, on a question of privilege, I object…' Behind him were other heated, protesting cries.
Amid the growing din Harvey Warrender ploughed determinedly on. 'I say let us ignore the phony sentimentalities and consider the law alone. The law has been served…' His words were drowned out in a rising tide of angry shouts.
One voice persisted above the rest. 'Mr Speaker, will the Minister of Immigration define what he means by human garbage?' Uneasily, James Howden recognized the question's source. It had come from Arnold Geaney, a back-bench Opposition member who represented one of the poorer districts of Montreal.
There were two notable things about Arnold Geaney. He was a cripple, only five feet tall, with a partially paralysed and twisted body, and a face so uniquely ugly and misproportioned as to suggest that nature had conspired against him to produce a human freak. And yet, despite his incredible handicap, he had carved a notable career as a parliamentarian and champion of down-trodden causes. Personally, Howden had an intense dislike for the man, believing him to be an exhibitionist who traded shamelessly upon his physical deformity. At the same time, well aware that popular sympathy was all too ready to be on the side of a cripple, the Prime Minister was invariably wary of tangling with Arnold Geaney in debate.
Now Geaney demanded again, 'Will the Minister define the words "human garbage"?'
The muscles of Harvey Warrender's face were twitching once more. James Howden envisaged the answer which, in un-considered haste, the Immigration Minister might make: 'No one is in a better position than the honourable member to know exactly what I mean.' At all costs, Howden decided, that kind of rejoinder must be prevented.
Rising, the Prime Minister declared above the shouts and counter-shouts, 'The honourable member of Montreal East is placing an emphasis upon certain words which I am perfectly sure my colleague did not intend.'
'Then let him say so!' Geaney, raising himself awkwardly on crutches, hurled the words across the centre aisle. Around him there were supporting shouts and cries, 'Withdraw! Withdraw!' In the galleries people were craning forward.
'Order! Order!' It was the Speaker, his voice barely heard above the din.
'I withdraw nothing!' Harvey Warrender was shouting wildly, his face flushed hotly, his bull neck bulging. 'Nothing, do you hear!'
Again the clamour. Again the Speaker's cries for order. This was a rare parliamentary occasion, Howden realized. Only some deep-rooted division or a question of human rights could arouse the House in the way that had happened today.
'I demand that the minister be made to answer.' It was still the persistent, penetrating voice of Arnold Geaney.
'Order! The question before the House…' At last the Speaker was succeeding in making himself heard. On the Government side the Prime Minister and Harvey Warrender resumed their seats in deference to the chair. Now from all quarters the shouts were dying. Only Arnold Geaney, swaying on his crutches, continued to defy the Speaker's authority.
'Mr Speaker, the Minister of Immigration has spoken to this House of human garbage. I demand…'
'Order! I would ask the member to resume his seat.'
'On a question of privilege…'
'If the member will not resume his seat, I shall be obliged to name him.'
It was almost as. if Geaney were courting censure. Standing orders, the rules of the House, were definite that when the Speaker stood, all others must give way. In this case there had been reinforcement by a specific order. If Geaney continued in defiance, some form of disciplining would become essential.
'I will give the honourable member one more opportunity,' the Speaker warned sternly, 'before I name him.'
Arnold Geaney said defiantly, 'Mr Speaker, I am standing for a human being three thousand miles from here, contemptuously referred to by this Government as "garbage"…'
The pattern, James Howden suddenly perceived, was perfectly simple. Geaney the cripple was seeking to share the martyrdom of Duval the stowaway. It was an adroit, if cynical, political manoeuvre which Howden must prevent.