Ripper: The making of Pierre Poilievre by author Mark Bourrie.Supplied
- Title: Ripper: The Making of Pierre Poilievre
- Author: Mark Bourrie
- Genre: Biography
- Publisher: Biblioasis
- Pages: 448
Ripper has one message: The Pierre Poilievre we see today is the same person as the teenager he was in Calgary’s Reform Party backrooms. Mark Bourrie describes that 1990s teenager as “the political equivalent of a hockey goon,” and argues that he hasn’t adjusted his behaviour or outlook since then.
However, to understand Canada’s “Trump-lite,” Bourrie argues, we need to acknowledge the global socioeconomic changes that have spawned a crop of right-wing dictators, and caused the deterioration of traditional journalism and public discourse. To borrow terms coined by New York Times columnist David Brooks, the public sphere is inhabited by “weavers,” who strive for social consensus, and “rippers,” who see politics as a war that gives their life meaning.
Inside Biblioasis and Mark Bourrie’s mad rush to get a Pierre Poilievre bio on shelves
Poilievre’s adolescent views and tactics, typical of a ripper, didn’t need to evolve as he clambered up the greasy pole. He had the good fortune to be in tune with the times – times that have produced anxious, angry voters likely to embrace a right-wing ripper. Doors kept opening for him, and he scrambled straight through them until the Conservative Leader could almost taste victory in the coming federal election.
Bourrie’s portrait of Poilievre could hardly be more critical, describing him as the angriest person on Canada’s political stage and the nastiest leader of a major party in this country’s history.
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“I’ve got nothing against him as a person,” Bourrie insists, but adds that “he’s an angry teenager in the body of a grown man. That makes him a stellar opposition politician. It’s a bad combination in a prime minister.”
For 375 pages (plus a further 50 pages of eccentric end notes), Bourrie makes his case. He relied for evidence on a mountain of press clippings, a raft of political books, and deep dives into the explosive growths of social media and fake news, which he explored in two previous books. He synthesized an enormous amount of information, wrote at an astonishing pace (150,000 words in nine months), and produced a narrative that mixes careful analysis, punchy prose, ironic quips and outrage at Poilievre’s success.
The result, although uneven, is a gripping read. But does Bourrie prove his point?
Much of the biographical material in Ripper is familiar, chronicled (with a positive spin) most recently in Andrew Lawton’s biography of Poilievre. Bourrie quickly provides the basic facts. Marlene Poilievre, a passionate Tory and devout Catholic, began taking her son to Conservative riding association meetings and anti-abortion rallies when he was only 14.
Poilievre was soon absorbing economic views shaped by Milton Friedman and attending seminars conducted by the right-wing Fraser Institute. He worked long hours in the newly-formed Reform Party’s backrooms as an unpaid teenage volunteer who fearlessly cold-called constituents and wrote angry letters to the local paper.
Enrolling at the University of Calgary in 1997, Poilievre polished his political skills as a debater who was soon giving short, pithy quotes to Calgary Herald reporters at Reform events. Lawton enthused about the sharp-elbowed rookie’s commitment, but Bourrie deplores Poilievre’s aggressive tone. The politician, he writes, was making “dire, over-the-top claims of a debilitating national problem” and using “harsh and cruel” language as he blamed opponents.
Bourrie embeds these glimpses of the young politician in the larger story of Alberta’s postwar history, and the way that Western Canadian alienation was disrupting the Progressive Conservative Party.
Similarly, when Bourrie tracks Poilievre’s shift to Ottawa in 1999, and his 2004 election (at 25, the youngest MP in the Commons) in the riding of Nepean-Carleton, the author enriches the Poilievre chronology with context, including the capital’s social culture and the Reform Party’s conquest of the Conservative Party. The young MP moved in a crowd of doctrinaire free-enterprise bros who rejected the pragmatism of baby boomers and shunned the city’s establishment.
Poilievre pulled ahead of his peers – “strange, nerdy, socially isolated young conservatives” in Bourrie’s words – because he knew what the media wanted: “good quote and great footage.” While Jean Chrétien and Paul Martin led the country, Poilievre was one of the opposition’s most effective critics of Liberal corruption.
Increased media exposure fed on itself, as he went after daycare programs, gay marriage and bilingualism, and found catchy nicknames for his opponents (Martin was “the king of cronyism.”). According to Bourrie, “His snappy quotes, his meanness, got clicks and generated dopamine, and local journalists … were addicted to what he was dealing.”
When the Conservatives formed the government in 2006, Poilievre became prime minister Steven Harper’s attack dog in Question Period. His strategy, Bourrie writes, was to “smear the person trying to do the embarrassing.” Adroitly side-stepping snoozy legal jargon, Poilievre asked blunt, aggressive questions.
Occasionally, he strayed from the Harper playbook. On the day that the prime minister issued an apology to Indigenous people for the residential school system, Poilievre stole the headlines by publicly questioning whether Canadians were getting value for money from the $2-billion compensation paid to survivors. Harper made him apologize in the House.
During these years, Conservatives raced ahead of other parties in new political techniques of data gathering and analysis, which exponentially improved their voter identification and fundraising capacities. Poilievre’s quick hits and nifty slogans were tailor-made, in our rushed digital age, to appeal to voters pinpointed by technology as open to his message.
He was finally rewarded with a cabinet role in 2013, as Canada’s first minister of democratic reform. His real job, according to Bourrie, was to “whack Elections Canada.” He introduced a Fair Elections Act that editorial writers at both the National Post and The Globe and Mail deplored as destructive.
During the nine years of Justin Trudeau’s Liberal government, Poilievre (now Conservative finance critic) was relentlessly on the attack. Trudeau’s Liberals provided him with plenty of targets. Poilievre labelled the prime minister “a corrupt tin-pot dictator” and accused finance minister Bill Morneau of losing the “moral authority to hold your office.”
During televised hearings in the House of Commons finance committee, he tore apart the Kielburger brothers, who ran the WE Charity. No stranger to invective himself, Bourrie insists that viewers “could be forgiven if they thought they were tuning into a war crimes case.” WE was destroyed, and Poilievre was now the face of the Conservative Party in Canada.
When he finally ran for the leadership of his party, in 2022, his victory was decisive. Tellingly, Erin O’Toole, the man he replaced, warned, “This country needs a Conservative Party that is both an intellectual force and a governing force … Seeking power without ideology is hubris.”
But Poilievre showed little interest in the intellectual challenge of policy development. Instead, he stayed in the headlines with slogans and sneers, bashing the “radical, woke coalition” of Liberals and NDP and reserving special venom for Trudeau. He held Trump-style rallies in legions and shabby halls, enlisting the support of angry crowds, some of whom jammed downtown Ottawa during the convoy protests.
“Again, Poilievre’s timing has been lucky,” Bourrie writes. Once, those voters would have likely been union members and NDP voters, but those loyalties have evaporated. Poilievre gave them a platform for their anger.
His mastery of social media (he has one million followers on X), YouTube (over half a million followers) and partisan Tory outlets has allowed him to create his own media environment. Instead of answering questions from the dwindling legacy media about his solutions to all the problems bedevilling this country – crumbling infrastructure, a national housing shortage, low productivity, and the growing gulf between rich and poor – he spread three word slogans.
Bourrie demonstrates how deftly Poilievre ensured that his manipulation of facts and his insistence that “Canada is broken” never received much scrutiny. His standing in opinion polls rose and rose.
The author acknowledges that Poilievre has a more agreeable side, as an excellent constituency member and family man who has spoken up for children with autism. But Bourrie conclusively proves his point that the politician is an Olympic-class ripper, a viciously brilliant critic who has shown no potential, as yet, to become a weaver who could bring the country together.
Ripper does more than paint a dark picture of the Conservative Leader. The author gives serious attention to the question: How did we get here? How did Canada – a country once celebrated for civility and compromise – elevate a politician who has surfed on division and disrespect?
This past January, Poilievre’s expectations of an easy victory at the polls were shattered by the Liberal leadership race and Trump’s tariff threat. The skills that Poilievre has burnished over the past 30 years no longer seem to fit the moment. He is finally out of step with his times.
Mark Bourrie has produced a searing but convincing critique of the Conservative Leader’s shortcomings that will give pause to anyone outside the diehard Poilievre base. The politician’s insistence that “Canada is broken” has been cast aside in a wave of nationalism. Voters may decide that an angry ripper may not be what Canada needs right now.
Charlotte Gray is the author of The Promise of Canada.
