Shopping for Votes: How Politicians Choose Us and We Choose Them by Susan Delacourt Page A
Authors: Susan Delacourt
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“progress report” to the National Liberal Federation, the MacLaren ad firm offered assurances, almost apologetically, that it was respectful of the distinction between the often wacky world of advertising and the serious business of Parliament, especially as it pertained to Liberal leader Lester Pearson. “While Mr. Pearson’s behaviour in caucus and in the House may be beyond the frame of reference of an advertising agency, we will mention that vigorous, outspoken leadership are preferred characteristics of a leader,” the report stated. Like Allister Grosart and his 1953 memo, the ad firm was trying to say that selling soap and selling politicians was not exactly the same thing.
The report then explained why Liberals should direct their efforts only toward ridings where winning prospects prevailed. “No money should be spent on hopeless ridings,” it said, flatly. As well, MacLaren argued there was no sense throwing money at ridings where Liberals were going to win anyway. “At MacLaren, we are satisfied that we know pretty well now which ridings are most likely to show a return on advertising investment.” This wisdom was being culled through “market research” and early, rudimentary polling efforts. MacLaren also advised that the ads have a different look and feel from commercial advertising: “The ads should not be pat, professional and slick-looking”—counsel that all political parties would follow for decades to come. People didn’t seem to mind slick sophistication from the people selling them cars or TVs or gadgets, but they liked their politicians to look like reluctant amateurs in the marketing game.
Keith Davey, in the meantime, was amassing market research on the images of Pearson and Diefenbaker, and his files were starting to bulge with reports on the comparative “pictoral appeal” of the leaders. One marketing report noted that people were fond of photos that showed Diefenbaker in “folksy” scenes—sitting in a classroom or holding a fish, for example. Pearson, on the other hand, seemed to evoke more positive responses in “more dignified” surroundings—in Parliament, for instance.
In 1962, MacLaren was also out testing future election slogans for the Liberals—yet another sign that the ad firm was starting to shape the actual party message, if not the party itself. The firm tested ten different slogans and found that Canadians, probably in spillover thrall from John Kennedy’s Camelot, were most impressed with phrases that talked of “vision” and a “new frontier.” MacLaren highly endorsed the phrase “Take a Stand for Tomorrow.” It also advised the Liberal party to be a little selective and strategic about where it placed its advertising. TV ads should be the priority, MacLaren advised, followed by mainstream newspapers. The third-ranking homes for campaign ads should be radio, weekly papers and the ethnic or cultural media. Don’t even bother with billboards or magazines, the ad firm counselled. Indeed, the 1961 draft of a Liberal campaign budget reflected this kind of thinking. With $1 million in its coffers, the Liberals set aside $450,000 for TV ads, most of which was to be spent on ninety commercials of one minute each, in prime time, on all stations. Another $264,000 was budgeted for newspaper advertising, as well as about $200,000 for radio commercials and a little over $80,000 for weekly newspapers.
It would take until 1963 for the Liberals to wrest power from Diefenbaker’s Conservatives, in what was, in essence, a faceoff between the emerging, ad-savvy politics of both teams. Davey, still in the thrall of US-style politics, put out an “election colouring book” featuring nasty drawings and remarks about the Conservatives, and enlisted a Liberal “truth squad” to dog Diefenbaker on the election trail. Dalton Camp, meanwhile, decided to run as a candidate himself in the 1963 election—unsuccessfully, as it turned out. Like many of the best people
The report then explained why Liberals should direct their efforts only toward ridings where winning prospects prevailed. “No money should be spent on hopeless ridings,” it said, flatly. As well, MacLaren argued there was no sense throwing money at ridings where Liberals were going to win anyway. “At MacLaren, we are satisfied that we know pretty well now which ridings are most likely to show a return on advertising investment.” This wisdom was being culled through “market research” and early, rudimentary polling efforts. MacLaren also advised that the ads have a different look and feel from commercial advertising: “The ads should not be pat, professional and slick-looking”—counsel that all political parties would follow for decades to come. People didn’t seem to mind slick sophistication from the people selling them cars or TVs or gadgets, but they liked their politicians to look like reluctant amateurs in the marketing game.
Keith Davey, in the meantime, was amassing market research on the images of Pearson and Diefenbaker, and his files were starting to bulge with reports on the comparative “pictoral appeal” of the leaders. One marketing report noted that people were fond of photos that showed Diefenbaker in “folksy” scenes—sitting in a classroom or holding a fish, for example. Pearson, on the other hand, seemed to evoke more positive responses in “more dignified” surroundings—in Parliament, for instance.
In 1962, MacLaren was also out testing future election slogans for the Liberals—yet another sign that the ad firm was starting to shape the actual party message, if not the party itself. The firm tested ten different slogans and found that Canadians, probably in spillover thrall from John Kennedy’s Camelot, were most impressed with phrases that talked of “vision” and a “new frontier.” MacLaren highly endorsed the phrase “Take a Stand for Tomorrow.” It also advised the Liberal party to be a little selective and strategic about where it placed its advertising. TV ads should be the priority, MacLaren advised, followed by mainstream newspapers. The third-ranking homes for campaign ads should be radio, weekly papers and the ethnic or cultural media. Don’t even bother with billboards or magazines, the ad firm counselled. Indeed, the 1961 draft of a Liberal campaign budget reflected this kind of thinking. With $1 million in its coffers, the Liberals set aside $450,000 for TV ads, most of which was to be spent on ninety commercials of one minute each, in prime time, on all stations. Another $264,000 was budgeted for newspaper advertising, as well as about $200,000 for radio commercials and a little over $80,000 for weekly newspapers.
It would take until 1963 for the Liberals to wrest power from Diefenbaker’s Conservatives, in what was, in essence, a faceoff between the emerging, ad-savvy politics of both teams. Davey, still in the thrall of US-style politics, put out an “election colouring book” featuring nasty drawings and remarks about the Conservatives, and enlisted a Liberal “truth squad” to dog Diefenbaker on the election trail. Dalton Camp, meanwhile, decided to run as a candidate himself in the 1963 election—unsuccessfully, as it turned out. Like many of the best people
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