Barbara Amiel on getting Conrad home

“After all those years in prison, I know we were expected to be popping champagne corks, but it isn’t like that”


 
Getting Conrad home

Mark Blinch/Reuters

No one got it right. Not me, not the press, not Conrad. The week of May 2 had no script. The way it was supposed to be was this: after nine years almost to the day, we were coming to the end of a nightmare. I would stand at the gates of the Miami Federal Correctional Institution in a pretty dress in one of the colours the prison rules had never allowed when visiting—which was pretty much every colour that looked any good on me except for black. Conrad would come through the door that had been slammed in my face with the warm comment “get her out of here” the previous Sept. 5 when he self-surrendered to prison for the second time. We would embrace and walk quietly into the twilight of our lives.

Precisely where we would go after that I didn’t know. We wanted to go straight to Toronto. But our “itinerary” had to be approved by the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) before he left prison in case we ended up doing a Meyer Lansky, being shuttled from country to country and refused admission. Conrad had a British passport but no Canadian papers. We thought Canada would admit him as a visitor for a few days at least, and we hoped if he wasn’t allowed to go directly into Canada we could get out of the U.S. to a nearby British Overseas Territory and try from there. Bermuda was suggested. The Cayman Islands. Each one was being investigated by counsel and the British consul in Orlando.

Meanwhile, I was trying to find the cheapest way to fly out of the States without going commercial. Okay, I know that means dozens of letters telling me how rich and lucky we are to be able to have that as an option and yes we are. And if your husband faced the prospect of sitting in the Miami airport for God knows how many hours in handcuffs and shackles with U.S. marshals on each side of him, the media watching gleefully, and then being marched onto a planeload of passengers so they could look up from their bottled water to see him being unlocked, you might feel it was worth trying. But by the last week of April I was still unable to book flights for us. I didn’t know where we would be going.

Still, on the first weekend in May I was experiencing moments of excitement. Every now and then, the idea that this was coming to an end and my husband would be with me broke through the stone wall of denial. If you’ve had a child or spouse in long-term danger from illness or injury you must know all about how you cope. You put a lid on what’s happening and disengage from reality in order to stay sane.

I had managed reasonably well. For nine years I had looked at life rather like an alien in Close Encounters of the Third Kind—life was out there and spoke a language I couldn’t understand. The voice I heard talking was not my own, simply sounds and words that someone else was saying. The case had been swaddled in so much press and publicity that knowledge of the facts had become absolutely unnecessary in order to have an opinion—it was a bonanza for blowhards—and I’ll make a bet that no one reading this column could coherently explain the conviction to this day. But that won’t hinder you.

The original sentence was 78 months reduced to 42 months, less the 15 per cent time off for good behaviour. That worked out to a release date of Saturday, May 5. I had calendars in my bathroom and on my desk and next to the bed. At the end of each Saturday he was away in prison, three years and two weeks over a period of four years and two weeks (he was home on bail between appeals), I would put a black ink line through the week and then at the end of the month a big X.

This is where I wish I had a large water pipe and some opium. Apparently if you get enough of its fumes you can write a novel or a play like Jean Cocteau’s Les parents terribles in seven days (which I’ve never read but the thought of getting an entire play down on paper in seven days makes my typing fingers numb with envy). In a moment of madness, I had volunteered to write down for Maclean’s my thoughts when Conrad came home and then I reneged and then Rogers honcho Ken Whyte came to lunch.

“What were Conrad’s first words when he came on the plane?” he asked. Actually, they were all of one syllable. “My brave sweet duck,” he said, “the night is over.” I had been watching him as he arrived in the back of a white Chevrolet without tinted glass that drove onto the runway. I couldn’t see his face in the car but I saw the handcuffs, which is odd really. They glinted. When he got on the plane he rubbed his wrists because the handcuffs were too small and they were chafed after wearing them for the hour’s drive. “They did me a favour,” he said. “Who?” “Mr. Diaz and Mr. Chavez. They handcuffed me in front instead of behind and gave me a raincoat to put over them. They asked me to promise I’d mention their names in whatever was written.” Done.

I know we were expected to be popping champagne corks but it isn’t like that, you see. You’re afraid to let go until the next hurdle has been overcome—in this case, Canadian immigration—and so we sat in the plane bone weary, both of us unbelieving. A friend, Sid McMurray, had arranged the charter from Skyservice, which was vital it turned out because the time Immigration and Customs Enforcement was prepared to hand over Conrad changed a few times and Skyservice’s Lyn Shinn (known as the Divine Shinn in our household) arranged for the plane to stand by all day for pennies. I wanted to embrace Conrad but I had learned that premature celebrations always led to bone-shattering disappointments. Conrad was carrying his medical health checkout papers with bottles of allowed medications and a statement that he had, among other things, “Anxiety state/psychosocial and environmental problems/depressive disorder/hypertension/acute upper respiratory infection” and so on. He had his foam earplugs wrapped in a bit of paper towel and four chewed-up pens, a nearly finished tube of lip balm and a very dodgy looking comb. “I gave my good stuff,” he said, “to other residents.” “What good stuff?” “My earphones, radio and reading light.”

We had both become marginally bonkers in our caution and pessimism. The Bureau of Prisons (BOP) had told Conrad that his release date would be May 4 rather than May 5, which was a Saturday. “Don’t count on it,” Conrad said. “This could be another game.” Everything is a game, or as one of the defence lawyers said happily after the trial in Chicago, “this is great stuff, entertainment for everyone but the defendants.” By May 1 we knew it would be the Friday, May 4, and hoped that would throw the press off since BOP was still putting out the release date of May 5 online. Nothing personal: press is neat if you are Kim Kardashian or a Nobel laureate but not if you are coming out of prison with a haircut that reads bad Liberace, a complexion that makes pastry dough look in good health and a figure that has gone due south, plus a mental state like a frayed elastic band. I didn’t want him tormented with questions like, “How does it feel to be free, Conrad?” from thirtysomething reporters.

On May 1, I was choosing clothes for Conrad. The U.S. Department of Justice’s “authorization to receive package or property” form in triplicate copies had arrived permitting me to send via Canada Post one pair of trousers, one pair of shoes, one pair of socks, a belt and a shirt, but no jacket or underwear. I had never seen BOP underwear but I couldn’t help thinking that it may not have been woven on the finest loom. In case the package didn’t make it to Miami in time, I packed a suitcase to take with me: a suit if we had to go to the U.K., a jacket for Canada, lighter clothing for Bermuda, a couple of ties and underwear. Now that ICE had decreed I couldn’t meet him at the prison, I gave up on the pretty dress thing and opted for jeans comfort and getting my hair done.

May 2 the merde hit the fan when Opposition Leader Mr. Thomas Mulcair decided Conrad was an issue. Christ, I’ve never been a fan of the NDP. I was a CCFer in the days of Tommy Douglas but I haven’t seen anything much lower than Mulcair’s effort to keep the “British criminal Conrad Black” out of Canada because he was white and connected. I wish. Not the white thing—he is white, too white actually—but connected? Connections can be a huge liability at a time like this.

Over the course of nine years I have studiously avoided reading the press. I mean after the first 500 or so articles describing our collective faults in general and my particular nastiness, one gets the point and I’ll make a confession: after a while you come to believe it. It’s rather like the cellulite you have at the back of your legs but can’t see—you know it must be there. In spite of all I know about the media, I cannot credit them with total fabrication—if so many people who have never spoken a word to me can dissect my being and attribute such vile characteristics to me I must have something that smells. The favourite comforting word of friends is “jealousy,” which, let’s face it, makes no sense when you are my age and in my situation. Who the hell can be jealous of a senior citizen bereft of husband and insofar as anyone notices them, an object of ridicule on several continents? But this time I had to read the press, listen to Mulcair and the debate in Parliament because this was germane to our travel plans.

I had sponsored an application for a temporary resident permit (TRP) for Conrad some time earlier, just as I had when it was granted in 2004 before the trial. I had been pestering our immigration lawyer Stephen Green, and in late April he told me it had been granted. We had permission to enter Canada. I was deliriously happy—for an hour. Conrad was not convinced. By now he was bottoming out. He had been magnificent inside prison for the first stint of 29 months. He had been extraordinary during the year between appeals trying to get a grip on our financial affairs and selling the house in Palm Beach. But this second prison stint was physically very difficult.

His cell built for one had three people stuffed in it and his bunk was a steel shelf in which he couldn’t sit up without hitting his head on the one above. There was an open toilet and sink and the steel door was noisily locked every night at 9:40. Sleep was minimal. He had hurt his knee and couldn’t walk much while it healed and was gobbling blood pressure pills for the hypertension developed in prison. His spirit never wavered and he never had any problems with inmates but his morale and health deteriorated. (Fortunately, he has a constitution like my little kuvasz Arpad—just about nothing stops either of them for long and they both rebound very fast. They have since bonded in a man-to-canine thing. Very touching really.)

After Mulcair had compared the granting of a TRP to Conrad with the denial of one to an American guilty of an attack on a policeman four decades ago, the debate just went downhill. (Actually, on watching an interview with the American, Gary Freeman, I found Freeman rather sympathetic, though I know nothing about his case.) I sat in our kitchen incredulous, watching various Canadian TV news stations poll the question of whether my husband should be allowed to return to Canada—the majority said “no.” I began my first drinking habit: the only alcohol I can manage without being very sick is Baileys Irish Cream put in cups of strong coffee fortified by additional 10 per cent coffee cream and lots of sweetener. That, together with Tylenol No. 2 or 3, makes a good cocktail and I was ready for it. I gulped it down reading the Globe and Mail’s article that suggested Conrad would not be allowed out of the U.S. upon release from prison and that he had only an expired U.K. passport (not true; he had a perfectly valid one) and would therefore be sent to an immigration holding centre. Where do people get their facts from?

On Tuesday, Conrad’s “friends” kicked in and started informing him by email about the debate in Parliament. They mean well, are probably very bright, but God protect me from young conservative intellectuals who want to be part of everything. Having been cautioned by our immigration lawyer to just keep quiet, avoid the press and let the procedure go through normal channels, I was not much taken with a front-page column in the National Post comparing Conrad to Lindsay Lohan, a comparison that can hardly be helpful in any situation. Now wound up by the emails he had received, a frantic Conrad managed to get to the prison telephone at 6:05 a.m. and called my dedicated black Samsung whose number is programmed into the prison computer. “I haven’t slept at all. The government will fold,” he said. “They are going to withdraw my TRP.” “No way,” I said, “that would be political interference.” “They can stall it by having an inquiry,” he countered. “I’m taking my blood pressure pills but I don’t know how much more of this I can take before I have a stroke.”

I’m the drama queen in this family. When Conrad worries about a stroke you know he is in difficulty. But outside prison walls what is there to be done but speak to him in that awful British schoolmistress voice I get at times like this, calmly alongside the recorded voice that continually interrupted our call with the completely unnecessary statement that “this is a call from a federal prison.” “You will be home on Friday,” I said, not believing a word of it. He called again 20 minutes later as agonized as before.

Of course the downside was not so impossible: we could go to the U.K., though we had no home there and playing Flying Dutchman was not appetizing. But reason had fled; the strain had Conrad kicking into darker scenarios. Now he worried that ICE would not release him. I called immigration lawyer Stephen Green: “Are we in trouble?” I asked. “It went through the bureaucrats,” he said, “and they saw no reason not to grant it as they had before. Non-violent crime, wife and family in Canada, a previous temporary permit. It will be fine.” Let me tell you, if it’s an immigration lawyer you need, you want Stephen Green. Calm, considerate, competent.

And what did it come down to after all, this fuss over him entering Canada. “This is a simple case of a double standard,” Mulcair had said in his Commons sally to the cheers of his caucus. “One set of standards for Conservative party insiders and another that applies to everyone else.” Well, probably so, but not in the way Mulcair saw it. Double standards mean one set of values for the chosen and less favourable ones for the unchosen. Morally wrong of course, but meanwhile this was a bouncing ball and we had no way of knowing at any point which group we were in.

Of course there would be “different” treatment for Conrad in one sense: how could there not be. His application was never going to be shoved in a manila file unnoticed. Conrad was no anonymous name on a TRP application like the thousands of others, including some with criminal records. Would the senior public servants in Citizenship and Immigration want him in Canada or not? Being well-known is great if you want a booking at Roy Thomson Hall but not so good if a civil servant decides this is too hot to handle. Being connected is only a guarantee of scrutiny and, in this case, of public scrutiny when someone in the civil service who was clearly opposed to the decision to give him a TRP leaked the information to the Globe and Mail in advance of Conrad’s return. Fashions in literature and special interest groups come and go and at this point in Western history, well-off white males are definitely not the flavour of the month.

The government had excelled in avoiding contact with me. Way back in June 2010 I had attended a small private birthday party for David Frum’s 50th outside of Toronto on a fairly remote farm, outdoor loos only, far from cameras. Frum’s good friend Immigration Minister Jason Kenney was placed at the same table with me. He was personally taken around the table to be introduced. As he was told, “And you must know Barbara Black,” his eyes remained open but anaesthetized, and he moved unblinkingly to the person next to me without a word. I was clearly a toxic area. Frankly, I perfectly understood Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s response to Mulcair that “it would be just as easy for us if Mr. Black were not allowed to come to Canada.” There was nothing in this issue that could win a single new vote for the Conservatives. I had been the guest of Arlene Perly Rae last April 25, just 10 days before Conrad’s release from prison, for the Politics and the Pen dinner in Ottawa. Mrs. Rae is a warm ebullient person of great charm in which she characteristically enveloped me. Mr. Rae remained carefully apart. I couldn’t blame him either. In Parliament, he did not oppose Conrad’s return, only mentioned that it set a worrying precedent.

I was leaving for Miami Thursday evening. By Wednesday my heart rate had gone for nearly 36 hours at around 45 beats a minute, probably lack of sleep, and that night it began descending lower. When it reached 40 and I was having trouble coping with spikes of compensating blood pressure I called a doctor. “I’ve got to fly,” I said, giving him my blood pressure readings. “And I’m losing my balance. What do I do?” We concocted something to calm me down out of old meds I had in the bottom drawer. Hoarding has value.

In the end it was a combination of institutional mistakes and human decency—not money or connections—that provided us both with our entry to Canada and freedom from press scrutiny. A Ms. Tracy Billingsley in the Bureau of Prisons told CBC that Conrad could be released on May 4. ICE officials were furious with this BOP leak and decided to make sure Conrad got out early in the day without press coverage; with no encouragement from us they created a decoy convoy of cars and flashing lights that led the media into downtown Miami while Conrad was in the white Chevy en route to the airport—the joy of unintended consequences. At the Toronto airport after Immigration Canada let my husband in, someone showed our driver an exit that required driving along runways—hopefully unused. And since we don’t possess any car in Toronto that hasn’t been modified for my dogs, we borrowed the grey Chrysler of a domestic employee, which was described by frustrated reporters as “nondescript” and attracted absolutely no attention when we approached our home.

Why did we get a TRP? Well, my husband met the criteria but more importantly, I think he was liked by some public servants. That’s the leg up that being known gave him, and that one could have gone either way.

Now I don’t care anymore about Mr. Mulcair who strikes me as a bottom-feeder, though I can’t help worrying a bit about Gary Freeman. I hope he’s getting a fair deal and that the spotlight helps rather than hinders his case. I’m feeding my husband all the nourishing food he didn’t get in the prison. His “chef” cellmate sent me his apologies for Conrad’s weight gain that has made his entire wardrobe temporarily too small and had me speeding out the day of his return for a jacket and trousers at Kingsport, a shop I had not previously known—but he’s already lost 13 lb. in the past week. He hasn’t got back enough strength in his leg yet to easily walk the dogs any length of time but that will come. I had to remind him how to use a Toronto telephone and how to drive a keyless car. It’s all new. I don’t know how long we have together at our time of life—though I am pretty damn sure he will have at least another 25 years of active work ahead of him. He still says I’m beautiful though I have lost great patches of hair all over my head and sometimes wonder if when the wind blows the baldness is revealed like those men who comb long bits over the empty scalp.

I look in the mirror and see an old woman applying Rogaine to her head. Then I see that old woman has a loving, funny and innocent husband standing right behind her. A man who has surmounted a rather horrid ordeal with dignity. He’s home, we’re together and frankly that (and some hair regrowth) is about all I could ever want.


 

Barbara Amiel on getting Conrad home

  1. all you need is love

  2. I attended the trial (twice) and the Supreme Court appeal in Washington. What Conrad says about the American justice system is absolutely true. A leviathan that is geared to winning celebrity pelts, so as to propel the prosecution into politics and a refracted celebrity.
    Simply no concept of justice, fairness, nor equity before the Law. I found the whole thing rather frightening and secretly thanked profusely my United Empire Loyalist ancestors for fleeing to Canada.
    Welcome back Conrad; you have been missing for two weeks in the Saturday edition of National Post, which is too weaks too much.
    Chris M Thornhill

    • Yes. Of course. Totally innocent of all the charges, except those of which he was found guilty. .

  3. As the wife of a U.S. federal prisoner, I found this article to be very interesting and well-written. We tend to think that the “celebrity” prisoners have it easier because of their societal status (and they often do) but this also shows the down side. She also describes experiences which are so common to all of us “prison wives.” Looking forward to years from now, when I can welcome my husband home from prison, even if it without the private plane.

  4. While he is not the devil, as some media portray him, he is not jesus either. I wish the media (the Macleans editors included) would stop both fawning over him and fuming over him.

    • Are you on good terms with this “jesus” character you speak of? Bizarre comparison that you make. I wish the Macleans editors focus on how US jurisprudence has come to encompass territories outside its national borders. If Conrad did everything in Canada according to the accounting laws of Canada, how does some difference in rules in another country then become an offense in Canada? Where does this extra-territoriality come from and how will it affect our lives in Canada? Macleans might want to start digging deeper into how Conrad’s case represents a significant intrusion into Canada’s sovereignty. But then that might require some real thinking and I doubt this rag is up to it.

    • Chris – How does an ill-informed mob mentality have any credibility. We have a system of laws that are meant to trump whatever fancy strikes the mob. I find your line of thinking very disturbing because the logic of your argument is clearly based on an emotional hatred of someone you probably have not met. Are you sure that you are in a position to even create an opinion?

      • The fact is this is a British convicted felon. A former Canadian who eagerly parted with his Canadian citizenship to obtain an ego gratifying title of the British Lord (which he bought by the way). He obviously has connections in high places but the fact remains that he is a crook. His convictions are but a surface level of the corruption he perpetrated in Canada over the years. Tax evasion being only one of many of his many crimes. He should get the same treatment other convicted felons get when applying for a residency permit in this country.

  5. Coherently (for Barbara): Conrad Black was convicted for fraud ($600,000 ‘payment’ taken out of the company without any drafting,) and obstruction of justice (caught on camera taking 13 boxes of files out of the office at a time when the grand jury was investigating & had requested documents). Conrad dropped his Canadian citizenship (in order to become a British Lord)… and that is why he had no papers for Canada.

    Twitter version: Hubris.

    • You might want to go fellate yourself, Black Hubris. Your response is the typical moron raving that bothers me. Are you a lawyer? Were you a lawyer in this trial privy to the information upon which this trial revolved? Are you informing yourself by what you read in the press? Have you considered the bias of the reports that you may have read? What is your inherent bias? What do you mean when you write about a payment taken without drafting? How do you even start to create an opinion without realizing your ignorance?

      As someone who has been through litigation, I know well enough that truth plays only a small role in the outcome. Litigation is a crap shoot, dependent upon interpretation of what someone has labelled facts. Academically speaking, the litigation process would not pass the tests of what is necessary for true research, meaning that any opinion based on what comes out in litigation could never be regarded as factual. Most people would not understand that, unless they have been through litigation.

      Your facts, Black Hubris, are only opinions.

      • Actually, his conviction on the charges and the dismissed appeal make these facts. Now, these are not facts which should bar his entry into Canada and keep him from his spouse. He poses no real danger to the Canadian public and I think the right decision was made. However, he is a convicted felon and can be referred to as such.

  6. Guilty, not guilty…he has done his time and let him get on with his life. He is a lucky man to have Barbara at his side.

  7. I believe that in 100 years, our descendants will still be able to read stories about Conrad and Barbara, and that their books will still be published, although in digital form. On the contrary, when they Google “Thomas Mulcair”, all they will find is an entry about a man who is a barber in Shreveport, Louisiana. Seems to be the right outcome.

  8. Good that you both survived the ordeal. I hope the road ahead is a better one for you both. I look forward to reading both of your future books.
    All the best.

  9. After years of benefit by your thought provoking and well written articles and wishing for the best outcome for you and your husband i am relieved that this leg of the journey is over and you have courageously made it this far,and would like to thank-you.Wishing you recovery and healing in every way and looking forward to your future works.Many thanks and all the best.

  10. Nice piece. It must be wonderful for you both to be together again. May you enjoy each other’s company for many years to come.

    I for one am embarrassed by the self-righteousness of most Canadians who have trashed Conrad. When did we become a society of centre-left puritans? And I have yet to find anyone who can explain to me what exactly it was that Conrad did that was so egregious. The best most people can offer is something about carting off papers. When did we become a nation of business law experts?

    Fact is, the US justice system is a farce and a sham and we all better hope that we do not get caught in the cross hairs. If it could happen to Conrad, it could surely happen to the rest of us.

  11. Best wishes to the Blacks. I don’t know them personally, and I hold no brief for either, but this man has suffered more than enough — and borne his trials with great dignity and courage.
    Contrary to what one reads in the Canadian media, he is absolutely no Bernie Madoff; in fact I believe Conrad Black is a man whose virtues far outweigh his faults. And it upsets me to see and read the bile that so many Canadians still direct at him — most of it simply out of ignorance of the man, and ignorance of the facts.

  12. Lord Black revoked his Canadian citizenship to receive an honour. He should never have been put in the position of having to choose. The idea is ridiculous and his ‘revoking’ of his Canadian citizenship should be revoked. In my mind, he is Canadian in every respect.

    I recently heard Chretien say his hands were tied at the time and he had no choice but to follow the law. If this is true, what an absurd law to decide to enforce. We Canadians have had many British lords as Head-of-State. Ever heard of Lord Stanley, who gave us the Stanley Cup trophy? Or of Earl Grey – The Grey Cup? Can’t get any more Canuck than that!

    We should have been happy and proud that another nation wanted to honour one of our own. Instead we forced his hand and made him pick – Canada or Great Britain. He is a proud man and did what any person with a shred of dignity would have done in that position – he chose to accept the honour. We made a mistake in forcing him to choose – but we can admit we were wrong and return him to full Canadian citizenship. That would truly be the ‘Canadian’ thing to do.

    • It’s worth noting that the offer of a Lordship came from the Queen. As a loyal citizen – of Canada or the UK – it would be a supreme insult to the Queen to refuse that offer.

  13. Well done Lady Black, so glad you have your Man HOME….
    I can’t wait until the liars are made to pay for their disgusting behavior that started this whole mess for you & Lord Black! (not to mention the billions they stole from the shareholders of Inc, International etc….)
    God Bless!

  14. Thanks you Ms Amiel for this story. It certains helps to understand. I wish you both health and happiness.

  15. This must be a new low for MacLean’s. To have yet another article written by Conrad Black’s wife for no other reason than to perpetuate the propaganda of how supposedly victimized he was by the legal system in order to alter public opinion. More to the point this is not just simple pandering; it is journalistic corruption of the highest order. Kenneth Whyte, the editor of MacLean’s is after all a close personal friend of CONrad Black and his wife having served as editor of National Post from 1998 to 2003 (a newspaper founded by Black). The facts remain. Black is a thief, a convicted felon, an opportunist who gave up his Canadian citizenship in order to become a British Lord. Yes, he has lots of money and friends in very high places indeed. Enough to allow for a convicted felon who is no longer a citizen of this country to obtain residence so he can live out the rest of his miserable life in the best luxury his ill gotten gains can afford. The undisputed fact remains that he is a crook, and a British one at that. By printing his wife’s fluff piece MacLean’s editor has stooped to the lowest level of nepotism and pandering that we have likely ever witnessed in Canada outside of rag magazines and Black’s own various publications. Shame on you.

  16. I am happy these people can be together again and wish them more happiness and peace.

  17. Shouldn’t Lord and Lady Black be on their way to Crossharbour?

  18. I enjoy your articles and your intelligence Ms Amiel.

  19. Trevor Harrison also documents that “He [Mr. Harper] had
    little trouble doing so, as the media had been largely muffled by one fact:
    press baron Conrad Black, then reaching the height of his powers was also a
    member of the Northern Foundation and equally shy about having it publicly
    known.” Mr. Harrison elaborates that, “Journalists feared incurring
    his wrath as he employed many of them at the time, and was a potential employer
    for those whom he didn’t employ. Had they made the membership list public, Mr.
    Black would have been exposed.”

    Now that Mr. Harper has been able to seize power by taking
    over the PC Party (through a breach of contract law), and with the help of, for
    example, media owners of CanWest Global (that form example, controls many
    Canadian newspapers including the National Post, and the Ottawa Citizen) who
    donated money to his political campaigns, the Conservative Party in association
    with the Northern Foundation now seeks to focus on the fulfillment of an NWO
    agenda.