Mark Carney was in Edmonton to campaign for Amarjeet Sohi today. At the campaign office, I stood at the gate of the crowded hall where Mark Carney had just spoken, the blaring loudspeakers drowning out any chance to ask the question unsettling my mind. His mention of his teacher parents had struck a chord—my mom, a teacher too, always urged me to ask questions. But in a room packed with cheerleaders, how could a small-time journalist like me, still finding her footing in Canada, reach him?
Tomorrow, he’ll likely be declared prime minister. Like his Edmonton teammates who offered me false assurances, dodging questions from ordinary people might become his daily strategy. My question was simple: with divisiveness growing in the country, how did he plan to foster the unity he’s been championing? I thought he’d welcome it. Yet, his team blocked me from even getting close.
I lingered at the door, pleading with party-appointed bouncers who barred us from leaving. I explained my media background, but they only cared about accredited journalists traveling with him, and replicating his speech as is. Local media like me were left to cheer his speech without a chance for scrutiny. The wait at the gate grew unbearable. I begged a Liberal volunteer to let me go—my six-year-old was waiting—but she didn’t budge. After repeated pleas, an RCMP officer took pity and allowed us to escape the overcrowded room, where loud music seemed designed to silence our voices.
This wasn’t Carney’s victory speech. I thought he wanted to hear from Edmontonians—their troubles, their pain. As he left, I saw a mother fanning her claustrophobic child, trapped in the chaos. I hope people will see politicians as people appointed by them, not celebrities, and ask for accountability instead of cheering blindly.
Outside, I spotted Amarjeet Sohi posing for photos. I seized the moment and asked him the question meant for Carney: “People in your constituency are concerned about growing divisiveness. How do you plan to tackle it?” He brushed me off, saying, “I cannot talk to you right now,” as he continued shaking hands with kids and obliging people with photo ops.
I left the event smiling at the innocence of his supporters, totally disillusioned by the barriers to honest dialogue. Good luck tomorrow, Mr. Carney. I hope you’ll make time for the questions that matter.
