Wells's Rules

Posted here for posterity's sake, my most lasting contribution to political debate

I was delighted to see somebody over on Bluesky the other day making reference to my Wells’s Rules of Politics.

This has now been going on for more than 20 years. Whenever there’s surprising Canadian political news, somebody reliably says, “Guess Wells’s First Rule doesn’t apply here, does it?” And whenever there’s a leadership contest or a general election, somebody says, knowingly, “Remember Wells’s Fourth Rule!”

This baffles most people, especially the nation’s youth, who have to keep room in their heads for Sabrina Carpenter lyrics and can’t be expected to memorize the classics. I see it’s been more than 15 years since I last posted the Rules over at the website of a defunct political magazine, so it’s time to, if you’ll pardon the expression, bring it home.

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Here are the Rules:

1: For any given situation, Canadian politics will tend toward the least exciting possible outcome.

2: If everyone in Ottawa knows something, it’s not true.

3. The candidate in the best mood wins.

4. The candidate who auditions for the role of opposition leader will get the job.

(Rule Four used to say “The guy who auditions...” I have updated it.)

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I came up with the first two Rules in the summer of 2003, when I was new at Maclean’s magazine (kids, ask your parents). Three and four came along a year later.

The seam between these two couplets remains visible: thematically they’re about two different things. The first two Rules are things all of us should keep in mind as citizens, whereas Three and Four constitute my gentle advice to candidates and their teams.

Throughout the summer of 2003, Paul Martin was obviously going to be the next leader of the Liberal Party of Canada, but the formal decision — an overwhelming victory over Sheila Copps at a delegated party convention — didn’t happen until November. Jean Chrétien remained the actual prime minister throughout this period. This led people to come up with assorted dumb ungovernability scenarios. Chrétien would call for something to happen, but the bureaucrats would refuse to deliver, because they were waiting for Martin, and so on. These weren’t dumb things that a few excited fools were saying. They were what everybody knew.

So I came up with the first two Rules to say, in essence: calm down. This is not a country where people forget who they are, and it is not a country that takes its advice from 30 dilettantes in Ottawa, to the eternal frustration of the 30 dilettantes.

Later in 2003 and 2004, there were many changes in political leadership at various levels. Jack Layton became the NDP leader, Jean Charest became premier in Quebec, Dalton McGuinty in Ontario. Each beat out a sourpuss rival, although in Layton’s case the sourpuss — big Bill Blaikie — was in most ways an obviously superior candidate. And then in the summer of 2004, Stephen Harper lost a close-fought election against Paul Martin. There would be a rematch later.

Rules Three and Four were my attempt to put names on the lessons I learned from those elections. People like happy leaders who have ideas. Not all people, not always, but often enough to make a difference. I would say, at some peril for my popularity, that taken together, Rules Three and Four help us understand the results of the 2024 US presidential election, for instance. You will say: Yes, but Trump had stupid ideas and he’s happy about being mean. I say: He won, didn’t he?

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Three times a year I run into somebody who wants to fight me about the applicability of this or that Rule. “Something surprising happened yesterday! How about that, Einstein?”

I have two levels of rebuttal. First: It says “for any given situation.” That’s a loophole any fool can drive a truck through, and I know because I have, many times. Second, what I usually manage to refrain from saying out loud is: You’re debating a typist over some stupid rules he pulled out of his ass half a lifetime ago? Congratulations, debating-club captain! You totally win!

Politics isn’t physics. Clever little aperçus aren’t rules of natural law, like the inverse-square law of gravity. They’re fun things you can talk about the next time somebody brings a case of beer over. Fortunately most people get it. It’s honestly flattering that so many followers of Canadian politics think I ever came up with anything worth repeating.

I know of one candidate for high provincial office, some years ago, who used Rules Three and Four as guides for preparing his entire campaign. He lost. Sorry about that. Earlier than that, Stephen Harper once told me his wife Laureen had made him read the rule about the candidate in the best mood winning. In an entirely characteristic reaction, Harper wanted to debate that claim with its author. Aren’t you in a good mood because you’re winning? Haven’t you reversed causality? Shortly afterward, Harper lost the 2004 election. In 2006 he was more upbeat and he had a better platform, and he won. I’m just saying.

Anyway, those are my Rules, for the next time somebody says, “Are your Rules posted online somewhere?” I have often thought about possible additions to the list. There will never be a formal addition, and usually when somebody suggests a fifth Rule, I’m glad I made that decision. Short lists are better. Carry on.