'The Leader of the Opposition has spoken of the man Henri Duval. Let us ignore for the moment the question of whether this country should take on a burden which no one else wants, whether we should open our doors to the human garbage of the seas…'
From across the House a roar of protest eclipsed in volume all the earlier skirmishes of the day. Harvey Warrender had gone too far, Howden knew. Even on the Government side there were shocked faces, with only a few members responding half-heartedly to the opposition clamour.
Bonar Deitz was on his feet. 'Mr Speaker, on a question of privilege, I object…' Behind him were other heated, protesting cries.
Amid the growing din Harvey Warrender ploughed determinedly on. 'I say let us ignore the phony sentimentalities and consider the law alone. The law has been served…' His words were drowned out in a rising tide of angry shouts.
One voice persisted above the rest. 'Mr Speaker, will the Minister of Immigration define what he means by human garbage?' Uneasily, James Howden recognized the question's source. It had come from Arnold Geaney, a back-bench Opposition member who represented one of the poorer districts of Montreal.
There were two notable things about Arnold Geaney. He was a cripple, only five feet tall, with a partially paralysed and twisted body, and a face so uniquely ugly and misproportioned as to suggest that nature had conspired against him to produce a human freak. And yet, despite his incredible handicap, he had carved a notable career as a parliamentarian and champion of down-trodden causes. Personally, Howden had an intense dislike for the man, believing him to be an exhibitionist who traded shamelessly upon his physical deformity. At the same time, well aware that popular sympathy was all too ready to be on the side of a cripple, the Prime Minister was invariably wary of tangling with Arnold Geaney in debate.
Now Geaney demanded again, 'Will the Minister define the words "human garbage"?'
The muscles of Harvey Warrender's face were twitching once more. James Howden envisaged the answer which, in un-considered haste, the Immigration Minister might make: 'No one is in a better position than the honourable member to know exactly what I mean.' At all costs, Howden decided, that kind of rejoinder must be prevented.
Rising, the Prime Minister declared above the shouts and counter-shouts, 'The honourable member of Montreal East is placing an emphasis upon certain words which I am perfectly sure my colleague did not intend.'
'Then let him say so!' Geaney, raising himself awkwardly on crutches, hurled the words across the centre aisle. Around him there were supporting shouts and cries, 'Withdraw! Withdraw!' In the galleries people were craning forward.
'Order! Order!' It was the Speaker, his voice barely heard above the din.
'I withdraw nothing!' Harvey Warrender was shouting wildly, his face flushed hotly, his bull neck bulging. 'Nothing, do you hear!'
Again the clamour. Again the Speaker's cries for order. This was a rare parliamentary occasion, Howden realized. Only some deep-rooted division or a question of human rights could arouse the House in the way that had happened today.
'I demand that the minister be made to answer.' It was still the persistent, penetrating voice of Arnold Geaney.
'Order! The question before the House…' At last the Speaker was succeeding in making himself heard. On the Government side the Prime Minister and Harvey Warrender resumed their seats in deference to the chair. Now from all quarters the shouts were dying. Only Arnold Geaney, swaying on his crutches, continued to defy the Speaker's authority.
'Mr Speaker, the Minister of Immigration has spoken to this House of human garbage. I demand…'
'Order! I would ask the member to resume his seat.'
'On a question of privilege…'
'If the member will not resume his seat, I shall be obliged to name him.'
It was almost as. if Geaney were courting censure. Standing orders, the rules of the House, were definite that when the Speaker stood, all others must give way. In this case there had been reinforcement by a specific order. If Geaney continued in defiance, some form of disciplining would become essential.
'I will give the honourable member one more opportunity,' the Speaker warned sternly, 'before I name him.'
Arnold Geaney said defiantly, 'Mr Speaker, I am standing for a human being three thousand miles from here, contemptuously referred to by this Government as "garbage"…'
The pattern, James Howden suddenly perceived, was perfectly simple. Geaney the cripple was seeking to share the martyrdom of Duval the stowaway. It was an adroit, if cynical, political manoeuvre which Howden must prevent.
Standing, the Prime Minister interjected, 'Mr Speaker, I believe this matter can be resolved…' He had already decided that on behalf of the Government he would withdraw the offensive words, whatever Harvey Warrender might feel…
Too late.
Ignoring the Prime Minister, the Speaker pronounced firmly, 'It is my unpleasant duty to name the honourable member for Montreal East.'
Infuriatingly aware that he had lost the gambit, James Howden sat down.
The formalities followed swiftly. The Speaker's naming of a member of the House was a measure rarely resorted to. But when it occurred, disciplinary action by the remaining members became automatic and inevitable. Authority of the Speaker must, above all things, be upheld. It was the authority of Parliament itself, and of the people, won by centuries of struggle…
The Prime Minister passed a two-word note to Stuart Cawston, leader of the House. The words were 'minimum penalty'. The Finance Minister nodded.
After a hurried consultation with the Postmaster General behind him, Cawston rose. He announced, 'In view of your decision, Mr Speaker, I have no alternative but to move, seconded by the Postmaster General, Mr Gold: "That the honourable member for Montreal East be suspended for the duration of this day's sitting."'
Unhappily the Prime Minister observed that the press gallery was once again crowded. Tonight's TV and radio news, as well as a headline for the morning papers, was in the making.
It took twenty minutes for a recorded vote on Cawston's motion. The balloting was 131 for, 55 against. The Speaker announced formally, 'I declare the motion carried.' There was silence in the House.
Carefully, wavering on his crutches, Arnold Geaney rose. Deliberately, step by awkward step, he swung his distorted body and misshapen features past the Opposition front benches into the centre aisle. To James Howden, who had known Geaney in the House of Commons for many years, it seemed that the other man had never moved more slowly. Facing the Speaker, with a pathetic awkwardness, the cripple bowed and for a moment it seemed as if he might fall forward. Then, recovering, he turned, retreated slowly the length of the House, then turned and bowed again. As he disappeared through the chamber's outer doors, held wide by the sergeant at arms, there was an audible sigh of relief.
The Speaker said quietly, 'The Minister of Citizenship and Immigration has the floor.'
Harvey Warrender – a shade more subdued than before -continued where he had left off. But James Howden knew that whatever happened now could only be anticlimatic. Arnold Geaney had been justly expelled, for a few hours only, for a flagrant breach of House of Commons rules. But the Press would make the most of the story, and the public, not knowing or caring about rules of debate, would see two underprivileged men – the cripple and the friendless stowaway – as victims of a harsh, despotic Government.
For the first time Howden wondered how much longer the Government could afford to lose popularity, as had happened since the coming of Henri Duval.
Chapter 3
Brian Richardson's note had said: 'Expect me at seven.'
At five minutes to, Milly Freedeman, nowhere near ready and stepping drippily from her bath, hoped he would be late.