Mr. Speaker, I rise to pay tribute to John McCallum, a long-serving member of Parliament and cabinet minister.
My Liberal colleague just outlined John's long and accomplished career in economics and finance, and he certainly brought that knowledge and skill set to his role in this place.
I first met John when I was elected in 2011. I was young and somewhat naive, if members can believe that, but John was always kind to me, and that is something that one remembers in this place.
There is a line in the Fleetwood Mac song Landslide that of late, given my advancing age, has recently started to punch me in the gut:
Time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm gettin' older, too
It is hard to believe that nearly nine years have passed since I last rose in this place to pay tribute to John, who at that point had announced his retirement as a member of Parliament after a long and successful career. At the time, I noted that I was not delivering a eulogy, so finding myself doing so today is a reminder of one of the things John used to say when we routinely chatted: “Time passes quickly here, so make each day count.” That is wisdom from John that we should all take in our roles.
At the time, John was the immigration minister and I was the immigration critic. I guess some things never change, John. After John retired, I realized that he had two particularly admirable qualities I think everybody in this place would do well to emulate. The first was his remarkable sense of humour. I have to say, John, if you are listening, that I deeply enjoyed sparring with you. John's wit and cleverness were eclipsed only by his gregariousness and his very good sense of humour.
For example, John and I once had a rather famous sparring match in the House, wherein he implied that I should smile more. I raised the issue in a point of order, and he apologized. After the interaction, he came up to me and genuinely apologized, albeit with that signature twinkle in his eye. If anyone knew him, they knew this: There was always this little twinkle in John's eye. Feeling bold, I accepted his apology with a flourish, saying, “Thank you, Emperor Palpatine.” John paused for a moment; he roared with laughter, and he encouraged me to embrace the dark side. In that instant, all was well.
That sense of humour is something that served John so well in this place, where the three-sword-length distance between the government and opposition benches can feel rather short on some days. He was always known across the aisle for his good humour, and that is something he will be remembered for. I find myself sometimes chuckling about things he would say to me, especially coming back into this role.
The other admirable quality that I will remember about John was that as a minister, he respected the role of the opposition. In my experience with John, I found that he understood that in this place, and in order for democracy to work, he could not ignore his opposition critic. When we disagreed, I found that he still respected the work I had put into the file. When we sparred, he would usually take the time to tell me that he had thought about what he had brought up and would try to explain to me his position and why he felt it was more important. Oftentimes, he did try to consider where I was going, and on more than one occasion we actually managed to find common ground.
He would be honest with me. He was very upfront about what he thought he could get through his caucus or where he thought I needed to bend in order to find compromise. Sometimes we found compromise and sometimes we did not, but at the end of the day, I trusted John because I knew he was coming at his work from a sense of trying to respect our democratic institutions and from a place of love and support for the people in his community. I have to say that I have sorely missed that dynamic since John left. I was spoiled as an opposition critic. I will always respect him for that.
A few years ago, John and I found ourselves accidentally seated beside each other on a plane. It was funny; people were walking down the aisle and saw us seated together, and they were like, “Uh-oh”, but it was one of the best plane rides I have ever had. Many of the members share what we shared, as we are on a plane quite often. He was extremely wistful and imparted some sage words of advice. I remember this: He said, “Our lives are short. Make each day count. Spend less time on a plane and more time with your family, Michelle.” It is advice that is hard to internalize in this place. Certainly, I still struggle with it every day, but it underscores that life in public service cannot be walked alone.
My deepest condolences go to Nancy, Andrew, Jamie and Duncan, and to their families, for a loss that I think a lot of people across the country felt.
I also extend my gratitude to John's family for their support to John throughout his time in public office.
John, may you rest in peace.