For a few days, Shopify founder Tobias Lütke became Canada’s political MHP — the Most Hated Person.
His offence was a tongue-in-cheek social-media comment suggesting that voting power might somehow be tied to the amount of tax someone pays.
The outrage was understandable. Universal suffrage is settled. Every Canadian citizen receives one vote, regardless of income, wealth or taxes paid. The democratic franchise is not a shareholder vote, and we very much doubt Lütke seriously intended to reopen that debate.
But perhaps the controversy should encourage us to ask a different question.
Not who should vote, but who are we voting for?
Lütke immigrated to Canada from Germany in 2002 and started Snowdevil, an online snowboard shop, from his in-laws’ garage. Frustrated with the e-commerce software available at the time, he wrote his own. That workaround became Shopify, now a global technology powerhouse generating nearly US$12 billion in annual revenue.
Although, Shopify operates internationally, it remains anchored in Canada, supports thousands of highly skilled jobs and strengthens Canada’s technology sector.
Whether one agrees with Lütke’s politics is beside the point. He understands what it means to allocate capital under uncertainty, compete internationally, satisfy customers, meet payroll and build an enterprise from scratch.
How many Members of Parliament have personally guaranteed a commercial loan, managed cash flow through a downturn or had to tell loyal employees that the business could no longer afford to keep them?
Canada has elected many talented lawyers, doctors, engineers, accountants, farmers, entrepreneurs and military veterans. Politics itself can be an honourable profession.
The problem is different.
Once elected, almost every parliamentarian becomes a full-time politician. Gradually, committee meetings, caucus strategy, constituency work and the rhythms of Ottawa replace the commercial and professional realities experienced by the people they represent.
A sizeable cadre of politicians has spent virtually its entire adult life inside the political system, moving from campus politics to a staffer’s office, then to a nomination contest and finally into Parliament. Others arrive with valuable experience outside politics but, after years in full-time public office, inevitably lose much of the day-to-day perspective that comes from running a business, treating patients, designing products or working in competitive markets.
That matters.
Good legislation benefits from people who remain connected to ordinary working life rather than viewing the economy solely through the lens of government.
Switzerland offers an interesting contrast.
Members of the Swiss Federal Assembly generally continue working in their professions while serving in Parliament. Parliamentary work is demanding—Swiss legislators are the first to say so—but politics is not designed to become a lifelong career insulated from everyday life.
A parliamentarian may still be a doctor treating patients, a lawyer serving clients, a farmer running a family business or an entrepreneur managing employees. If public life no longer suits them, they can just go back to full-time work.
Switzerland reinforces this philosophy through one of the world’s most developed systems of direct democracy. Citizens routinely challenge legislation by referendum and propose constitutional amendments through popular initiatives. Parliament therefore legislates knowing that voters can, quite literally, return a law to sender.
No political system is perfect, and Canada’s Constitution, geography and political traditions are distinct. We cannot simply transplant the Swiss model.
But we can learn from its philosophy.
Politics should be public service, not necessarily a lifelong profession.
Canada would benefit from welcoming accomplished people in business, medicine, engineering, agriculture, education and the skilled trades to serve a period in Parliament before returning to their professions. There is the risk of Trump- or Carney-style conflicts of interest which have to be taken into account.
Conflicts of interest can appear when accomplished people take a seat in parliament. Conflicts of interest are best handled by being transparent. Neither Trump nor Carney uphold this principle.
The Swiss seem to be able to handle that, so should we.
Likewise, political parties should examine whether nomination processes unintentionally favour career insiders over people with substantial experience outside politics.
Universal suffrage guarantees political equality.
It does not automatically guarantee economic competence.
The Lütke controversy should therefore move us away from arguments about whether some citizens deserve more votes. They do not.
Instead, it should prompt a more useful discussion: whether Parliament contains enough people who remain closely connected to the realities of creating jobs, balancing budgets, inventing products, managing employees and competing in global markets.
Canada need not become Switzerland.
But it should ask why one of the world’s most prosperous and stable democracies has worked so deliberately to prevent politics from becoming a profession largely practised by professional politicians.
There is an old joke that politicians are like diapers. Both need changing often—and for the same reason.
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Harry Margulies is a Swedish-trained tax adviser, author and former lecturer at Lund University who has lived and practised across Sweden, Canada and the United Kingdom. Neil Seeman is a Massey College senior fellow, University of Toronto professor and publisher at Sutherland House Experts.
