Like the survivors of the Linda May, descendants of the ‘Lucky Seven’ will keep their story alive.

By Sheila Copps
First published in The Hill Times on July 29, 2024.

OTTAWA—The homecoming of the ‘Lucky Seven’ was something to behold.

A crowd gathered in New-Wes-Valley, N.L., to celebrate the impossible: their men had survived.

After three days lost at sea, hope was beginning to run out while a massive ocean search continued.

But the seven fishers of the Elite Navigator were sighted, and the message came back. “They are alive.”

Every fisher’s family dreads the possibility of them being lost at sea. Many don’t get the good news that the families of the ‘Lucky Seven’ received last week.

Stories of shipwrecks capture our collective imagination, but little is often recounted of those who survive.

My husband tells one such story.

He was a sickly babe in arms in 1948—barely a month old—when his father Philip Thorne and 13 others went out to the ice for sealing season.

They call it “out to the ice” because the North Atlantic is so frozen at that time of year that sealing boats wend their way through narrow open passages in search of the elusive herd of pups born on the front from St. Anthony to St. John’s.

Seals less than two weeks old are all white, and therefore most valuable.

After two weeks, the pups moult and become grey-spotted bedlamers, which are hunted on the Grand Banks off Newfoundland’s south coast.

Philip and the crew of the Linda May had already secured half a load of pups, and were on the Grand Banks hunting bedlamers when disaster struck.

Because sealing boats were surrounded by ice, the wooden-walled schooners were ill-suited for winter work. These wooden boats were primarily used to fish, but in March they were repurposed for sealing to feed families that lived on little else than what was caught in the ocean.

The schooner’s wooden walls could be crushed by shifting ice, so someone always stood watch when the vessel was navigating between two ice floes.

Philip was on watch that fateful night when the Linda May was literally cut in half by the forces of moving ice. The crew was aroused and had minutes to gather up food, water, and gear.

They escaped with just enough to fill a wooden dory with kerosene oil, charts, canvas for protection, wood, food and water. Lighting fire to the sinking ship, they hoped the smoke would be seen.

They then struck out toward Nova Scotia and the lighthouse at St. Paul’s Island, which they figured, by dead reckoning, would be the closest point of land.

By their charts and navigational knowledge, they figured it was a 100 mile walk. The march was slow because they were up and down rafted ice.

They dragged the dory by day and huddled under canvas at night while Atlantic winds howled around them. After more than a week, the dory’s wooden bottom gave out. They set it on fire in the hopes of a rescue signal.

No such luck.

Philip’s wife, Stella, and the other waiting wives were all told the men were lost at sea. Like the ‘Lucky Seven’ families, they hoped against hope, but the search was called off when authorities thought survival was impossible.

The men kept walking until the captain, the oldest of the lot, lost his mobility. He was carried on the backs of the others. After almost two weeks, they saw a light in the night sky.

Sure enough, their dead reckoning was right. They were in sight of the St. Paul’s Island lighthouse.

They finally arrived 100 metres from shore only to face the rush of freezing open water blocking passage. The youngest and strongest tied a rope around his waist and swam to shore, using the lead to ferry the others to safety.

When they finally landed on the rocks—hypothermic and desperate—they faced a 100-foot cliff, which could not be scaled. Exhausted, they literally laid down to die.

But the lighthouse keeper happened to see them and quickly organized a rescue party of his family. They lowered ropes over the cliff to pull the men up one by one.

The keeper sent a Morse code message to Halifax, ‘We got the crew of the Linda May. They are all alive.’

Imagine the joy of those families who had literally been told their men were lost at sea.

My husband’s mother had never given up hope.

The story of the Linda May is legendary in Dingwall Harbour and the communities nearby the lighthouse.

Like the survivors of the Linda May, descendants of the ‘Lucky Seven’ will keep their story alive.

Sheila Copps is a former Jean Chrétien-era cabinet minister and a former deputy prime minister. Follow her on Twitter at @Sheila_Copps.

By Sheila Copps
First published in The Hill Times on November 6, 2023.

OTTAWA—The takedown of Buffy Sainte-Marie is painful to witness. The CBC claims its evidence is airtight, but there appears to be a number of holes in the exposé about Sainte-Marie not being Indigenous.

According to the CBC, the singer-songwriter’s claim to Indigenous roots has been contradicted by her birth certificate and even some members of her own family.

The birth certificate upon which the CBC based its story says that Sainte-Marie was born to parents Albert and Winifred Santamaria. Sainte-Marie says that she was adopted by Albert and Winifred, who changed their names to Sainte-Marie after the war because of racism against Italians.

The CBC story claimed “many instances over the years of contradictory statements from the singer regarding that personal history.”

The story recounted how many awards and recognitions that had come to Sainte-Marie in part because of her unique status as an Indigenous artist in a white world.

Sainte-Marie was named Billboard’s Music Award for Top Artist in 1964 just after she was described by The New York Times as “one of the most promising new talents on the folk scene today.”

But it also laid out the multiple times that Saint-Marie had self-ascribed different Indigenous origins, claiming that she has been Algonquin, Mi’kmaq, and Cree at different times to different news outlets.

Former Globe and Mail reporter Jan Wong had this to say on X about the claim that Sainte-Marie was not adopted because of her birth certificate. “Hey @CBCNews your Buffy Pretendian story rings false. I did quick search of adoptee births in Mass: ‘An amended birth certificate, created after an adoption is finished, lists the name of the adoptive parents just as if the child had been born to them originally.’ ”

There were certainly a number of inconsistencies in the way that Sainte-Marie recounted her life story at various moments in her career.

But it is undeniable that she fought for Indigenous rights at a time when no one was really listening very hard.

Some have claimed she appropriated this identity to further her career.

But given that she burst onto the folk scene in the 1960s, it is pretty hard to see how her Indigenous heritage claim would have been developed simply to support her rise in the music world.

In the 1960s, being Indigenous was no ticket to success. Instead, negative stereotypes prompted many Indigenous Peoples to hide their identity.

Sainte-Marie was consistent in her fight for Indigenous Peoples, and her claim to attachment to her people.

She wasn’t the first to be accused of Indigenous appropriation, and she won’t be the last.

Last week, Newfoundland Premier Andrew Furey visited Labrador to deliver a series of apologies to residential school survivors. Over a few days, the premier visited five Inuit communities to deliver solemn apologies.

That visit happened a month after Furey made a similar apology to the NunatuKavut Community Council.

The premier’s first apology was attacked by members of the Innu nation and the government of Nunatsiavut, claiming the NunatuKavut community has no legitimate Inuit identity.

That difference of opinion was virally reflected in the House of Commons two years ago when the Inuit Member of Parliament attacked her colleague in Labrador for falsely claiming her Inuit heritage.

Then-NDP MP Mumilaaq Qaqqaq was forced to apologize for a Twitter post in which she demanded that Liberal MP Yvonne Jones “validate her Inuk-ness.”

Jones characterized the attack as “lateral racism,” and told the media that “I don’t think I have to prove my identity … I know who I am. I know who my grandmother and my great-grandmother was … I can trace my Inuit history in Labrador back to the early 1800’s.”

But the very public fight was a reflection of the challenges that come with clarifying Indigenous lineage.

The CBC obviously thought it was doing a deep dive into the real story behind Buffy Sainte-Marie.

But the backlash caused by the story, and the questions around adoption practices more than 80 years ago have not been fully answered.

It is a disservice to Sainte-Marie’s lifelong Indigenous commitment to believe that a colonial birth certificate holds all the answers to her birth history.

The story was explosive. But with too many holes in the content, it should have been left untold.

Sheila Copps is a former Jean Chrétien-era cabinet minister and a former deputy prime minister. Follow her on Twitter at @Sheila_Copps.

Artists who are out on the streets once again because of COVID lockdowns are lobbying furiously for a return to a full Canadian Emergency Response Benefit for their sector.

By Sheila Copps
First published in The Hill Times on January 6, 2022.

OTTAWA—Musical blockbuster Come From Away has already been seen by a million Canadians.

But if you missed the Canadian performance in Toronto, you won’t be able to see it in this country again.

The story of how the people of Newfoundland opened their hearts to passengers stranded by the downing of the World Trade Centre is reverberating around the world.

It is the most successful Canadian musical ever produced and has prompted a domestic theatre renaissance that has already spawned more live theatre offerings for the globe.

The numbers published by David Mirvish when he announced the shuttering over the Christmas week were indeed impressive.

The press release cited box office sales of $115-million, including over $15-million in HST.

Mirvish estimated the economic impact on the Toronto economy at $920-million.

Mirvish pointed a finger directly at government, “in other parts of the world, the government has stepped up to support the commercial theatre sector by offering a financial safety net for the sector to reopen and play during the pandemic, thus protecting the tens of thousands of good jobs the sector creates. That is the case in the U.S., the U.K., and Australia—where productions of Come From Away continue.”

But in Canada there is no such government support.

Mirvish’s holiday announcement provoked shock waves in Canada’s artistic community.

New Heritage Minister Pablo Rodriguez has been working feverishly to find a solution to the dilemma.

And artists who are out on the streets once again because of COVID lockdowns are lobbying furiously for a return to a full Canadian Emergency Response Benefit for their sector.

With all the theatres shuttered, it is impossible for the thousands of people who depend on live performance for their livelihoods to even feed their families.

Canada Council for the Arts CEO Simon Brault has emerged as a champion for those artists.

He has been working with unions representing the arts community trying to figure out the best solutions for support in these trying times.

But the question begs. If the city of Toronto garners almost a billion dollars in economic benefits from live performances, why are the arts treated like an afterthought in Canada’s COVID business support model?

For some reason, if you are manufacturing autos or pumping oil, your jobs are worth the full attention of governments.

If you are artists, bringing joy, perspective and global reach to the Canadian story, you are left picking up the scraps.

And it was always thus.

For some bizarre reason, commercial success in cultural industries has generally disqualified creators from government support.

There are government incentives and subsidies for book publishers, media content creators and community not-for-profit operations. But live commercial productions are generally left to their own devices as they are profit-making enterprises. However, governments help lots of industries in the name of economic development. Why exclude the cultural industries?

On the Hill, there is much discussion about how to turn this around. Not much is happening at Queens’s Park either even though the provincial capital is by far the largest beneficiary of commercial entertainment investment.

Some are discussing possible tax credits, which kickstarted a robust growth in Canadian film opportunities back in the nineties.

The tax credit introduced then has been replicated around the world, and it has been one of the best models for media content creation on the globe.

That credit was introduced by the Department of Finance, in tandem with Heritage, which begs the question. Where is Toronto-based Finance Minister Chrystia Freeland in this picture?

The cut to the CERB may have made some debt hawks on Bay Street happy. But it has devastated the creative sector, who continue to lobby for direct support for unemployed artists locked out of their places of employment by pandemic fiats.

Where, too, is the Department of Industry in this quest for solutions?

Francois-Philippe Champagne’s ministerial title is minister of innovation, science and industry. Surely the world of entertainment is built on innovation.

Before Come From Away, there was no real hope of developing a domestic theatre industry equivalent to London’s west end or Broadway.

But this magical story got Canada’s foot in the door for the creation of a whole new innovative industry, live theatre that actually makes money and entertains.

The brains behind innovation in Canada need to get together and find a solution to this gaping hole in public policy. All hands need to be on deck, including the prime minister’s office.

Come From Away should not have Gone Away.

Sheila Copps is a former Jean Chrétien-era cabinet minister and a former deputy prime minister. Follow her on Twitter at @Sheila_Copps.

If the prime minister’s team thought an early election could move the Liberals into majority territory, the uncertainty in Newfoundland may give them pause.

By Sheila Copps
First published in The Hill Times on March 8, 2021.

Three elections and three majority governments sent the message that a government managing COVID-19 is rewarded by the voters.

That was the general school of thought when Newfoundland and Labrador called its COVID election. But the arrival of the variant crisis has changed all that.

The Newfoundland and Labrador government was forced to call an election by August. Based on previous results in British Columbia, New Brunswick, and Saskatchewan, it appeared as though the electorate would put their trust in the party that was actually managing the pandemic. In all three of those previous elections, the governing party was returned with a comfortable majority.

So Liberal Leader Andrew Furey, a medical specialist, probably thought he was on solid ground when his government called the election in Newfoundland and Labrador. But in the middle of the vote, a virus variant crept into Newfoundland, taking a province that was almost COVID-free by storm, as Mount Pearl and parts of St. John’s were hit hard with the new virus.

All of a sudden, the province went from a place that had been a spectator in the coronavirus battle to a province that was facing a distressing multiplication of a frightening variant. Questions started coming: how can you have an election when people cannot get to the polls because they are forced into a quarantine to protect community transmission of these new variants?

So, health and election officials tried to sketch out a roadmap for a safe election. The government responded with more opportunities for mail-in ballots, but in order to achieve that goal, they needed to change the shape and date of the election.

In mid-February, the chief electoral officer of Newfoundland and Labrador postponed the voting date for almost half of the voting districts in Newfoundland. The delays occurring on the Avalon Peninsula represented most urban voters in the capital’s periphery.

The cancellations were spurred because frightened election workers resigned out of fear of interacting with the public on election day, according to chief electoral officer Bruce Chaulk. And voters were also frightened about what they might face in a lineup going into the voting booths.

Unlike most other provinces, Newfoundland and Labrador had been largely free of the virus, so citizens were extremely concerned that the variant had hit them hard.

The whole election process has been somewhat odd, with the premier participating in regular briefings with the chief medical officer of health, in the middle of an election.

Progressive Conservative Leader Ches Crosbie complained about the conflict of the premier’s appearance during an election, but that complaint was overridden by citizens’ desire for information.

Crosbie and Furey both carry an impressive political pedigree. Crosbie’s father was John Crosbie, the inimitable Newfoundland minister who served in the cabinet of prime minister Brian Mulroney.

Furey’s father is former backroom Liberal organizer and now Senator George Furey, who is the current Speaker in the Senate of Canada. His uncle is Chuck Furey, who served as a minister in the government of premier Brian Tobin.

Polls still predict victory for Furey, but the confusion around the COVID election has definitely eaten into his popularity.

Newfoundlanders are experiencing their first full lockdown. After three weeks, they are getting crusty. They understand it is for the collective good, but they also want to know why an election is happening in the middle of a medical crisis.

Taking a page from the Newfoundland book, a parliamentary committee in Ottawa passed a unanimous resolution last week demanding that no election be called during a pandemic. The Procedure and House Affairs Committee, not usually known for controversial recommendations, unanimously sought a commitment from the government that there would be no election, except in the case of a lost confidence vote. New Democratic Party Leader Jagmeet Singh endorsed the resolution, promising that his party would not trigger an election.

The Tories have not chimed in, although they claim the Liberals have been trying to trigger an election.

For their part, the governing grits claim they don’t want an election, but will not allow their legislative agenda to be blocked in by the Tories. The Liberals have accused the Conservatives of trying to block pandemic-related aid legislation designed to assist individuals and small businesses.

Now that Newfoundland’s election has been torpedoed by the pandemic, the prevailing wisdom that governments are rewarded during an election is definitely at risk.

If the prime minister’s team thought an early election could move the Liberals into majority territory, the uncertainty in Newfoundland may give them pause. Pandemic elections may not be so fruitful after all.

Sheila Copps is a former Jean Chrétien-era cabinet minister and a former deputy prime minister. Follow her on Twitter at @Sheila_Copps.

At 88 years, John Crosbie’s influence on provincial and national politics was profound and lasting.

By Sheila Copps
First published in The Hill Times on January 20, 2020.

OTTAWA—Canada lost a great one last week in the passing of Newfoundlander John Crosbie.

At 88 years, his influence on provincial and national politics was profound and lasting.

And what most people don’t know is that, at one point, he didn’t even want to be a Canadian. Crosbie hailed from one of Newfoundland’s elite business families.

Many of them, along with the Catholic Church, were opposed to Joey Smallwood’s vision to join Canada believing it would erode their economic and political influence. The Crosbie family had a great reputation as great employers, and they were promoting the idea of a potential link with the United States.

Most Canadians were also surprised last week to learn that Crosbie was a Liberal before the souring of his relationship with Smallwood precipitated an acrid political divorce.

Most people remember Crosbie because of our famous exchange in the House of Commons, when he told me to quieten down baby, and I retorted that I was nobody’s baby.

At the time, Crosbie was also the minister responsible for the status of women, so of course, I was not going to stand for his sexism in the House of Commons.

But what most people do not realize, is that whatever happened between us on the floor of the House of Commons was only part of the story.

Even when Crosbie sang the Tequila Sheila song, and suggested he lie down and love me again, I responded publicly with a harsh critique, but, in private, I understood that our differences stemmed from a generational difference.

He was more than two decades older than me, raised at a time when sexism was not even a recognized ism. In his early days, women were raised to play a supportive role to men. No one had a more supportive partner than Jane Crosbie. At one point, Crosbie said that he actually succeeded because of his partner, Jane, whom he described as “Perfect.”

In those days, politicians could be adversaries in action, but not political enemies. We did not hate each other.

Over the years, we actually developed a unique bond. He kept me on his family Christmas card list and when I married a Newfoundlander in 1994, he went public with a comment that he finally understood my level of intelligence.

It’s show time: Crosbie had mastered the theatre of House of Commons repartee. It was a well-known, inside-the-beltway fact that he and fellow Newfoundlander Liberal George Baker, pictured, would practise their questions and answers even before entering Question Period. The Hill Times photograph by Jake Wright

Crosbie had mastered the theatre of House of Commons repartee. It was a well-known, inside-the-beltway fact that he and fellow Newfoundlander Liberal George Baker would practise their questions and answers even before entering Question Period.

Crosbie aphorisms went way beyond politics.

He was a politician who never put much stock in political correctness. He told the truth, even when it hurt. Sometimes it even hurt him.

When as fisheries minister, he announced the cod stock moratorium, it was the right thing to do but he was met with a torrent of protest by angry fishers. His response, that he didn’t take the fish out of the “goddamn” water, was truthful but not political. His critics crucified him. Some Crosbie retorts caused him big problems in the short term.

When Crosbie was running for the leadership of the Progressive Conservative Party, he responded to criticism of his lack of bilingualism by saying “I don’t speak Chinese either.” That retort killed his chances with French-speaking convention delegates, who made up more than one-quarter of the convention.

Brian Mulroney beat him out but understood his star quality and made him a prominent member of his cabinet, in multiple portfolios.

He went on to continue public service as lieutenant governor of Newfoundland and Labrador after he decided to retire from politics back in 1993.

Our personal sparring continued long after both of us quit the game, as we utilized our unique chemistry to raise money for charities. Our sexist repartee was a great draw and we joined together to raise money at charitable roasts across the country.

Last summer, I had the privilege of lunching with John and Jane in their new home in a retirement community in St. John’s. He entertained us with his personal theme song, I Did It My Way. And then we joined with neighbour Harry Steele as the three of us sang, The More We Get Together, The Happier We’ll Be.

Crosbie was in his element at the lunch, and Jane posted our song session on her Facebook account. And just to show how history repeats itself, on my way out, Crosbie politely said his goodbyes and, as usual, got in the last word. “Goodbye baby!”

Sheila Copps is a former Jean Chrétien-era cabinet minister and a former deputy prime minister. Follow her on Twitter at @Sheila_Copps.