to White, Sona wanted to put out a call to electors that couldn’t be traced back to the campaign. White claimed hereferred Sona to McBain because Sona would not take no from him “and . . . assumed McBain would shoot the idea down.” That, he claimed, was the extent of his knowledge about the embryonic dirty tricks of the Guelph campaign.
Oddly, White told investigators that he did not check back with McBain in the war room to ensure that Sona got the right message; nor did he tell campaign manager Ken Morgan about the incident. Even after it was known that misleading calls to electors had in fact been made in Guelph on election day, White told investigators that he never raised the matter of Sona’s allegedly shady plans with anyone.
The way the Conservative Party of Canada told it, it all came down to Michael Sona, party loyalist, indefatigable foot soldier, and devout Christian—the most unlikely person to join the crowd under the CPC’s bus.
four
UNDER THE BUS
I t’s a long way from Hackensack, New Jersey, where he was born on October 6, 1988, to the media spotlight in a Canadian political scandal, and it wasn’t supposed to end this way for Michael Sona, who went from being a legislative assistant for a Conservative MP to being the only person charged in the robocall scandal.
When the tall, gangly, young man who likes to bake his own bread decided to enter the world of federal politics, it had never been anything more than a short-term plan. He would immerse himself in government for a few years, and then use the experience to enter the private sector, either as a lobbyist or a communications specialist—a common goal of many young interns who staff the offices of Conservative cabinet ministers and MPs in Ottawa.
Sona bought his membership in the Conservative Party of Canada in 2007. Over the next few years, he earned his spurs on a variety of campaigns, including a provincial leadership race in Ontario. He also gained experience in nomination races and party-executive elections. “Pretty much since the day I joined, it[was] one campaign after another in some capacity or other,” he told me.
Then came Ottawa. In Stephen Harper’s shop, Sona’s biggest task was to master the unique way this government wanted to “communicate.” Although Sona was never a staffer in either the PMO or party headquarters (HQ), he worked for cabinet minister James Moore. He also helped cabinet ministers and MPs on numerous campaigns to carry out the Harper government’s media strategy. It came down to three words: less is more. “No comment” was often a winning strategy. The cardinal rule was not to turn one bad story into two by advancing it with a comment or reaction. Without the oxygen of fresh information, the theory went, the story would usually die.
Communications in the Harper government was not about passing along facts but often about advancing politically useful narratives while withholding real information. The government tried that tactic during the Afghanistan and F-35 Lightning II fighter jet debates, and would try it again during the robocalls and Senate scandals. On one occasion, Harper even earned a citation for contempt of Parliament for withholding details of proposed bills and cost estimates from Parliament. 1 Public apathy was the government’s greatest ally in this dubious policy, and it didn’t take Michael Sona long to figure that out. “In my experience, most voters are apathetic to the goings-on in Ottawa unless it involves one of two things: their wallets or their rights,” said Sona. “Mess with either of those things, and the voters will care and the story will not die.”
The second pillar of the Harper communications strategy was refraining from committing to anything, an approach that allowed the government to mould its message on the fly as new facts emerged. Sona noted that this method was often employed in Question Period, where opposition queries are virtually never
Oddly, White told investigators that he did not check back with McBain in the war room to ensure that Sona got the right message; nor did he tell campaign manager Ken Morgan about the incident. Even after it was known that misleading calls to electors had in fact been made in Guelph on election day, White told investigators that he never raised the matter of Sona’s allegedly shady plans with anyone.
The way the Conservative Party of Canada told it, it all came down to Michael Sona, party loyalist, indefatigable foot soldier, and devout Christian—the most unlikely person to join the crowd under the CPC’s bus.
four
UNDER THE BUS
I t’s a long way from Hackensack, New Jersey, where he was born on October 6, 1988, to the media spotlight in a Canadian political scandal, and it wasn’t supposed to end this way for Michael Sona, who went from being a legislative assistant for a Conservative MP to being the only person charged in the robocall scandal.
When the tall, gangly, young man who likes to bake his own bread decided to enter the world of federal politics, it had never been anything more than a short-term plan. He would immerse himself in government for a few years, and then use the experience to enter the private sector, either as a lobbyist or a communications specialist—a common goal of many young interns who staff the offices of Conservative cabinet ministers and MPs in Ottawa.
Sona bought his membership in the Conservative Party of Canada in 2007. Over the next few years, he earned his spurs on a variety of campaigns, including a provincial leadership race in Ontario. He also gained experience in nomination races and party-executive elections. “Pretty much since the day I joined, it[was] one campaign after another in some capacity or other,” he told me.
Then came Ottawa. In Stephen Harper’s shop, Sona’s biggest task was to master the unique way this government wanted to “communicate.” Although Sona was never a staffer in either the PMO or party headquarters (HQ), he worked for cabinet minister James Moore. He also helped cabinet ministers and MPs on numerous campaigns to carry out the Harper government’s media strategy. It came down to three words: less is more. “No comment” was often a winning strategy. The cardinal rule was not to turn one bad story into two by advancing it with a comment or reaction. Without the oxygen of fresh information, the theory went, the story would usually die.
Communications in the Harper government was not about passing along facts but often about advancing politically useful narratives while withholding real information. The government tried that tactic during the Afghanistan and F-35 Lightning II fighter jet debates, and would try it again during the robocalls and Senate scandals. On one occasion, Harper even earned a citation for contempt of Parliament for withholding details of proposed bills and cost estimates from Parliament. 1 Public apathy was the government’s greatest ally in this dubious policy, and it didn’t take Michael Sona long to figure that out. “In my experience, most voters are apathetic to the goings-on in Ottawa unless it involves one of two things: their wallets or their rights,” said Sona. “Mess with either of those things, and the voters will care and the story will not die.”
The second pillar of the Harper communications strategy was refraining from committing to anything, an approach that allowed the government to mould its message on the fly as new facts emerged. Sona noted that this method was often employed in Question Period, where opposition queries are virtually never
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