My Years as Prime Minister

Entre Nous 1 Not long ago, in April 2007, I was in Moscow to attend the funeral of Boris Yeltsin, the former president of Russia and a person whom I greatly admired. He was a good man who spoke the truth, and his convictions changed the course of history, not only in his own country but around the world. The ceremony, full of dignity and beauty, took place in the cathedral that had been rebuilt to mark the return of freedom of religion in what had been the Soviet Union. Even a heathen would have bowed before the priests dressed in their majestic robes, and everyone present was moved to hear the old hymns of Mother Russia that so pierce the soul. Looking around, I saw many former world leaders, now plain citizens, come to bid farewell to the one-time enemy who had later become their brother in arms. There was the elder George Bush, whose son I had gotten to know so well, and at his side foreign kings and presidents who seemed, in this holy place, mere mortals, as were we all. I said hello to John Major, the ex-prime minister of Great Britain, and we were joined by another famous retiree, though younger than either of us, Bill Clinton. When Bill and I shook hands on the steps of the church, I felt as though we were two parishioners meeting after Mass on a Sunday morning back home. With us was Lech Walesa, the former president of Poland, who had captured the imagination of the world when he was nothing but a courageous electrician from Gdaosk daring to defy the might of the Soviet Union. We talked of the good old days and of the present, which didn't seem so bad either, and swapping stories about our friend Boris reminded us of our own impermanence. The friendships and the memories warmed us in the cold spring air of Moscow, just as they continue to warm me in my advancing years. They are what propelled me to write this book, not to puff up my reputation but to record a moment in the all too brief span of time we human beings are given on earth. Whether foreign or domestic, I've always had a passion for politics. The other day I heard a young man say on television that he was standing for election because he wanted to serve. I said to myself, "My friend, you seem nice, you have some charm, but you're not telling the whole truth. Going into politics is both simpler and more complicated than that." To be frank, politics is about wanting power, getting it, exercising it, and keeping it. Helping people comes with it naturally, because you'll never be elected if you treat people badly. But no one will ever convince me, with all the experience I've had, that the motivations are strictly altruistic. No we throw ourselves into politics because we love it. Politics is a sport in which the desire for victory is everything, because the ultimate reward is the power that lets you do some good for your constituents as a member of Parliament, for the stakeholders as a minister, and for the entire country and maybe even the rest of the world as prime minister. The more you succeed and the higher you climb, the more the wish to win becomes an obsession that consumes you day and night but also gives you satisfactions too numerous to count, from helping the unemployed in your riding find a job to sending Canadian peacekeepers to the rescue of besieged Bosnians. It's in that sense, I suppose, that you can say that you're in the game to serve, since politics gives you the opportunity to help others. I was fortunate to have been given that opportunity. The joy of serving, to pick up on the young man's idea, allows you to forget all the miseries that come too when you freeze your feet campaigning from door to door; when the doors slam in your face; when the hand you extend is refused; when the neighbour you've known all your life pretends not to see yoChretien, Jean is the author of 'My Years as Prime Minister', published 2007 under ISBN 9780676979008 and ISBN 0676979009.