Liberal insider Penny Collenette explains how a reality check obliged her to put her health before her lifelong ambition to serve in public office

By Joanne Chianello, The Ottawa Citizen - June 27, 2009

Since she was 15, Penny Collenette aspired to public office.

But this week, reality trumped lifelong dream for the Liberal insider. The 59-year-old lawyer, professor, human rights activist and one-time senior adviser to former prime minister Jean Chrétien announced she would not run for election in the next federal campaign.

Politicized as a young teenager over the national flag debate in the 1960s, her youth was affected by more than national fervour.

Collenette has double scoliosis, a curvature of the upper and lower spine. As a child, she underwent surgery during which four metal rods were inserted into her back. For decades she controlled the pain with swimming and therapy, but admitted this week that running as the Ottawa Centre Liberal candidate last fall “nearly killed me.”

It was a dramatic week for the lifelong Liberal, from testifying at the Oliphant Commission on policy issues to forgoing her riding’s nomination.

Collenette spoke with the Citizen from the 100-year-old home in Westboro that she shares with husband, David Collenette, a former Liberal cabinet minister. She couldn’t quite keep the quiver out of her voice as she talked about how she came to her decision.

Did people know about your scoliosis?

Sure, I’ve never made a secret of it. It’s on my website. It’s reasonably invisible, unless I’m trying to turn.

What’s happened since the fall campaign that led to this decision?

I knew after the last election that I wasn’t in great shape. We got to Christmas and Michael Ignatieff became interim leader. By then, I was not feeling well.

I went to the doctor who said, “No. 1, you’ve got walking pneumonia, and No. 2, what is going on with your back?” So, X-rays.

Everything was then focused on going to Vancouver (for the Liberal convention in May).

Finally, I went to get the X-rays. That’s when I arranged for my executive to come over for a glass of champagne. I was going to tell them—this was a couple of weeks ago.

No doctor will ever tell you what to do or not do, but it’s pretty clear from the pain, from the stiffness, from the awkwardness, that it’s definitely time for me to get serious about physiotherapy.

I used to go a lot, but then I stopped. The swimming I have done religiously since I was 30, three times a week at the Carlingwood Y. In an election, you can’t take the time to do that.

Earlier this month you indicated you would run again if there was a summer election. What changed?

I felt a huge responsibility (to the riding association) because it was very much my team. They’d done a great job on the memberships and the fundraising. The expectations were very high. Nobody asked me, they just assumed. My signs are in storage.

So we had a family discussion. At that point, I brought some of the other members of my team to say if this happens, here’s the deal.

I said there’s no way I can canvass like I did before and I’m probably going to have to take more time out. So I said, “If we go fast, you have to protect me.” They said, “Yes, we can do this, don’t worry.”

One person, who shall remain nameless, thought it’d be fun to push me around in a scooter or something. There were all sorts of very funny ideas. We came to that night of the executive meeting—the one where I was going to say I wouldn’t run—and I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. Everyone was so excited.

And after the summer election was averted?

Once I knew we were out of the woods, I started to tell people privately.

I didn’t want there to be a perception that a candidate was leaving before it even started.

I just thought if we could get to the point where we wouldn’t have a summer election, then it could be much cleaner. And that’s what’s happened. There’s now time for nomination meetings, for candidates to come forward and everything’s really well organized.

Who was the first person you told?

My sister, who’s been on my back for years not to do this. Really good friends on my riding executive. And I told the leader on Monday. I wanted very much for my executive to not hear it from anyone else and I told them at a meeting Tuesday night.

You dreamed of running for office since you were 15. How did you come to terms with this decision?

It’s a huge disappointment. I think the one thing that made it easier is that I have had a little bit of time to mourn before it actually happened.

You think about the fact that you have dreams—and it’s great to have dreams and passions—but, as I’m realizing, you have to temper them with reality. I guess I’m saying that at this point, I need to have a healthy lifestyle and that has to mean more than my dream.

What’s it like living through the daily grind of a campaign?

It depends. If you’re younger, it’s easier. When my husband first got elected, he was 28. I think about canvassing then—I was about 24—I was running around all over the place. I had a son in a stroller. It just didn’t seem like a big deal.

The day starts at seven at the bus stops. You do the wave. That’s not terribly onerous, it’s just getting up early. Then you generally go and canvass. You might go into the office in late morning to check phone messages. There’s always a media person who wants to do an interview. If they come with the cameras, that might take two hours. There might be a seniors’ thing over lunch, sometimes there’s an all-candidates debate. And then you go back to canvassing.

Around 4 o’clock, it really gets going. You can feel it pumping up because people are coming home from work, from school, people are streaming into the headquarters, the phone bank is going.

You may or may not get dinner. You eat—I kept myself going with cranberry juice and almonds and raisins and things like that. And then you canvass till dark.

You’re pretty tired, but you have to go to headquarters to meet your team. Everybody wants to talk.

What I found a bit of a change was the number of e-mails that came in that required individual responses. I had a team just answering e-mails. I didn’t want anyone answering for me, so then I’d review all the responses. I think I drove my team nuts.

That doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of time for exercise or therapy.

I swam maybe twice the whole time.

Does campaigning have to be so physical?

We want people to run who have physical challenges—my god, look at (Conservative MP) Steven Fletcher, how he manages is incredible—and they have to find other ways. But it’s difficult.

You want to have a true representation in Parliament, therefore a campaign is something everybody has to go through, no matter their age or their physical well-being.

Is there no way to accommodate that?

As candidates, we need to learn to be very honest about our own limitations. Maybe I should have been more upfront during the campaign, and said, “Hey guys, I have some pain here. Could I just stop for awhile?” But I didn’t want to admit it, because when you admit it, it looks weak.

Was there any particular moment that made you think maybe you wouldn’t campaign again?

There are two.

Bea Raffoul, my executive vice-president, thought it’d be a good idea for me to go out canvassing with Sheila Copps. So we went to the Westboro transit station. Sheila is terrific with people, and aggressive with them—in a good way. I realized as I watched her clapping people on the back that I never did that because I didn’t want people doing it back to me. I was automatically protecting myself.

After the campaign, our youth group had a young professionals event and the guest speaker was (Liberal MP) Scott Brison, whom I’m very friendly with.

Scott comes in and he’s kind of pumped. To my horror, he comes barrelling in and yells “Penny!” and picks me right up over his shoulder.

And, he didn’t mean to, but he just dropped me back on the floor. He was just fooling around, poor guy, but I remember the jolt when I landed. What am I going to do, wear a sign saying, “You can’t pick me up?”

And there were other things. Sometimes it just takes a reality check. You start adding it up and then you say, OK, enough.

What’s next?

My son and daughter-in-law and grandson are coming over from Ireland for seven weeks this summer. That’s pretty exciting.

I have two great appointments at the University of Ottawa—one at the business school and one at the faculty of law. There’s the Human Rights and Water conference that I’ll co-chair on Oct. 14. And I’m working with women at the Rotman School of Business (at University of Toronto), to figure out a strategy, so that when the federal government is thinking about funding to women, we take a look at women in business programs and academic research.

What about politics?

I will move into a fundraising role. As for the riding, the wisest thing for me to do would be to remain neutral. I don’t know yet who’s going to run, but whoever wins will have my full support.

What’s been the best part of public life?

Being part of history is huge. In a shocking way, after 9/11 and the whole sea of people who came onto Parliament Hill. It was terrible but it was amazing that people just knew the right thing to do at that time.

The 50th anniversary of D-Day, to be on the beaches, meant a great deal to me. My dad was a war vet and my husband was defence minister at the time. The repatriation of the Constitution. Those are just things money doesn’t buy. That’s why you’re a Canadian and why you believe in the country.

When I worked in the PMO, every time I would walk up the steps of Langevin block to see the prime minister, I’d think, “This is just incredible.”

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